Sherry Chandler

A glance back at the solstice

H. G. Wells to the side, for humans the calendar allows no do-overs. Still, I’d like to take a quick glance back at the summer solstice, which I allowed to pass with just a nod, in the form of this observation from Michael Czarnecki’s Wheeler Hill Journal for June 21:

I know that such days like today, the Summer Solstice, are only days like any others. But we do mark time in our lives by noting significant events, meaningful days. For me, the days that are more significant are the ones connected with the natural world. The personal days, like birthdays, anniversaries, etc. are meaningful, but in a narrow, self-centered way – not that they aren’t important, but they are only important in how they relate to a particular person and others close to them. For me, generally not a big deal. I remember and honor them in some way, significant marking points certainly, but still mostly personal in nature.

As far as the “holidays” go, they seem to be mostly so much contrivance. Too much commercialization that takes away any meaning so that I rarely look forward to any of them other than for the fact we always have family get-togethers. My parents, sisters and their families gather at someone’s house and they are always an enjoyable time. We gather at other times throughout the year too, so it’s not just a “holiday” event. But whenever we gather it is good and the holidays just make for more of that to happen. It seems quite special that we all like each other and everyone looks forward to being together. Not all families are like that.

The “natural” days of significance though seem to have a deeper relevance for me. So much of my inspiration, my creativity, my spiritual connection to something other comes through the natural world. Today is the Summer Solstice, the sun reaching its apparent northern limit and now begins the retreat south. The maximum amount of daylight, the shortest period of dark. A turning point. Rather, it’s a stopping point, solstice referring to the sun standing still. A pause along the path.

From this point on until the Winter Solstice daylight decreases, the nights grow longer. Significant, especially when so much of what informs my life is related to the natural world. Another turning point, one more solstice in my life. How many more will there be?

My one regret, frustration, is that as my life becomes richer and more absorbed in poetry groups, meetings, conferences, retreats, readings, art fairs, job, new and old generations of family, even this blog, what I sometimes lose, yearn for, is long slow days and a connection to the changes going on in my yard, on the farm. I run and run and suddenly it’s mid-summer and the days are growing shorter. Where did the long days go?

I am not what anyone would describe as an “outdoor type.” Aside from hiking, of which I get to do little, outdoor sports aren’t much interest to me and I am only a sporadic gardener. I love a book or a notebook and a pen. But most of my consolation in life comes from the earth — a sunset, finding an unexpected patch of Dutchman’s britches, the mockingbird’s song, rain after drought.

Yesterday, Jeff Hess featured an article from the BBC, Surviving Boredom:

“People assume that the opposite of boredom is excitement, so parents take their children to a theme park. …But quite obviously what humans want is social interactivity — so parents would be better off taking their children on a picnic than to a theme park…”

Too much stimulation, as any mother knows, is as difficult for children as too little. Same for adults, especially introverts like me.

Hard, though, to give anything up. I love it all.

If you would like some stimulation of the slow and thoughtful kind this weekend, Michael is featuring summer poems on his blogtalk radio cast Vital and Vibrant Life. Tune it in live at 9 p.m. Sunday — it’s talk radio, so you can call in and read one of your own summer poems — or listen to archived programs at any time.

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