July and the Memory of Kamikaze June Bugs

 July and the Memory of Kamikaze June Bugs

By Bobby Neal Winters

We are embedded in nature. It surrounds us; it flows within us; it is our friend; it is our enemy; we are subject to it.

I’ve bounced back from my hernia surgery.  Yesterday, which was the one week anniversary of “the repair,” I walked my full walk. I’d been sneaking up on it for a few days and I am gradually healed.

Those of you who work downtown and sometimes watch me as I walk by will not have seen me because I was walking before 6 in the morning.

Some may ask why one would do that?  These would be people who are not living in Kansas right now.  

It got up to 99 degrees yesterday.  Worse is forecast for next week.  It is July; it is Kansas; suck it up, Buttercup.

When I was walking, the temperature was still only in the low 70s. It was lovely.

There are a few others out at the same time.  Not many, but a few.  The occasional runner; the dog walkers of the world dutifully scooping poop; and the gardeners, watering their gardens.

It’s hot; it’s been dry too.  A few mornings ago I got up to walk and it was darker than usual.  No stars.  Mysterious flashes of light to the north. It took a while for my brain to process the clues: Lightening.  Was it going to rain?

The answer was yes, but not in a meaningful way.  It did make the day cooler though. Grace but not as much as we would like.

I’ve not mowed since the middle of June.  If I tried to mow my front yard, I'd have to use GPS to keep from getting lost in it.  

We did have a mast year in oak last year, so we’ve got a lot of little oak trees coming up that could stand a good trimming, but they are not uniform over the lawn. The rest of the lawn consists of short, dry brownish leaves that don’t reach up to the lawnmower blade.

The backyard, which has a different microclimate from the front yard, could be mowed. It would be possible to do it without losing your track, but you might get lost in the dust.

Someone out there has read this and said, “Well, what he needs to do is put in a sprinkler system. That would take care of his problems. The grass would grow and it would keep the dust down.” I can hear his voice in my head.  He sounds grumpy.

My reply to this would be, “You really don’t know me do you?  Haven’t you been paying attention? I said I’d not had to mow for a month.  That is what we call success!”

There is something to be said for living in harmony with nature.  Don’t get me wrong, I love air-conditioning.  I grew up without it, so I might even love it more than all of the rest of you together.  But we did live without it.  

We had swamp-coolers and electric fans.  We lived slower lives.  To say we surrendered to nature might be too much, but we gave nature its props. We spent our evenings sitting in puddles of our own sweat, trying to come into symbiosis with the June Bugs as they went kamikaze on the light fixtures.

When you live in this sort of harmony with nature, you learn to appreciate the small things: a cloud going over the sun; the shade of a tree; a breeze moving past you after you’ve worked up a sweat.

One day it will rain again.  The days will grow noticeably shorter and the night longer.  The winds will switch around to the north.  We will have wind, thunder, and lightning. And it will rain.

We will bless that day.

Bobby Winters, a native of Harden City, Oklahoma, blogs at redneckmath.blogspot.com and okieinexile.blogspot.com. He invites you to “like'' the National Association of Lawn Mowers on Facebook. Search for him by name on YouTube. )