What Happens in June

It's June, my favorite month of the year! I love what happens in June. These are the longest days of the year – long but mild. The world seems at its best. So many anticipated garden events arrive – peonies, poppies, lupines, irises, and the brief and beautiful June roses. The garden is still relatively tame. The weeds are thriving, but not rampant the way they are later in high summer. The birds are nesting. The robins have already finished their first brood and are working on their second. The tree swallows have moved into one of the bluebird houses. The orioles have a nest hidden high in one of the wild cherry trees. Out in the beaver pond, the peepers are fading out and the bullfrogs are coming into voice. It is a fragrant month, scented with lily-of-the-valley, azalea, peonies, and roses, the smell of freshly cut lawn and new mown hay. That's what happens in June.

The first of common poppies.

One of the iris beds.

This year however, June was not so kind to me at the start. Last Sunday evening, they issued a frost warning. Stacey and I went out at dusk and covered the lilies. I put pots over the castor beans. We brought the seed trays that I hadn't planted yet onto the back porch. I watered the garden before going to bed just to give the ground a good soaking, hoping it would help protect the plants. When I went to bed, it was 43°. I set an alarm for 2:00 a.m. so I could check the temperature. When the alarm went off, it was 34°. We were still safe. At 5:00 a.m. Maverick needed to go out. It was 32° and, although there was no frost, we were in the danger zone. After Maverick went back in, I stayed out and watered everything again. I went in and showered and dressed and by then the temperature had dropped to 29° and everything was covered with frost. To be below freezing in June is not that uncommon here, but it is cruel. I expect better of the month.

I went out after the sun was up to inspect for damage. The things we covered survived unscathed. Other things did not fare so well. Some of the perennial herbs were scorched, which was odd because the cold doesn't usually affect them. The marigolds I'd planted out last week were all nipped. The kiwi vines took another devastating blow. I'm beginning to think I should never have attempted to grow them. These kiwis are not the big fuzzy skinned kind you get at the market. Those are Actinidia chinensis var. deliciosa. I have two kinds, one is called Hardy Kiwi, Actinidia arguta, and the other is Super Hardy Kiwi, Actinidia kolomikta. They have small, smooth skinned fruit the size of a large grape. And although they are supposed to be hardy here, the arguta to zone 5 and the kolomikta to zone 3, they always leaf out too early and get hit repeatedly by frosts every year. I have never gotten any fruit from them in the ten years I've grown them. Once the season warms enough for them to grow new leaves, they are pretty vines, but I didn't grow them for their ornamental value. I want their fruit.

Frostbitten kiwi vine.

The day warmed quickly and by 9:00 a.m. we were in the 60s. That's when I went out to begin the big task of the day, filling my new raised beds with mushroom soil. At first I shoveled the soil into buckets and carried them to the beds. It was slow, hard work. After half an hour of that, I went and got the mower, hooked up the wagon to it, and hauled the buckets closer to the beds. It was easier, but still hard work. Then Kurt showed up with his tractor and saved the day. In a few hours he accomplished what would have taken me several days. He dumped, I shoveled and raked, and by noon we had all eight beds filled and still some soil leftover. Having the right equipment sure makes things easier.

Kurt and his tractor to the rescue.

After a short break for lunch, I went back out and planted. It was in the 70s by then and even after a morning frost, I felt brave. I planted hardy things – cabbages, broccoli, and cauliflower. I planted tender things – tomatoes, peppers, basil. All of those are plants I started from seed and they were languishing in their seed trays and pots. I was glad to get them in the ground and so were they. I also planted seeds – endive, escarole, arugula, finocchio, parsnips, and green beans. Now I switch from tending seed trays to tending beds. That's what happens in June.

The raised bed garden, all beds full and planted.

There was another big event on Monday. Miriam had her cast removed. After six weeks in a cast, her arm was pale. She has to wear a brace for a few weeks, but she's very happy to have that cast off.

As the sun set on Monday, I began to wonder if I'd been rash in my planting spree. It was 50°, but it was cooling off quickly. The forecast said we'd drop to 47°, which would be fine. At bedtime we were at 41° and I began to worry. I got up to check the thermometer at 3:00 and it was 36°. A few more degrees and the tomatoes, peppers, and basil would be wiped out. There was nothing I could do but pray. I fell back into an uneasy sleep. At dawn it was still 36° and the temperature began to rise. I went out first thing and checked my newly planted beds. We had averted a disaster again. I offered a heartfelt prayer of thanks. 

Tuesday morning was taken up by another doctor's appointment. I drove to Port Allegany. It's a 45 minute drive, but I do it so often now, it has become routine. The appointment didn't reveal anything new, just more tests keeping track of things. I used to hate having blood drawn, but now, no big deal. We adapt when we need to, I guess. When I got back from the doctor's, I went out to work. More planting. More weeding. It was a lovely day, warm and breezy. I could hardly believe I was fretting about frost a few hours earlier. This Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde weather, nights in the 30s and days in the 70s, is getting old.

Red irises my sister Nancy sent me two years ago.

Wednesday was what June is supposed to be like. The morning was cool. The dew was heavy. The sun rose in a clear sky. The earth quickly warmed. On my morning walk, I could smell the wonderful fragrance of the azalea blooming in the woodland garden in every part of the property. Not all azaleas are fragrant, but I only planted the fragrant ones in my garden, a pink one that blooms in late May and early June, and a yellow one that blooms in late June and early July. The scent of azalea is strongly connected to my memories of Japan. The Japanese love azaleas,  tsutsuji つつじ in Japanese. They have beautiful plantings of them there, especially around the Shinto shrines and in the gardens of the Buddhist temples. I loved to visit those places when I was there. When I lived in the heart of Osaka in a neighborhood with houses that didn't have yards, the people would set up shelves on their doorstep and display gorgeous bonsai azaleas. They have annual azalea festivals, the most famous of which is at the Nezu Shrine in Tokyo. I'd love to go see it some day.

