Author: Paul Deaton

LAKE MACBRIDE— Many school districts have begun classes, the state fair enters its final weekend, and it’s two weeks before the Labor Day weekend. The days of this glorious summer are dwindling and the press of reality extracts a dram of concern. Where has summer gone?

There is no answer. Rather, we know the answer— it’s gone into memories of cumulus clouds, dry landscapes, abundant gardens and mild temperatures. For the first time in a long time, it seemed like a normal summer, especially once we got past the cold, wet spring. A lot of living went on.

I’ve been writing daily over at Blog for Iowa this summer, and posting here suffered a bit because of it. My stint as summer editor ends the Friday going into Labor Day. I expect to import a lot of those posts here that weekend, so look for a one-time surge in posting.

Speaking of cross posting, I’m not sure what to do with my newspaper articles. They are a different kind of writing, and some are more interesting than others. For the time being, I’m leaving them where they lay in print. I may create a clip file to store them.

It’s time to freshen up this blog. Perhaps a changed title and template, but a different focus and writing project. Cooking and gardening are always popular, so only minor changes there. The bigger change is a writing project that will be off-line. More about that as the plot thickens.

As summer wanes, the pieces will fall into place for a productive fall. At least that is the hope.

LAKE MACBRIDE— The good news is there are no morning after effects of my first, five mile bicycle ride in a couple of years. It was immediately energizing, and my butt doesn’t hurt from an unfamiliar seat. My legs and arms are in good shape. Sleep was sound and deep last night. What more could one ask of a sport?

This summer is unlike many recent ones in that the temperatures have been mild, with billowy clouds floating easily through continuous azure skies. Scarred by the 2012 drought, it is hard not to appreciate these beautiful and temperate days in Big Grove. The lake trail was in good shape and ruts had to be dodged only a few times.

Last night, Dr. Christine Grant spoke to the Iowa City Community School District board of directors, thanking them for naming an elementary school in her honor. Her thick Scottish accent hid emotional inflections in her voice. She was confident and direct, as one would expect from a person who worked with some success toward gender equality in athletics.

Grant was part of the revolution in sports at my alma mater beginning in 1970 with the hiring of Chalmers W. “Bump” Elliott as athletic director. Grant became the first women’s athletic director at the University of Iowa in 1973. She joined a pantheon of Iowa sports figures that includes Dan Gable, Hayden Fry, Lute Olson, C. Vivian Stringer and Tom Davis. I’m not a sports fan, but had not heard of Grant until the school was named after her this year. More’s the pity.

A life of learning on the Iowa prairie continues, and today we know one more namesake along the way.

LAKE MACBRIDE— Dawn was breaking as I walked the mobile phone bill to the mailbox. Hoping to view the stars on another clear morning, it was too late. Will have to settle for the sun today, which is not settling at all.

The ground is hard and dry in the garlic patch. I had no idea. My daily vegetable watering in mulched plots kept this knowledge from me. It feels like we are heading into another period of drought, even if the latest drought map shows we aren’t there yet.

To deal with the dry plot, a place I would like to get into production again, I plan to lay down a tarp, or heavy plastic to retain moisture, suppress weeds, and use as a storage area for excess fencing and other garden equipment I store outside. That will enable the mulching of the rest of the plot where they are presently stored. Over the years I imagined building a shed on the garlic plot, with a couple of solar collectors and a battery pack, but for now vegetable production will be the focus, hopefully next year.

The acorns planted in the garlic plot the year our daughter graduated high school have grown to be trees. Three of them. They are symbols of how life gets away from us. The shade has not helped the rest of the garden. One of them has a very straight trunk, and I plan to cut it down and make something from it. The other two should be transplanted to replace the green ash trees in front of the house, but who knows when that might get done.

My attempt at creating habitat in our yard has been successful, but not in a way I anticipated. A gray and white cat has taken up residence, and curls up and sleeps on the grass clippings among the tomato plants. It seemed loathe to move until I began watering.

A rabbit settled between the hot peppers and another tomato patch. It loves to eat clover, and yesterday I spotted it in the neighbor’s yard, since I cut all mine with the mower. This rabbit has survived longer than most do, and has not tried to get under the fencing protecting the vegetables.

There is a rodent living in the ditch in front of the house. It also travels among the lilac bushes and apple trees, leaving paths everywhere. It chewed one of the screens to the lower level of the house and then another. It is the most offensive of the yard residents, and seems to stay away from the cat, regrettably.

There are butterflies and bees; foxes and opossums; and birds of all kinds traveling through our yard. The squirrels come to visit when the acorns fall from the trees, and of course deer walk through almost nightly, chewing on what isn’t fenced away from them.

Our platted lot is teeming with life on any given day. We are happy for that, and try to encourage it as we can. It creates a sense of place in a turbulent world.