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   We haven’t reached June but are almost in full-blown summer.  I do not remember a May, of the ten we have lived at Flat Iron Lake, in which flower bushes like columbine and lupine were so full of blooms, the little bluestem so tall and the invasive plants so showy.  I’ve already been hunting garlic mustard, blue phlox, and this morning the bouncing bet is gyrating everywhere.  Because of an early warm spell, the perennial garden (our only non-native plot) blossomed overnight and the clematis is already tall enough to cling to the floor of the deck above.  The asparagus is going wild, yielding about four pounds a day.  As the picker and the distributor—I’m busy.

   I always thought of July as the month of fullness, but this year the prairie has startled us with its early growth.  High temps have broken decade-old records.  Being so seasonally oriented here in Michigan, it seems that the body and psyche must make an adjustment.  Is this the new normal?  Or just an expected variation?  Maybe the animals will give us a clue—I’ve heard that they are the first to know if disaster is coming.  Except for the swan without babies and the beaver not swimming by in early spring to dam the lake, there are no signposts.  The bumblebees are gathering nectar; turtles are laying eggs in the sandy places.  We’ll just have to wait this one out.

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