Newborns bring summer joys

By the time you read this, the Summer Solstice will have come and gone, a day marking the longest day of the year and the beginning of summer. For us “glass-half-empty” people it represents something a little more dark, the beginning of fewer daylight hours, a shift toward midnight and when, as the lyricist Kurt Weill penned, “the days dwindle down to a precious few.”

In the meantime, there is new life around here. A number of years ago I did some gigs as a substitute teacher and a few days ago I encountered one of my former students in a local restaurant, with a newly-born daughter, Cora. Mom is beautiful and Cora is stunning. All I could do was smile, wondering who wrote the wonderful scene in which we were acting, until Cora began to fuss...time to return to my table.

In my hollow the other day a newly-born fawn raced past me and again, all I could do was smile, knowing that there will be more of these adorable creatures in my little corner of the world over the course of the next few weeks. A catbird in one of my bushes has hatched some eggs and soon there will be a number of siblings sitting on my fence, making a bit of a mess, but I don’t care. Chippewa natives from long ago called the catbird a ‘bird that cries with grief.’ Perhaps that’s why I forgive them their messes.

My favorite newborn thus far has to be one not quite as wild, or prone to tantrums as the others: a donkey and her new baby in a nearby town. As I stood watching them, they watched me. Who is this guy with a camera, and what does he want? Anyway, mom decided I wasn’t all that interesting, throwing herself to the ground, rolling on her back in the dust, trying to rid herself of her winter coat. Then it was time for a feeding. Calm, unflappable, and very curious, this mother/child duo was exactly what I needed that day, a reminder that “glass-half-full” people might be onto something, though I doubt it.

Old men are often awake during the night and I am no exception. The other day it was a four-in-the-morning experience. In the far distance to the west a dog was barking non-stop, clearly unhappy about something. Then silence, for a full forever moment. It seems she was sending out a clarion call, letting us know that a band of coyotes was moving through the area, yipping, keening, howling. There is nothing particularly threatening about their behavior, however at 4 a.m. it can be a little disconcerting.

On a different note, television is not something that has ever truly been of interest to me. More than once I’ve been asked if I even own one. I do. Upgraded to a 30 inch flat screen a few years back. These days it mostly sits dark, and here’s why: political money is already taking over the airwaves, and the next general election is a year and a half away. Spare me: dial me out. “Jeopardy” can wait.

A friend of mine has never owned a television, which partially explains why she is one of the smartest people I’ve met; and she seems to be quite content. Author of academic books, and editor of a prestigious university press, she knows more about world events than I can fathom, and here’s why; she reads books and newspapers every day, secure in the belief that shows like “America’s Got Talent” are, ultimately, of no consequence. Her glass always seems to be full and, if not, she can explain why; and I’ve no doubt she’d love and appreciate the soft summer-ness of a donkey with a new baby at her side, a gentle scene impossible to find on a lighted screen.

Kurt Ullrich lives in rural Jackson County. His book “The Iowa State Fair” is available from the University of Iowa Press.