Some are simply queasy, eliciting vertigo when you look up into them.
Such was the sky last night.
Clouds swirled in opposite directions. Multiple layers of distinct shades, a darkly twisted ombre that would look better on paper or cloth than in the sky. There it swirled, ominously portending large, heavy raindrops, which fell soon enough, driving us indoors and under cover.
Leave it to the Beekman Boys to come up with the perfect summer soap selection in the form of their ‘After the Sun’ aloe bar enriched with goat milk. The sound scientific support for all their products finds soothing results with the addition of skin-cooling aloe and the tranquility-inducing attributes of lavender. Following a day at the beach or by the pool or working beneath the high sun in the garden, this is a vital component of any proper cool-down treatment. It’s a ritual that closes out a summer day in peaceful and contented form.
Aside from the occasional elevator comment, there aren’t many instances where I discuss my work on this site, mostly because this is largely a place of entertainment and frivolity. Every once in a while, however, it becomes imperative to get a little serious, and in this instance it’s to point out that a very important pair of Civil Service exams are being given soon. For anyone who may be looking to get into a career with the Department of Environmental Conservation, particularly in the fields of law enforcement and forest protection, this is for you: two of our most sought-after positions – Environmental Conservation Police Officer and Forest Ranger – have just announced their exams.
Based on a recent Governor’s initiative focusing on diversity and inclusion, we are seeking a diverse candidate field, so women and minorities are especially encouraged to apply. My agency has an admirable mission to protect and conserve our natural resources and environment, and while I may not be able to effect change in such a direct, hands-on way, I get to do my best to bring aboard some of those talented people that have the fortitude and integrity to do the concrete work. To that end, if you or anyone you know are looking for a rewarding and challenging career, please send them the following links to the exam announcement:
Behold, the brown turkey fig, which is reportedly hardy to parts of Zone 5. This is the first time I’m attempting to grow figs, and this particular specimen is making a grand first impression. It’s done so spectacularly this summer, I’m not going to risk losing it by pushing its survival rates in the winter of Zone 5. We’ll be making room for it in our unheated garage, where it will hopefully survive the winter there to put on an even better show next year.
This variety doesn’t need pollinators – the fruit just appears, first as a tiny little bulbous thing at the end of a short stem, after which it slowly swells into something that thus far is approaching what the ones in the store look like. The handsome foliage is enough for me – if these fruits come to, well, fruition, that’s just the cherry on the sundae. Or the fig on the frosting.
As can be seen, there are quite a few on the way. I hope they hurry up and ripen soon – a bowl of fresh figs smothered in honey and maybe some crumbled goat cheese sounds like the perfect summer snack. As pretty to see as they are sweet to eat…
How we ended up here already is beyond my comprehension. The last full month of summer is underway. My how the season is flying by. It’s been a pretty full one, and it’s not over yet, so let’s dive back in…
This is one of those times when I’m going to tell you to do as I say, not as I do. (Further proof that one doesn’t need children to be contradictory.) It was the summer of 1992 when I first learned about the bane that is the noxious purple loosestrife. At Brown University, my summer biology course at the Roger Williams Zoo was teaching us that most zoos were switching from simply holding animals to teaching the public about conservation and how to preserve the natural world. At the time, purple loosestrife was taking a stranglehold of the northeast, where it was choking out natives in wet wildlands. A trip along the Thruway heading south proved it – a constant flash of bright purple marked most of the roads in mid to late summer. At the zoo, it was taking hold of any place where there was moisture, and we were asked to pull it up whenever we found it. I wasn’t about to do their weeding for them, but it made an indelible mark upon my mind, and from that summer onward whenever I saw it somewhere I would shout out, to whoever was listening, there’s the dreaded purple loosestrife. (Suzie got the biggest, and probably only, kick out of it.)
As an invasive species, purple loosestrife is a danger to our native plants and habitat. Scientifically known as Lythrum salicaria, it was, for a brief period of time, sold by nurseries because its long blooming season and striking color made for a perfect perennial. I still remember a spectacular garden border at a friend’s house – I actually went there more for the garden than the company (sorry, Eric). Next to a sky-high stand of Heliopsis was a clump of Lythrum, and together they formed a glorious backdrop for bees and butterflies to pollinate and charm. I ordered one from White Flower Farm – the variety was ‘Morden’s Pink’ and they claimed it was not as invasive as the typical form encroaching on our highways. Eventually they stopped selling it when it joined the invasive species list.
Now, this is the part where I reveal my moral failings. (One of them, anyway.) Two years ago, a little bird must have dropped a seed of loosestrife in our garden. Whether it came out of its mouth or ass, I couldn’t tell you, but soon a little loosestrife plant was growing. I wasn’t sure what it was at first – the foliage of a young plant is rather handsome, and the stems were fleshier and more substantial than most of the weeds I knew. It looked somewhat refined, so I let it go. As it matured, I thought it looked like a lythrum, so I kept a careful watch on it as WE ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO GROW THEM HERE.
As summer progressed, it grew tall and high, and sent up those gloriously-hued flower spikes. I had a beautiful but dangerous specimen of purple loosestrife in my garden. But it was so pretty, and worked so well beside the cup plant and in front of the fountain grass that, to my continuing shame, I kept it. I even pampered it, sprinkling liberally with water whenever things got too dry. It just works too well to pull it out – providing the perfect spot of color at a time when most things are pooping out. I will also dead-head it and make sure no seeds form to prevent its spread, I promise, and the moment it moves just one inch beyond its allotted space, I will tear it down. For now, I’m enjoying its beauty and coming clean for my conscience.
