Saturday was the summer solstice. Everything was in peak bloom, the forest awash in a green heat. Summer solstice is the longest day of the year and beginning of summer here. On ancient calendars, such as the Celtic calendar, the day marked the middle of summer and is often still called Midsummer. Later, it became the feast day of St. John for Christians. Here in the Midwest, it always feels much more like Midsummer to me, rather than just the beginning.
The longer I make my home in these woods, I yearn to follow the rhythms of the earth, celebrate them, and become attuned to them. So, like many across the lands, we lit a bonfire and enjoyed the light in the darkness, a crackling wood percussion accompanied by a symphony of birds, night bugs, and frogs under an exceptionally starry night.