It's been a long, hot Saturday. A three hour drive this morning was followed by four hours of planting trees under a high, hot sun. The black flies/gnats/sandflies...the tiny black things that leave blood stains on skin after feasting.....were nearly unbearable, their bites now barely visible under the sunburn and sweaty grime that cover my arms. When the mosquitos saw how well the flies were eating they, too, began to feast. Which was good, because swatting them off my legs made me aware of the wood ticks looking for a host.
But none of that matters now as I sit in a screen porch immersed in a natural symphony presented in surround sound. While wood frogs chorus from the high ground Western Chorus Frogs harmonize from the lowlands along Armstrong River. A blackbird stops by the bird feeder for a sunset snack, announcing her intentions with a series of cackling chirps. From the east comes the faint cluck of Canadian Geese, perhaps a pair nesting on what's left of an ancient beaver dam. The air is still, enough so to hear even the hum of the mosquitoes, which now are thankfully kept at bay by the dual purpose screen mesh - keeps the bugs out, lets the cool air in. And carried on that refreshing air, like a layer of sweet icing on this perfect early summer evening, is the gentle fragrance of lilacs.
Nature serves her most perfect creations in short bursts - fall colors peak for a week in October, the first ice walleye bite lasts for two weeks in late December, wild blueberry bushes give us a week or so in late July to capture their bounty. And in May the lilacs bloom, releasing a scent I could drink in on every breath without tire until the end of my days. The lilacs opened late this year, but they were, like always, worth the wait. All the blossoming trees, for that matter, opened late but with an intense explosiveness beyond that of most years. Lilacs, though, are the flower I fancy. The shape, the color, and that wonderful smell create a springtime delicacy for the senses that each year leaves far before its welcome is worn. My luck is such, however, that I have received a couple of bonus lilac days; as the flowers falter and the scent subsides on the bushes where I live, the bushes here in the north country are at peak bloom.
For over fifty springs the bushes around this house have filled the yard with their fragrance, bushes that are the replanted offspring of those planted fifty years prior. For a half-century the light purple flowers open first, followed closely by the bushes bearing the white lilacs. I prefer the scent of the purple; the white's smell is a bit strong, maybe even pushy...perhaps an effort on its part to make up for its tardiness. Or maybe the whites have, over the years, come to accept their fate as the less appealing member of the lilac clan, evolving to purposely arrive late and be noticed rather than arrive on time and be ignored.
Now, the bloom of the lilac would, by itself, be enough to warm my less-than-favorable feelings towards spring, but upon leaving the yard and descending the hill towards the river rock crossing I was greeted by my favorite insect - butterflies. Tiger swallowtails to be exact. Not many, but enough to remind me that summer does more than burn and bite my skin and drink my blood. I used the word "gentle" to describe the scent of the lilac; the same word applies to the butterfly. From the rhythmic open-close of its wings while at rest to even the flurried beating of those wings in flight, everything about the butterfly is gentle. Its path of flight will appear chaotic, but it gently arrives at its destination without fail. It gently sips nectar, gently carries pollen. The only violence the butterfly knows (outside of being plastered to the grill of a car) is its initial burst out of a chrysalis and into this world. A therapeutic activity, butterfly watching - it's awfully hard to be angry, annoyed, stressed, or any other negative emotion while observing the gentle dance of a butterfly on the breeze.
So yes, this day was brutally hot. The bugs were unrelenting in their quest for my blood. My skin glows red from the sun. But a day spent in solitude is a day well lived. My trees are in the ground, awaiting the rains of the week ahead while already absorbing the rains of the week passed. And the grumbling I've done here the last two nights has been mellowed a bit, thanks to the fluttering of butterfly wings on a day filled with lilacs.
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