6/29/2016
The Lay of the Land
By Lyn Messersmith
A Day in June
Spring being a tough act to follow, God created June.
Al Bernstein
When people ask when they should visit the Sandhills, I always say June, because it’s the prettiest month. Wildflowers are at their peak, weather is usually cooperative, unless we have a round of thunderstorms or tornadoes, and best of all, it’s green. Green doesn’t necessarily last out here, much beyond the fourth of July. But in June, the meadows are a sea of waving grasses, you can drive past alfalfa fields that are a mass of purple, or else full of neatly wrapped round bales, and the yucca are in bloom. When you walk to a hilltop for a better view of the beauty, keep one eye on the ground because cactus are in bloom now, and like the yucca, it’s a short season.
We’re outdoors a lot in June, checking to see what is up in the garden, pulling weeds, and mowing. The cool season grasses grow so fast you can hardly put the mower away before needing to pull it out again. Likely there’s some leftover fencing to be done, and cattle to put out to grass. Brandings are mostly over, and we grab an afternoon to take the kids fishing, or a weekend for a getaway.
It’s the season of Cattlemen’s conventions, family reunions, class reunions and weddings. Supposedly, June is a month of leisure, but since everyone schedules these occasions around that assumption, it may be one of the busiest ones. There will be receptions for those with milestone anniversaries, because, guess what—they were married in June.
We live with wind out here, and that’s an aggravation at times, but when it doesn’t blow we get antsy. And there’s always a week of doldrums in June, when we have to chase water because windmills aren’t turning. Those are the days when we look longingly at the boat, if we have one, because it would be so peaceful on the lake; but no, we have cattle to move, or a pump jack to hook up.
Rhubarb pie is on the menu, along with asparagus and strawberry shortcake. Garden lettuce too, as well as radishes, and peas, if you were lucky enough to get the planting done before Memorial Day, but that’s always chancy in this part of the world.
Roses are in bloom now, and iris, so it’s hard to pass them on your way to the clothesline without stopping to drink in the glorious colors. Please tell me you still have a clothesline, and use it in summer. There’s nothing like the scent of sun dried sheets.
Day lilies and the mid-summer flowers are budding; about to take the place of poppies and whatever other early ones are fading. Fireflies light up nights when it’s still, and hot, so you sit on the porch watching stars appear, both above and below.
June is on the way out the door and I hope you took time to appreciate it. July has its own charms, and a different pattern of busy that’s mostly work related. Independence Day approaches, with all the trappings of celebration, mixed with an aura of sadness, because that means summer is half over.
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