June 20 - Dueling Hermit Thrushes

A hermit thrush hidden deep in the trees sings its flute-like song, sweet yet haunting, the notes floating across the clearing in early evening. A few seconds later, another unseen thrush responds with the same "ee-oh-lay" tune at a lower pitch. After a pause, the first come back with the song lower still, and the second bird jumps in with higher notes before its neighbor's song has decayed.

Soon the songs are tumbling over each other across the clearing, and all the world is enveloped in the overtones.

Ah ... ee-oh-lay ... trill

Oh ... ee-oh-lay ... tinkle

For half an hour, the singing contest continues until the sun slants low through the trees, and profound silence settles over the woods.

See "May 30 - Veery" in this blog for more about the wood thrush family of birds.

June 19 - Backyard Wading Pool

The temperature hovered around 90 degrees, the first really hot day of the summer. Bright blue, plastic wading pools decorated with orange and yellow octopuses and starfish were stacked on the sidewalk in front of Reny's discount store in Dexter, Maine. A boy about 9 years old loaded one into the bed of a red pickup truck and rode off with his parents, headed for a summer of fun in the backyard.

When my sister Judy was about 6 years old, she received a wading pool for her July 1 birthday. Our mom set it up in the grass outside the kitchen door, and the excitement mounted as it filled with water from the hose. What joy to jump in, splash each other and put our faces into the water to make motorboat noises. All summer, we put on our swimsuits and played in "Judy's pool," and our mom bought a repair kit to patch the inevitable rips from our roughhousing.

June 18 - Lightning Bugs

After dark, points of golden light dance over an open field. They are lightning bugs looking for love on a summer night. Also known as fireflies, each species flashes a unique signal to attract a mate. In most species, the male makes the first move, sending his brilliant message while flying through the air, and the female responds from the ground or a low branch.

On summer nights, children capture lightning bugs in jars for a personal, magical light show, then release them and watch the tiny beacons scatter into the night.

A story told by the Native American Ojibwe people explains how fireflies came into being:

Young thunderbirds were playing a lively game of lacrosse in the sky. They lost control of the ball, and it crashed down to earth, creating Hudson Bay and thousands of lakes in the north country. The concussion was so great that it shook stars from the sky. The fallen stars took wing and became lightning bugs.

In Japan, the song "Light of the Firefly," sung to the same tune as "Auld Lang Syne," marks times of farewell, from graduations to stores closing for the day.

June 17 - Smell of a Charcoal Fire

Something yummy this way comes.

The smell of a charcoal fire drifts to my nose. I breath deep and feel hungry. In a couple of hours, we'll have teryaki chicken.

June 16 - Car-Top Boat Racks

A car with a kayak strapped to the top promises the joys of summer. Even if the car is in the city in a grocery store parking lot, surely the owners are heading to a beautiful spot somewhere in the wilderness.

They must be adventurous types, the kind of people who cook potatoes over an open fire and can identify wild animal tracks in the mud.

We construct their destination in our imaginations to match our own dreams. A Type A craving excitement sees the kayak threading between rocks in cold, white rapids. A stressed-out office worker places the kayak on a glassy lake surrounded by tall, dark spruces.

June 15 - Daisies and Buttercups

The roadsides are dotted with splashes of white and yellow. Daisies and buttercups silently declare that summer is here.

June 14 - High School Graduation

They've done it all: prom, yearbook party, Senior Skip Day. Now it's time to don cheap taffeta caps and gowns, line up in the gym, march onto the football field to a trudging rendition of Pomp and Circumstance by the high school band and hear the same tired cliches about endings and beginnings and the best days of their lives and following dreams.

But to graduating seniors, there is nothing trite or tired about it. For these 18-year-olds, nothing like this has ever happened before. There is a reason why these rituals endure. It truly is everything the speeches say: the turning point between childhood and adulthood.

It's all so beautiful and so frightening.

Whether off to work, military service, college or the unemployment office, each graduate will have to make harder decisions, assume more responsibility than ever before. If they sleep through the alarm this fall, mom won't be there to rap on the bedroom door and insist they get up. It's time to fly solo.

For one last summer, they are still kids leaning on Mom and Dad, but with adult life closing in, they already know the party's over.

June 13 - Suntan Lotion

We sat at a picnic table under the trees near the shore of Sebec Lake in Maine. The smell of suntan lotion wafted up from a couple of people at the water's edge, and with the scent came a rush of summer nostalgia.

The scene was a sandy lake beach in the Midwest in the 1960's, I wore my first two-piece bathing suit, and tinny surfer music played over a transistor radio.

Coppertone and Sea and Ski were the only games in town, and the highest SPF was 8.

A lot of things have changed, but the wonderful summer smell of suntan lotion is still the same.

June 12 - Green Fields

Maine farmers are probably the last in the country to plant their crops. When I was here two weeks ago, brown fields with undulating, plowed furrows dominated the landscape. Now, the fields are covered with tiny seedlings, greening up from horizon to horizon.

June 11 - Firecrackers

The windows are open on a warm night, inviting the sounds of the street into the room.

A whistle, a pop...pop... poppoppoppopopopopopoppop!

Laughter.

June 10 - Summer Dress Code

No such thing as casual Fridays where I work at Harvard Business School. Men wear ties, women wear heels. In summer, the dress code relaxes. You'd never see jeans, but women wear cropped dress pants with sandals, and men leave their crisp dress shirts open at the throat. One guy went wild in a multicolored striped shirt, cheery and comfy.