My woodland azalea bush in full bloom right now.

A Shinto shrine with azaleas.

Bonsai azalea.

The Azalea Festival at Nezu Shrine.

By 8:30 it had warmed to 75° and I went out to work. I had a list of things I wanted to finish by the end of the day – weeding and mulching around the blueberry bushes, weed whacking out in the big garden, planting the rest of my seed trays, and, as always, weeding flowerbeds.

Another big floral happening in June are the irises. I have several patches of them scattered throughout the long border. I've always loved irises. I think their form with their upright standards, downward falls, and their beards, is exotic, almost orchidlike. Most of mine are in the purple color range, but I have a few other standout colors, pale blue, deep red, and smoky pink. Their blooming season is brief, so I pay extra attention to them while they are in flower. 

Some of my irises.

Wednesday evening was what June is all about. After a very warm day, we hit 87°, which is hot summer weather here, the evening cooled a little to a delightful temperature. The soft air and the long light made the world look perfect as can only happen in June. I was tired from working hard all day, and the evening refreshed me. I stayed out until twilight enjoying the serenity. I walked through the orchard and looked at the tiny apples. I sat on the bench in the flower garden and looked out over the yard. Everything was trim and tidy but wild at the edges and lush. I have a patch of Dame's Rocket by the lilac bushes and I could smell its sweet evening perfume. I wanted the evening to go on and on, but the sun never slows and the light was fading. I saw swifts flying high twittering and the robins were singing their vespers. I went indoors reluctantly. This is what happens, on a good day, in June.

Lupines.

My patch of Dame's Rocket.

Sunrise on Thursday.

The old saying says "Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning." I knew that beautiful sky meant we had weather coming later in the day. But it was beautiful and I took a long walk to enjoy it. The forecast said that thunderstorms and rain were coming after noon and it would be rainy for the next six days, so I went out right away to get all I could done before it came. Part of my morning routine now includes feeding the pigs. They were very skittish at first and would not come near me, but after a week of feeding them, they come to the trough and wait for me. I'm the food guy, so they like me.

One of the big tasks of the day was removing the rest of the mushroom soil, tilling the damaged lawn, and sowing grass seed there. With the help of Kurt and his tractor, we finished all of that by 1:00. By then, clouds had started moving in and the wind had shifted. I pressed on, working for as long as I could. At 5:00 we heard thunder and within minutes it was raining. The rain let up after dark. It was warm and very humid. We saw our first fireflies that night.

Tilling up the damaged lawn.

It looks a mess, but when the grass grows back it will be better.

The Thayns arrived Thursday night for a very brief visit. This week Tabor's family is coming here for a family reunion and they had some things they needed to bring up and set up. The reunion is this Thursday through next Tuesday. They are renting one of the houses owned by Stacey's employers, the Patterson House, as the center of operations for the reunion. So on Friday they set up beds and got things ready over there. It was a rainy day, but most of the work was indoors.

The rain let up at just the right time so that we could eat dinner on the Shillig's back porch. Hannah made pizza, Julie and Kale made salads. After dinner the Thayns left for home. It was a very short, but productive visit. The rain stayed away for a while after that and I was able to do a little weeding in the flowerbeds at the front of the house. The rain came back after dark and it rained hard. Many years ago, I planted hostas in the bed on the north side of the house right below our bedroom windows. They are big plants. One of them, a variety called Empress Wu, is one of the biggest of all hostas. Friday night was mild and I had the window open at the head of my bed. The rain drummed against the leaves of those hostas so loudly, it woke me up several times. It was a pleasant sound, like the sound of rain on the metal porch roof. After waking me up, it lulled back to sleep again.

Friday evening.

Hostas by my bedroom window.

Saturday morning was wet, but the sky cleared eventually and it turned out to be a beautiful day. Stacey and I ran some errands in the morning. Among them was a stop at the nursery in town, one of the only kinds of places where I like to shop. Four flats of flowers and several potted plants later, we headed home. I spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon planting what we bought – impatiens, portulaca, marigolds, and basil. We got a hanging fuchsia for the front porch. Things are starting to look June-ish, lush, bright, and tidy.

Planting impatiens.

This Sabbath morning was very serene. Except for the peacock. He is a lone male in a female-less world during breeding season. He starts calling from his perch in the maple tree by the house before dawn and he goes on all day and into the evening twilight. And he is loud. When I take my morning walks, I can hear him as far away as Burrell's pond. Our neighbors are probably annoyed. I know I am. I hope that breeding season ends soon. He also has become a garden nuisance. He loves to eat broccoli. I had a flat of broccoli starts on the back porch stairs and last week he ate half of them. I planted what was left in one of the raised beds and he found them and pulled them up in his attempts to eat them. I had to put barricades up in the garden to keep him out. This morning, he was especially noisy. Or maybe it just seemed so because Sunday mornings are extra quiet.

The peacock hanging out in the crab apple tree by the bird feeders.

After last week's very light attendance at church (15 people), today was better, 26. And our Stake President dropped in for a surprise visit, which was nice. Our meetings went well. Sarah and Tosh were our speakers. Our second hour lessons were good. Driving home, we noticed how hazy it is. It's smoke from the fires in Canada. It's supposed to rain this afternoon and maybe that will scrub the haze from the air.

This coming week will be full of fun and adventure as the Thayn Family Reunion gets underway. There will be lots to write about next week. And in addition to all of that, I still have the regular things that happen in June to take care of, gardens and animals to tend to, and so much beauty to enjoy.