It occurred to me over the Independence Day weekend that I’ve experienced roughly a quarter – 25% – of the entire history of the United States, accepting the commonly held age for the nation of 250 years. Anyone my age or older has, that is. One-quarter of a 250-year span is 62.5 years. At the age of 65, I can’t really claim to remember those first two and a half years, but the furthest reaches of my memory run back to the mid-60s, so close enough.
Fifty years ago, on the much ballyhooed Bicentennial, it rained in San Antonio, where I was. We stayed home. On Saturday, on the much less ballyhooed 250th, it rained in metro Chicago, where I was. We stayed home. Coincidence? Well, yes.
Been home for a few months now, witnessing a wet and cool spring edge into a wet and cool summer in northern Illinois, though temps finally popped up into the 90s ahead of July 3. The heat was ended by rain and more rain. A pretty typical Northern summertime pattern.
Fireflies have made their appearance, though a meager number, and just today, this afternoon, I heard cicadas bleating ahead of dusk, though no cricketsong came afterward. Could be the Brotherhood of Orthopteran Insects is still negotiating a new contract for this year, and I won’t pretend I didn’t have to look up orthopteran. Mosquitoes are out looking for mammal blood, though considering the temporary wetlands that are our suburban lawns, not as many as you’d expect. Lit up the mosquito coils on my deck table this evening, and it seemed to work.
Old friends Neal and Michele visited from Chicago for the Fourth – a smaller version of the Gabfest, and indoors because of the rain. A delight all the same. They left before dark, after the rain had stopped. A little wet ground wasn’t going to keep the suburban populace from flouting Illinois’ nanny-state fireworks ban, one of the two nights of the year when the pop-pop-BOOM-pop-boom-fssst goes on for a few hours (the other is New Year’s Eve). In recent years I’ve repaired to the garage to listen to the explosions. The explosion acoustics are good in that cluttered enclosure.
I’ll be home for a few more months. 2026: Summer of Here. People pay money – I’ve paid money – to enjoy warm weather like this, but we’re getting it no extra charge. Also, even I’ve gotten a little tired of the pace of my driving lately.
No long drives this summer. But that doesn’t mean no drives. Back during the pandemic, my thinking was, if you can’t go far, go near, and that kind of thinking took us to new parts of Wisconsin and Illinois. No pandemic this year, fortunately, but the idea is a good one anyway.