The Second Half of Summer Has Begun

Summer ended yesterday, where I live in the Southern Tier of New York State.

I'm only kidding.  It's going to be in the 90s F (33-ish C) today, tomorrow, and perhaps for the next few days.  But I heard the song that heralds the end of summer yesterday.

This song triggers what has become one of my annual posts.  I've heard the first cricket of 2022.

It was just for a moment, on Wednesday that I thought I heard the sound.  On Friday I heard it again, as spouse and I headed to watch a sunset.  This time, there was no doubt.  Let's call the date for 2022:  July 22.

In a way, I dread the first cricket song, because it means winter is on its way.  The rest of summer, into fall, will be filled with their song until a hard frost ends it until next year.

I've been tracking when I've heard the first crickets since I started to blog in 2009.  Here are most of my previous posts: some of these dates below don't correspond with the post date but the sighting date.  I did look some in my blog, and I don't think I did a post in 2013.

July 29, 2009
July 22, 2010
July 30, 2011 
then, there were two dates in 2012, perhaps due to an early spring
May 21, 2012
July 25, 2012
August 3, 2014
July 28, 2015 
July 24, 2016 
July 31, 2018 

July 8, 2019

July 23, 2020

July 26, 2021

So, why track this date?  During the pandemic, and our current times, many of us continue to take comfort watching nature, be it birds, flying insects, or sunrises and sunsets.  With change all around us, nature is a constant.  It's as dependable as people, apparently, are not.

 

There is also the human desire to keep records, which is why I write this annual post.

As I blogged in 2019:

"My blog, with the Garden Bloggers Bloom Day meme I participate in each 15th of the month, has become a kind of garden journal.  I'm no good at diaries or journals, but blogging is something I do keep up with. For now, anyway."

So, what does this pattern of dates mean?  Not much, perhaps. 

But I like paying some attention to the natural world.  I've seen the juvenile birds in our yard grow and start to change their plumage.  I've seen the Canada geese disappear from our park, which they do for some reason each July, and return.  They returned on Thursday.

We all are called by Nature in some way.  The trees know when to drop their leaves and sprout new leaves in spring.  The migrating birds of our area know (although climate change is messing up these signals, sadly, especially in spring) when to leave for their true homes.  I never realized varous of our birds just summer here to breed.

Now, I hear the call of the crickets.  It may make me sad to know summer is fleeting, but it's all the more reason to live each day in the moment.

And, speaking of summer - I hope my readers are staying cool.