COLUMN: Ramblings: Summer's end

This morning while dusting one of the many bookcases that clutter my home, I discovered a tiny book of wisdom.

"A Year of Good Cheer" was created by Delia Lyman Porter and published in 1906. The book is a collection of quotes from famous and not so famous writers and philosophers.

It begins with a quote from Emerson: "Write on your hearts that every day is the best day of the year." The book devotes a page to every week of the year filled with wisdom and advice on how to live a good life. The book includes writings from Robert Louis Stevenson, Emerson, Wordsworth, Helen Keller, Goethe and many people I have never heard of. One such individual is Carl Hilty. I am going to do some research on him. Ms. Porter quotes him often.

The page for the last week of August gives the following advice from Mr. Hilty: "The best way to have permanent peace with the world is not to expect much of it; not to be afraid of it; see the good in it; and to regard the evil as something powerless and temporary which will soon defeat itself." These words that were written over a century ago are meaningful today. For me they bring some comfort, a connection to those who survived dark times in the past. I hope, dear readers, they have a positive effect on you.

Here is another quote from the book. These words are from Ralph Waldo Emerson: "But in the mud and scum of things, there alway, alway something sings." I so want to put an 's' on the end of those always, but Emerson didn't. I dare not edit his work. Now on to those things that sing.

We are about to enter the most glorious time of the year – autumn. The natural world is already showing signs of the coming glory. The heat has forced some trees to drop leaves. Others appear to have faded from the vibrant green of summer. The few small sunflowers I managed to coax to life have gone to seed. Purple ironweed blooms wave in the breeze along the country roads. The pink surprise lilies bloomed on cue a couple of weeks ago. The bare stalks remain in some gardens. Silent testimony to the fleeting beauty of these lilies.

The hummingbirds have been busy lately. Their survival depends on their ability to fly thousands of miles to their winter home. Part of their journey is across the Gulf of Mexico. They empty the feeder daily putting on a layer of fat. The male that entertained me last year is back. He sits on the nearby shepherd's hook and declares ownership of the feeder. The sunshine glints off the tiny feathers on his head. The patch of red beneath his bill glows like a precious ruby. He permits some fellow hummingbirds to dine; others he chases away with a fierce flight. I would not want him to dive bomb my head. I have always suspected that the birds he allows to visit the feeder are his mate and young ones. They will all leave soon. I will await their return with much anticipation.

'til next time,
Annie