Aphelion, when earth is farthest from sun, is July 4

The day, immeasurably long, sleeps over the broad hills and warm wide fields. To have lived through all its sunny hours seems longevity enough.

— Ralph Waldo Emerson

The moon and the sun The first full week of deep summer

The Fledgling Moon waxes throughout the period, entering its second quarter on July 6 at 9:14 p.m. Rising in the morning darkness and setting in the dark, this moon passes overhead in the afternoon.

The sun’s declination remains near its solstice position of 23 degrees, its highest point in the earth’s sky, in the first week of July. The day’s length, however, loses about five minutes.

Aphelion, the point at which the Earth is farthest from the sun, occurs at 2 a.m. on July 4. The sky of summer’s aphelion reflects the parallel universe of circular time. At noon, the stars overhead are the stars of winter’s midnight: Orion due south and the Pleiades overhead. On the clearest July afternoons, January’s Sirius is visible in the southeast.

Weather trends

The Dog Days and the Corn Tassel Rains often begin on July 3 as the chances of highs in the 90s rise and thunderstorms multiply. Although the July 6 cool front brings some relief from the heat, chances of mild 70s on the 8th and 9th are relatively low in the Miami Valley.

Zeitgebers: Events in nature that tell the time of year

Purple coneflowers, white vervain, horseweed, germander, teasel and wild lettuce blossom in the fields; tall bellflowers and great Indian plantain open in the woods. The first white-flowered thimbleweeds set thimbles. Black raspberries and strawberries decline quickly in warmer years; the best mulberries have fallen. July’s wild cherries ripen, and elderberries set fruit.

Thistledown lies across the pastures in the windless afternoons, cottonwood cotton collects along the streets. The oats matures and the first tier of soybeans blooms. Maroon seedpods have formed on the locusts. Some green-hulled walnuts are already on the ground. The earliest cicadas start to chant. This year’s ducklings and goslings are nearly full grown. Trumpet vine flowers fall in the midsummer rains.

Continue to watch for great spangled fritillary butterflies in the garden, and often hummingbird moths come to visit the bee balm around this time of year. Listen for adult robins guiding their fledglings through the honeysuckles with short intermittent peeping.

In the field and garden

Try to time your harvest as the barometer is rising after cool fronts pass over your property. Dig your garlic before the heads break apart. Plant your autumn turnips right afterwards.

Young raccoons and groundhogs become serious marauders as they grow to maturity. This may be the time for you to take preemptive measures to protect your corn and other crops.

Sell lambs and kids for Independence Day cookouts or tailgate parties at parades and celebrations (take orders).

Keep your rabbits cool. Air conditioning is best, but shade is a good alternative. If you use a fan, don’t point it directly at the rabbits.

Plan for early autumn sales: the Harvest Moon Festival (September 10) and Rosh Hashanah/Jewish New Year (Sept. 25 – 27).

Rose hips are forming on the wild roses. Traditional goat lore says that rose hips are a good supplement to help keep reproductive systems healthy.

Younger animals have a harder time adjusting to intense summer heat. High humidity makes it even more difficult for them to adjust.

At farmers markets, sell late black raspberries, mulberries, early elderberries, the first wave of summer apples, peaches, blackberries and wild grapes.

Mind and body

The SAD Stress Index (which measures the forces thought to be associated with Seasonal Affective Disorder on a scale from 1 to 100) falls back into the single digits this week and reaches 0 on July 5 and 6.

Journal

Heard today the first cicada, quite faint, as if its first attempt. Frogs every morning. Where are they? Not far. They are the voice of summer.

— Harlan Hubbard, along the Ohio River in Kentucky

Working third shift in on July 6 through 8 of the year 2000, I listened to the voices of summer: At 11 p.m. when I went to work, the tree frogs were loud in back of the building, the half-moon setting in the west. One of those gray-green frogs was hanging on a window screen when I walked by.

At 1 in the morning, the frogs were only half as loud as they were at 11 p.m.. Then at 3 a.m., silence. One cricket heard at 4 a.m.. At 5:30 a.m., the cardinals began to call by the back door, and one frog croaked. On the way home at 8:30 a.m., I heard the first cicadas screaming.

At 11 p.m., back at work, I found a shiny, brown stag beetle on the wall, a tree frog at the back door and a smaller tree frog, maybe three-fourths of an inch, hopping behind it, and it was tame: It let me pet him.

Back at work: At 11 p.m. crickets very loud. At 11:40 p.m., I heard katydids singing. At 12:30 a.m., only crickets heard. At 1:40 p.m.: katydids, crickets, trilling frog calls. One small, green, tree frog (about an inch long) on a bench. He was tame, too. A cardinal sang at 5:32 a.m., right on schedule. Cicadas were chanting when I got home for breakfast: pancakes.

I actually had to complete all kinds of tasks those nights, but I only remember the beautiful world.