Summer has a weird way of turning things upside down. More than Mercury in retrograde, it bungles the mind, messing with the matter in the head. Maybe it’s the sun – that glorious, vicious, life-giving orb – pulsating and pulling us to it, never quite letting us go, keeping us in orbit, bound forever, circling in the slightest parabolic curve. It brings us back to the past, much as it pushes us ahead. Like a myth, we take our places in the firmament.
COMBAT, I’M READY FOR COMBAT I SAY I DON’T WANT THAT, BUT WHAT IF I DO? ‘CAUSE CRUELTY WINS IN THE MOVIES I’VE GOT A HUNDRED THROWN-OUT SPEECHES I ALMOST SAID TO YOU
EASY THEY COME, EASY THEY GO I JUMP FROM THE TRAIN, I RIDE OFF ALONE I NEVER GREW UP, IT’S GETTING SO OLD HELP ME HOLD ONTO YOU
Some of us suit up, preparing for battle. Better to go out fighting than waiting to win. A victory of being right is always a valediction of some sort, because who could put up with that for too long? But we won’t give up that easily. The fight rages because the heart knows no reason. Summer fuels the madness. And a summer moon… well, who has a chance? We will ride out in the night…
I’VE BEEN THE ARCHER I’VE BEEN THE PREY WHO COULD EVER LEAVE ME, DARLING? BUT WHO COULD STAY?
DARK SIDE, I SEARCH FOR YOUR DARK SIDE BUT WHAT IF I’M ALRIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT HERE? AND I CUT OFF MY NOSE JUST TO SPITE MY FACE THEN I HATE MY REFLECTION FOR YEARS AND YEARS
We build our castle, and I make it as pretty as possible. A spear-studded iron barricade of youth, rusted and entwined with a climbing hydrangea. A glass windowpane, unbroken, and impossible to put together again if it were any other way. Memory rides on the breeze. On humid nights, the old Ko House organ releases scents and molecules from a lifetime ago, when we’d peek around their banister to see if the adults were still by the fire at Christmas. It still carries its song, music like scent, senses placing us back in our childhood. The summer stickiness pulls me back there then jerks me back to the present.
I WAKE IN THE NIGHT, I PACE LIKE A GHOST THE ROOM IS ON FIRE, INVISIBLE SMOKE AND ALL OF MY HEROES DIE ALL ALONE HELP ME HOLD ONTO YOU
I’VE BEEN THE ARCHER, I’VE BEEN THE PREY SCREAMING, WHO COULD EVER LEAVE ME, DARLING? BUT WHO COULD STAY?
These floors of wood once felt so solid, once felt so secure. They creak now, a bit battered, a bit worn, even a little warped. They’ve seen the seasons, they’ve paced the years. Crumbling into their waves, my body is not what it used to be. It creaks now too. It buckles and cracks and brings pain. It goes down, brittle shell meeting splintered resistance. This will not hold you like the earth. No arms will embrace you. Nothing will give you what you want. Nothing will give you what you need.
(I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME, I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME)
‘CAUSE THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH CAN YOU SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME? THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME
A summer fairytale. Why would we ever trust the words of a fairy? And why ever in the summer, of all available points of time? That sun is on the rise. That heat is waiting to ascend. That army is ready to assemble. One crisp white shirt. One suit striped of pin. One tie of silk and elegance. Black belt in leather. A pair of shoes tipped with wings. Armor isn’t just steel and metal mesh. Looks can kill.
ALL THE KING’S HORSES, ALL THE KING’S MEN COULDN’T PUT ME TOGETHER AGAIN ‘CAUSE ALL OF MY ENEMIES STARTED OUT FRIENDS HELP ME HOLD ONTO YOU
I’VE BEEN THE ARCHER I’VE BEEN THE PREY WHO COULD EVER LEAVE ME, DARLING? BUT WHO COULD STAY?
The war has always been within. Storms may circle, shots may strike, but the battle for your soul can only be won, or lost, by you. That’s the most difficult battle of all. Usually it’s impossible. Have you ever tried playing chess against yourself? Or any game for that matter. We are our own worst enemies. We know our weaknesses, we know our strengths, we know just where to strike to pierce the most vulnerable piece of heart. We know and so we guard against it, but in doing so we cut off all other aid or support. A self-fulfilling summer prophecy, cut with shards of sunlight and salty sea water.
(I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME, I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME) WHO COULD STAY? WHO COULD STAY? WHO COULD STAY? YOU COULD STAY YOU COULD STAY YOU…
What kind of a fucked-up world are we living in that people are complaining about Nick Jonas and his body? These photos may reveal that’s not in the impossibly-killer shape he was in a couple of years ago, but if anyone thinks that kind of perfection is easy to attain, much less maintain, they are too dumb to read this. Personally, I like the supposed Dad bod on display here – this is something I can make happen this very summer. And if it’s an indication that Mr. Jonas has found a comfort and joy in wedded bliss, well, no one should find fault with that. I feel happier when other people are happy too. Good for him.
