“Itsy, bitsy spider went up the water spout….down came the rains and washed the spider out.  Up came the sun and dried up all the rain and the itsy, bitsy spider went up the spout again!”  A kid’s song apparently appropriate to August; I found three spiders escaping up the wall, in my shower this AM --- after having nary a one all summer.  Steps will be taken!!

August ---the month with no holidays.  There are actually about 3 ½ weeks of summer remaining before the Equinox, but we are programmed to feel summer is over by Labor Day, just a few days away.  Golden rod is blooming along the roadsides --- and in my garden too, where it escaped my notice.  Other unwelcome plants have also crept into the garden; lamb’s quarters, red-root, chick weed, and a variety of grasses.  In spite of little rain, the weeds have flourished --- leading me to declare my gardens a {Disaster Area for 2022.}   I wonder if I could get Federal relief funding???  😊 Fortunately, for gardeners, there are always rosy hopes for next year.  Even with those flowery dreams, though, Kerm and I have realized that some of our landscaping and gardening has gone beyond our energy level to manage.  Sometimes reality prints a clearer picture of life than we really want in our albums.

And speaking of albums/scrapbooks, maybe I should do a new one to record perspectives in my new decade.  I’m now officially in my 81st year having turned 80 on the 15th.  If that doesn’t make me feel “mature” enough, Kerm and I will be celebrating our 58th wedding anniversary on September 5th.  That doesn’t seem possible either ---- maybe because we have crammed so much into those 58 years.  There has been nothing boring about our life together.  Frustrating maybe and certainly surprising at times; annoying as well as delightful; occasional crises to live through; dancing, singing and weeping.  But never boring!  The “not boring” probably began with our wedding day; friends who attended fifty-eight years ago, still bring up stories about it when we get together.   So, in spite of our current inability to dance the night away or to single-handedly relandscape our property, we don’t really feel the full weight of our birthdays or our years together.

Our family gathering of three weeks ago was once more a time for stories and laughter.  Sitting beside Cayuga Lake on a summer day, cookie-baking behind me, was a relaxing and renewing time.  I felt immersed in affection and belonging.  Jan and I were the eldest there the “Grande Dames” of the family, as Jan put it.  Of course, by this time in our lives, we have reached a point where age doesn’t really matter; we are all peers.  Whatever we are, it was a refreshment for the soul to see nieces, nephews we’ve not seen in a while.  Small cousins romped together, and it was good to see adult children of all my siblings.  We never know what may happen from one year to the next, so this time together was a gift.   We are fortunate to have each other --- even at a distance.

Another August gift has been slightly cooler weather.  In spite of our garden’s unproductivity, they still must be shut down and tucked in for the season, in preparation for next spring.  Assuming the temperatures will no longer be in the 90s, we will try to catch up on the weeding before snow falls.  Possibly we’ll even plant cover crops.    This year we’ll be buying our decorative pumpkins since I didn’t plant any.  I’ll miss our “Cinderellas”, the Long Island Cheeses and the mottled “One Too Many” pumpkins.  The deer will miss them too; they will have less to graze upon with no fall crops.  Ah well --- some years the gardens, like weather, just aren’t fit for man or beast!

As I thought about fall chores, I recalled one gardening job I disliked when I was a kid.  It involved plant surgery!!!  In August, my mother separated and transplanted iris plants, which should be no big deal, since the rhizomes are planted quite shallowly.    But iris plants are prone to an iris borer that makes the rhizome all soft and squishy and --- eventually --- dead.  So, I was handed a paring knife and told to cut out any soft, mushy spots in the iris rhizomes.  Not appealing!  I still like iris, in spite of their labor-intensive care, and I have just ordered six new ones to plant in front of our pergola along with oriental poppies.  I can just see them in my mind’s eye as they ---- hopefully ---- will look next June.

Garden iris has a cousin, the yellow flags that grow in swamps.  My home farm had a swampy area and a pond at the back of our acreage (just past the hedgerow with those blackberries).  Some interesting plants grew there; swamp irises, cattails, button bush, Joe Pye weed, Jewel weed, osier dogwood, elderberries and a myriad of other plants and shrubs. I would cut arms-full of blossoms and fill two large crocks on our front porch with late summer color.  We also harvested elderberries there in mid-to-late August ---- a delicious treat not appreciated by everyone’s palate.

Walking the fields of home was therapy for whatever ailed me.  If school left me in a dour mood, I would take my grouchiness past the barn full of Guernsey cows, along-side the orchard housing Berkshire pigs, down the lane and when I came to the fork, I could either go up the hill (called a drumlin; a particular kind of hill left by the glaciers) where the winds would blow my bad mood away, or I could continue on to the back of our property, to the pond and wooded acres.  Here there was silence except for --- if I was lucky --- a Hermit thrush, whose song is like a crystal cascade.  There was an ironwood tree with a seat-like branch where I could sit and think.  By the time I walked back up the lane, I had nearly always regained some clarity and perspective.

I think that too many of us do not allow ourselves that kind of down-time; space to rethink our hours (and our opinions), and find some perspective for the unhappy or confusing parts of our days.  As adults, the stressors are more far-reaching than test marks, dates or dances.  And the instant-access news tends to clog our brains and accumulate there like so much silly putty as we “carry on as usual,” until we explode at someone, or become ill.  Doctors and therapists frequently recommend meditation --- of which there are many kinds and many layers, and, regularly practiced, is good for body and mind.   A walking meditation --- or even just a walk ------ is healing.   I no longer have my long lane or tree, but have found many other spots where one can shake off daily life and feel renewed.   From Maine’s seacoast to Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains; a change of scenery helps me sluff off the fatigue and stress, and regain perspective.  But it is quite possible to do this right at home, where we need it most, if we will just take the time.   We can walk up our wooded hill, sit by the creek that flows behind our church, stay out in the gardens at twilight and listen to the birds signing off.    Each of us is worth the time and effort to keep ourselves stable and light-hearted.   Our brain and how we see things can actually be changed-----by us --- with practice.  How we look at situations and what we tell ourselves we expect from life can keep us happy or unhappy.  Grief is still grief and illness is still debilitating, but there is almost always something in the midst of those situations that can bring us hope and light.

This leads me back to the acceptance of growing older and realizing that some capabilities have diminished. Sadly, I no longer climb out windows onto the roof (a teenage habit).  I can no longer run up and down the lawn.  I can’t get the house ready for a party in half a day.  But ---- there are so many things I am still able to do.  I can enjoy times with friends.  In spite of compromised vision, I can still --- so far ---- read books and watch TV.   I can enjoy music, art, dancing and laughter.  I can appreciate the variety of flowers and grasses growing in our gardens. There is truth in this quip I saw on FB: “Some days you’ll move mountains; other days you’ll move from the bed to the couch ---- and both are OK and necessary.”   There are so many good things happening in this month that even with no holidays, it seems appropriate to declare this whole month of August, ”31 Good Days of Summer.”

Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.

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*Perspective is from the Latin root, perspicere meaning “to look through”.  It has to do with courage and seeing clearly.

**Speaking of light and perspective, I can recommend a book that tells of how one woman kept light in her life.  A Life In Light by Mary Pipher was a true gift.  It is a book of stories describing her growing-up years.  Her childhood was no field of clover; she had to endure poverty, moving multiple times and some of the time, neglect.  But she triumphed because she was able to see a shard of light in every situation.  She continued to love her family – not always easy --- acquired her own family ---- and, as a well-known psychotherapist, has written books and provided counseling to many.  It is a good and inspiring read.