July 24, 2023

We haven’t really had any dog days of summer out here on the Pawnee Grasslands. Summer didn’t really start until the second week of June and we have miraculously escaped the “Heat Dome”. Our grass isn’t drying out and I’m not re-rehearsing with Dr. Doctor how to drive through fences should I be alone if the prairie catches fire. The gratitude I feel for this miraculously wet and cooler summer makes my eyes water. I am humbled by this gift of rain every two or three days. No dog days of summer here until today.

Looking towards the east, I can see the heat waving, those trick of the eye ripples hanging just above the extra panels now buried in the tall grass. The air is curiously close and doesn’t feel you’ve stepped into an oven when you walk out the door.

Looking towards the west, I see the black mass near the road. Far enough away, I use the binoculars to make sure the cows on the right side of the fence. They are clustered against a fence, heads close together as a losing effort to shield against the troublesome flies lighting on their backs, their faces, in their ears.

The black-eyed Susans are a memory. The gumwart, noxious milkweed, wild larkspur, and asters are following suit. The only blossoms left are the sunflowers barely peeping over this year’s tall grass. A cheerful gold amongst the brown-headed grasses ripe with late summer seeds.