JUNE: The month of transitions

By Clinton S. Powell,

Naturalist

June is a transition month between spring and summer, between damp, cool breezes and warm, dry, still air. All life

changes within this time.

Migrations of animals come and go and we change our whole lifestyle because of the new season.

The summer solstice, commonly called the first day of summer, begins Monday, June 20. In many ways, spring is similar to a rising cool tide; summer, a receding warm tide.

Our mountains vibrate with butterflies of all colors that weave in and out of meadows and forests. We travel with these aerial insects with our eyes and our minds, and serenity is within us. Moths arrive in the early evening and remain throughout the night, circling around outdoor lights or campfires, then hide in leaves or window screens as dawn arrives.

The elusive gems of summer are glowworms, which reside on dry hillsides and produce a soft emerald glow. I will write a more extensive article on these summer glowers next month.

June signals the end of daily naps in the field. Flies, gnats, bugs and a continual parade of biting, crawling and loudly humming insects command the day.

Frequently, especially in a beautiful forest where you are relaxing and enjoying trees, flowers, bird songs and clouds, a swarm of extremely intense flying insects might descend upon you. Many cover not only you, but every piece of food you intend to eat. It’s like eating in a fog. If that isn’t enough, then a crawling party of at least three species of ants and assorted bugs will converge on you as if you are a known mating element of life.

Flying insects, specifically mosquitoes, arrive by smelling the carbon dioxide from your breath. To prevent this, don't exhale.

The crawling, ambling forest creatures find you by chance. And most of us are large, so eventually, these creatures find us.

This past season, we’ve been blessed with over 40” of rain. Julian has an average of 30-32” of rain. The past two years, only 12” was recorded. Rainfall totals are recorded the last day of June. July 1, another rain season begins.

Summer rains seldom arrive. When they do, they come with the humid pounding power of Chubascos from the Sea of Cortez. Towering cumulonimbus clouds shaped like cauliflowers rip and tear with thunder and lightning. Humidity thick enough to cut with a knife fills the mountains. With good fortune, rain sinks into the mountains. With bad fortune, lightning rips from the clouds and sparks the earth. Sweet summer rain is the best delight of summer. It’s so fresh, so clean, you want to dance in it.

In August 1971, I measured more than 6 1/2 inches of rain in three days. That volume was a bit excessive, I’ll admit. However, a summer with 1”-2” per month would be a blessing. We haven’t been so blessed since my dad’s hair was brown.

The summer night sky is one of life’s best reasons to be alive. The circumpolar constellations of Cassiopeia, Vega, Capella and the asterism of the Big Dipper are the northerly gems. The summer triangle of Cygnus, Aquila and Deneb always is a wonder. My favorite constellation lies to the south: Scorpious, the huge scorpion of the Zodiac, ruler of the southern sky. Antares, as red as Mars, is the Scorpion’s brightest star.

The night sky is a wonder, and so much more when we don’t clutter our mind knowing the names of each constellation and planet. This is one specific reason why I like my nephew Arthur. He is a night soul that flies, dips and swings throughout the sparkling sky unencumbered by the torture of knowing constellation’s names. His specific delight, actually his ritual, is celebrating the full moon. His freedom allows him to explore the nightly unknown. In many ways, I’m jealous of his life. He is the night man; his spirit begins with the cool, dark eastern constellations and departs with the arrival of the warm morning cluster of stars or planets.      

Me? I rise long before sunrise; study the eastern horizon that will be next season’s evening constellations, also in the east. I prefer to lie down on the ground or the lawn and see the procession of stars and a streaking meteor or two. Not even the stunning Perseid shower of August rips me into a “night owl.” The night sky is for the select soul, the one that connects with showers of stars and the freedom of darkness.

Yesterday in the meadows at Lake Cuyamaca, I saw fields of “Fare-Well- to Spring,” or “Summer’s Darling.” These purple flowers, in the Clarkia family, announce the end of spring, the beginning of summer.

Regardless of dates on a calendar and the sequence of their precision, summer is here. Enjoy the season. Make a gallon of Darjeeling iced tea, sit back and drink in both the tea and the wonder of summer. If you are still too hot, take three to six cold showers a day and stand by a fan, as one of my friends told me. Good idea.