Well, Sunday will be the Solstice, the longest day of the year and supposedly the start of summer. I don't know about that way of figuring though because it has seemed like summer here for quite a while, and fall generally picks up well before the equinox. A better reckoning, it seems to me, would be to consider the equinoxes and the solstices as the midpoints and move the starts and ends midway between. (And don't get me started on the abomination that is Daylight "Savings" Time). Either way of figuring the seasons means, for this year, it's all downhill from here...
Each year, folks gather at Stonehenge to celebrate the Summer Solstice, and I suppose that is part of a long tradition. I come from a long tradition of recognizing the Sun's position too, albeit in simpler fashion. Growing up, my family watched and gauged the Sun's position throughout the year most days by lining up the edge of our door with a block shaped structure atop the barn and noting the progress of the seasons.
When I first left home, I built, in my garden, a structure I called "Beanhenge" by arranging my trellises and a lawnchair. It was fun, but had really limited durability, I suppose.
Later, I lived in the mountains of the southern part of the state. Without an actual structure, I climbed the highest, east facing mountain the evening before. I found a small tree in a decent sized clearing and settled in for the night. I kept watch, (ok I slept). I woke in the morning, covered in dew, just in time to see the edge of the Sun coming up over a distant ridge. It was silent, not even songbirds announced the morning. I sat enthralled as the glow grew larger in the dwindling darkness. When the full orb had cleared the ridgetop, a red winged blackbird gave his scratchy call and broke the magic. I marked the spot, and headed down the hill to get to work.
While I lived there, I returned for many other mornings except
the Summer Solstice. The flaw in my plan was revealed to me the following winter. I had hiked to the top the evening before, but there was a strong Northeaster and sideways, uphill snow blowing in my face. The thought of bedding down for the night was completely unappealing.
The morning of the Winter Solstice found me drinking coffee and squinting through the snow and ice on my kitchen window to note the spot. I lined up my coffeepot, and knew most mornings would find me there to track the year's progress.
Come Summer, I found, conveniently, the sunrise was against the edge of my outhouse. Being a bachelor at the time, and as always, a bit vulgar by nature, I dubbed it "Sh@+henge". Yeah, I know, I am clever (as the ladies roll their eyes in mild disgust). Sorry about that. It was a long time ago. It was still magical, but it was more practical to check each day as well.
Nowadays, I mark the progress from my kitchen window, using the flagpole. It's a bit bit less rustic and a little more domesticated. I'll try to follow suit.
Thanks for Listening,
Dave
"Next enters red-hot Summer; but its droughts are lightly borne
By good Goddess Ceres; for they ripen the standing corn
Nought ashamed is She of the dusty sweat upon her brow.
Foreseeing her sheaves, how more and heavier they shall grow..."
--Virgil, "The Seasons"
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