Summer’s curtain call

We’ve got snow in the forecast for tomorrow night.  Sigh.

I’m not ready to let go of Summer just yet – she took her sweet time arriving, but when she did, she was as beautiful as any summer I’ve known here, making the fields blush with alfalfa, turning Kennedy Creek warm enough for swimming, and sending gauzy pink dawns to gently roust us from our morning beds.

And let’s not forget the sunsets she gifted us …

I took these on Saturday night, and though I didn’t know about the snow forecast at the time, I wondered if Summer might be making her curtain call.

Come on, Summer – encore!

2011. Glacier County Honey Co.  All Rights Reserved.

 

June 12, 2011: Counting Heads

We’ve lived at Hillhouse long enough now to know who can we can expect to visit us each year.

In the fall, we welcome hundreds of trumpeter swans and Canadian geese.  They pause in their southernly flights for a respite on Gretchen’s Mirror, bobbing on the patches of open water and walking drunkenly about the iced over portions of the lake.

In the winter, we look up from the soup we’re stirring on the stove to watch the coyotes bound across the frozen surface of the Mirror.

In the spring, we observe mama Moose return year after year to deliver her calves, and teach them to unfurl their long, velvety legs in order to walk through the Mirror’s shallow depths.

And in the summer, we keep a sharp eye out for the pair of loons that likes to keep its nest on the Mirror.

I’ve written about the loons before, about their silvery, mournful call, unlike any other sound I’ve heard reverberate off the Rockies.  My heart always lifts when the first one of us announces that the loons have returned, that they are building a new nest, that the chick has hatched.  And of course, I’ve written about the chick that didn’t hatch until Honeydew and I accidentally cooked it, too.  Sorry about that, loons.

Last weekend, Honeydew, Darling Summer Help II (DSH2), Brother Dear and Pseudo Sista brought back photographic evidence that not only are our loons back, but Mama is sitting on the nest.

And so we’ll tiptoe around the Mirror for the next few weeks, hoping that the first part of July will bring us a new head to count, Baby Loon, and that we’ll get to watch Mama and Daddy Loon teach their fuzzy young one all sorts of Loony things.  Like all parents, we especially like watching the Baby Loon learn to take off, to fly.

2011.  Glacier County Honey Co.  All Rights Reserved.

 

the sweet start to summer

When you have six months of winter, the rest of the seasons must share time accordingly.  Spring tends to be fleeting in Montana, and this year is no exception.  Our daffodils bloomed just yesterday,

And yet, today I’m declaring that summer has started.

This, of course, is not true, not by the calendar, nor the sun’s jaunty angle, nor the garden – yet to be planted.

But what is true is that the 1st load of our honeybees arrived home from California early this morning.  If you’ve never read about when and why we send them to California, or how we unload them upon their return, you might enjoy these previous blog posts I’ve linked to.  Brother Dear and Honeydew rose with the sun this morning to greet our pretty gals, and as of 8am MST, they’ve mostly got them unloaded:

Now that the bees are home, the work of coaxing them to make about 150,000 pounds of the best honey you’ve never tasted begins.  And that’s why for me, summer starts today.  Welcome home, girls!

2011.  Glacier County Honey Co.  Photo credits to Sanford Stone.  All Rights Reserved.

 

in like a lamb …

I grew up in a family obsessed with weather, and particularly its forecast, which makes sense in a family of farmers and people who like to grow things.  I watch the Weather Channel religiously (though I have found that it is rarely accurate for near-Babb) and when I open my web browser, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration‘s page appears first.  Isn’t that an absurd name? It seems to suggest that the oceans and the atmosphere can be administered, that they listen to government bureaucracy.  Such nonsense.  But, NOAA does good weather reporting.

Montanans seem to be as obsessed with weather as I am – a lot of our jokes and mottos revolve around weather conditions.  I like this one: If you don’t like the weather in Montana, wait five minutes.  That is especially true in the shoulder seasons, when it is not unusual for a day to start out cold, overcast, with winds gusting to 45, and by sunset be balmy and calm, with the moisture from the early afternoon snow/sleet/hail/rain storm melting off.

We joke about our seasons, too – winter and construction.  Winter and house guests.  The rest of our seasons are more fleeting than winter.  Spring is particularly tricky – it comes and goes for a few days here and there in March, for a few more in April, May, and June, but it rarely escapes Winter’s stranglehold for long.  It’s not unusual for us to get a thunder blizzard the first week of May, or even June – I’ve seen it snow every month of the year here.  I keep meaning to haul my skis up to Logan Pass in July and August, so I can say I’ve skied every month of the year, but so far the lure of the hiking trails up there always quashes my desire to go skiing.

I have found that Spring often shows its face just when I need it most, and though I know it won’t stay, the sunshine and warm winds instill faith in me that I can make it till July.  Sunday was such a day – Mom and I had long planned to do a little cross country skiing in Glacier Park.  We happened to be on the West Side, in Whitefish, on Sunday morning, and the day dawned bright and blue.  We scarfed down sweet potato pancakes at the Red Caboose and headed off to Lake McDonald.  Hadn’t skied an 1/8 of a mile up the Going to the Sun Road when it became clear that it had previously been raining, and not snowing, and that we were likely to end up breaking our necks on the ice.

Mom and I are not exactly as coordinated as Apolo Ohno.  So we threw our skis back in the car, put on our boots, and went for a walk around Lake McDonald Lodge, instead.

July-blue skies and a flat calm awaited us on the shores of Lake McDonald:

March has come in like a lamb, but I’m still thinking about going out to the frozen pond in my front yard, and pummeling it with rocks, to break through the ice.  Maybe that will help July to come more quickly.

2010.  Glacier County Honey Co.  All Rights Reserved.