June 9 - Baltimore Oriole

On my riverside bike ride, a Baltimore Oriole flew across my path less than three feet from my face and landed in a leafy tree. I stopped to listen to its clear, whistling song and to watch it flit among the leaves.

June 8 - Riding Along the Charles

A paved path follows the banks of the Charles River on both sides. On pretty summer days, I get on my bike and pedal along the water for an hour or two enjoying the water, trees and people. This is not the kind of biking for elevating your heart rate. It's a stroll on wheels weaving among walkers, skaters and other bikers.

June 7 - Ice Cream Truck

A music-box version of a Scott Joplin tune tinkles through the air, and kids home in on the sound as if by instinct.

An ice cream truck!

The white truck with colorful decals lumbers through the parking lot at the park. Children rush ahead of adults digging into their purses and pockets for a few dollars.

The pictures of the chocolate-crusted ice cream cones and rainbow-colored, rocket-shaped ice pops promise frozen heaven on a stick.

June 6 - Lupines

Lupines, the purple, pink and white spiked flowers, are iconic images of Maine, ranking almost with moose, loons and lobster. They bloom in depressions, on roadside banks and in gardens. They arrive in early June and fade quickly.

Native Mainers and visitors love the expanses of colorful spires that herald summer. But some naturalists do not share that love, condemning the lupine as an invasive species that chokes out native plants. A couple of years ago, rangers began eradicating them from Acadia National Park, but they heard so many complaints from the public that they halted the program.

Lupines may not "belong" in Acadia National Park, as one official said, but they are deeply rooted in the hearts of the people.

June 5 - Thunderstorm

It begins with untimely darkness and a distant rumble, and suddenly the sky explodes with spectacular veins of light, illuminating the thick clouds. The wind rushes down the street from the west scattering leaves and grocery bags. The rain begins in fat drops, then in violent streams, turning the street to a river churned up by the rain and sloshing tires. The apartment building across the street is a blur, and people splash along the sidewalk under useless umbrellas and cover their ears with each thunder clap.

Just as abruptly, the torrents diminish to a shower, a sprinkle, then nothing. The trees are upright again, and a sliver of blue appears on the western horizon.

June 4 - Riding a Bike on Dirt Roads

On hot days in Harmony, Maine, I ride my bike on dirt roads through the woods. It's one of those mountain hybrids with a comfy seat, shock absorbers and wide, knobby tires to help me plow through sand, gravel, cinders and mud puddles. A liesurely pace is lovely, but sometimes I love to tear along as fast as I can, bumping over roots and boulders, getting covered with sweat and mud splatters.

During a ride last Monday, I encountered an elderly man on an old-fashioned bike with coaster brakes. We were both startled: it was the first time I'd ever seen another bicyclist on the dirt roads, other than a neighbor who rides a tandem by himself into town.

The old gentleman was of the pre-helmet generation. He wore a green brimmed hat with a bug screen for his face and pedaled slowly and steadily. He greeted me with a nod and a smile and rang a bell bolted to the handlebars as we passed each other.

June 3 - Loons

Once you've heard a loon's wail resonating across a quiet lake, it is forever fixed in your mind, a sonic souvenir of summer in the north woods. The long, rising moan sounds mournful, but of course, it's just the way the birds communicate. They also have a yodeling laugh that sounds, well, loony. The first time I heard it, I thought it was a child making funny noises.

Common loons breed in forest lakes in the northern U.S. from Washington to Maine and in Canada. The aquatic, duck-sized birds are black with white spots, with a black head, a distinctive black-and-white "collar" and red eyes.

June 2 - Wild Strawberries

Tiny five-petalled white blossoms with yellow centers, looking like a child’s drawing, dot the clearing in front of a cabin in Harmony, Maine. In a few weeks, they will develop into red strawberries so small that it takes dozens to make a snack.

Wild strawberries heralded summer in Illinois when I was a child, ripening along paths in the woods in early June. Warmed by the sun, they tasted sweet and delicious.

The low plants with three toothed leaves send out runners for new plants and drink in the sunshine they love. The cabin clearing is a perfect spot for them with its well-drained soil. Even after the flowers and berries are gone, the foliage still forms a pretty green carpet.

In Native American mythology, the wild strawberry was born of the first spat between the first lovers. After an argument, the woman ran from the man in anger. Eager to make up, he followed her, but she was too fast for him. The Great One spread blueberries and raspberries in her path, hoping that she would stop to eat them and let the man catch up, but she was too angry to notice.

Finally, the Great One tempted her with strawberries. She stopped to pick the beautiful red berries, giving the man time to reach her and apologize. They returned home together happy again, and the woman planted strawberries in her garden to remind herself to be kind to the one she loved.

June 1 - Frozen Coffee Drinks

Frappuccino: an adult milkshake available at Starbuck's that satisfies addiction to caffeine and craving for ice cream. It's not actually ice cream, but a "blended beverage" made of ice, milk, coffee, sugar and other yummy ingredients. The delicious, frosty concoction gives me a bit of a shiver, even on a hot day. I favor caramel, and it also comes in java chip, mocha and plain-old coffee.

Dunkin Donuts serves something called a Coffee Coolatta that oozes out of a machine. It will do in a pinch, but it's grainy and has an artificial taste.

The Frappuccino is too calorie-laden and pricey to have every day, but I treat myself once a week or so during the summer. They also have a "light" version with skim milk and artificial sweetener, but faced with such choices, I always go for the real thing and have it less often.