We had just found a parking spot on a busy street in the heart of a small lake town near our house. The temperature was edging up to 100 degrees and people were outside trying to catch a lake breeze. And then I spotted it.

As I got out of the car, I couldn’t believe my eyes………a 16 inch long, hot dog width snake was wriggling along the gutter just in front of us. I panicked.

I was not one iota afraid of the snake. I was panicking because I feared for the snake’s life. Surely a car would pull into that parking space and run it over? Or people would see me staring at the curb in wonderment and come over and bludgeon it. Visions of tourists running and screaming flashed into my mind.

Since I own the handy little book, Snakes of Wisconsin, I knew this fine reptile was absolutely harmless. Of our 20 native snakes, only two are venomous and they both live on the other side of the state. This handsome creature was a garter snake.

I also knew that viewing the snake was a rare moment. Our home is surrounded by prairie grasses, woods, fields and sand, all perfect snake habitat. I would love to share our space with the occasional snake just as I am always delighted to discover toads and frogs in the yard. Sadly, in the last two years, we have only seen one snake and it was the size of a worm. Seeing a snake is such a rare sight here that my husband called me outside when he spotted that little guy.

My first thought was to pick up the snake and quickly get it out of sight. But I did not have a cat carrier in the car, and the sight of a woman picking up a large snake surely would be noticed.

I did the only thing I could think of. I started talking to the snake. “Get out of here as quickly as you can boy,” I said. It undulated up the curb and on to the terrace grass. “Now head for that row of hydrangea bushes on the other side of the sidewalk.”

The snake went toward the bushes. No one but us had seen him. I sincerely hope he stayed hidden under those protective plants. The world needs all its beautiful creatures, and that includes the snakes.

For many of us, summer is the most glorious season of all, a time to enjoy the outdoors to the fullest. As summer approaches its zenith, it occurred to me that a “State of the Summer” report would be in order. Being mindful of the present moment is always a good plan.

• The lake level is up. Beach walks are impossible without waders. This is also the summer of giant waves……..Hokusai would have plenty of  models.
• Butterfly numbers are markedly down, despite the abundance of butterfly friendly plants in our meadow and prairie.
• After early summer rains, “Lake Dennis” appeared in the bean field across from our house and drowned all the seedlings. The dried up lake bed remains, surrounded by acres of the luckier green beans. We have had several “rain events” when the lake refills. A flock of geese always finds the replenished lake and happily paddles around.
• We found three frogs in our entry hall downstairs the other night. Unfortunately, the cats found them first and we could rescue only two.
• Mom groundhog had three babies, and the family is scavenging under our bird feeders daily. At night, the raccoon families come to dine. All family members both young and old are shaped like furry beach balls.
• The purple martins returned two weeks behind schedule this spring, but now the yard is filled with swooping, chattering parents delivering lunch to their babies who eagerly poke their heads out of their apartments.
• The hornet has chosen to construct its nest beside our front door. We are coexisting, but our spiders aren’t happy.
• Our cup plants have reached record heights and are starting to bloom. For the past two years all the buds were devoured by tiny larvae. A big thank you goes to P.J., our state’s bug expert in Madison, who guided us to an organic pesticide.
• Gato’s lily has been blooming profusely for two weeks. When our wonderful cat Gato got old, he would sit under his lily every night as we ate dinner on the porch. Before he settled down, he always gently licked the plant’s leaves. Just want Gato to know we are taking good care of his plant.
• A meandering black bear passed through the bean field a few weeks ago. He ended up on a garage roof in town, was tranquillized and returned to the woods up north. Sometimes stories have happy endings.

I have just finished reading The True Secret of Writing by Natalie Goldberg. She is the author of the widely read book Writing Down the Bones, lives in Santa Fe and gives writing workshops based on Zen philosophy.

Her writing retreats are structured around a rigorous schedule of silence, meditation (both sitting and walking), bell ringing (to mark beginning and ending of activities), tasks and writing at specified times. The purpose of all this discipline is to “let go” and get to a “deep quiet peace”.

I am certain I would get expelled from these writing classes. Even though I went to college in the 60’s, read Alan Watts and Kenneth Rexroth and joyfully discovered Japanese art and poetry, I can’t create anything on cue. In ten years of writing this blog, I have never said, “Now I am going to sit down quietly and write for the next hour.” I believe I will always be an admirer of Zen philosophy and art, but will never be a practitioner.

The highlight of Ms. Goldberg’s book for me was her thoughts on teachers, specifically, the ancient Zen poets. I was inspired to get out a stool and clamber up to my top bookshelf to retrieve the Japanese poetry books I had bought during my college years.

Here are a few of these poems……minimalist jewels that juxtaposition a fleeting moment of time with timeless emotions. Since Zen poetry is often based on a seasonal reflection, all my selections are for summer.

I heard a lovely radio essay on rain last week. The woman storyteller related how her mother always would encourage her to go out and play in the rain. She and her brother would splash, dance, jump in puddles, run around and get thoroughly drenched and dripping. As an adult, the narrator said she has to resist the happy impulse to run outside whenever it starts to rain….and sometimes, she still does.

Her story got me conjuring up my own reflections on rain. Coming from a northern climate, I know that rain has multiple personalities. Nothing is gloomier than weeks of gray skies, temperatures hovering in the mid 30’s, wind and rain. Getting caught in these rains is truly a bone chilling experience.

On the other hand, warm, gentle summer rains are most welcome. The corn seems to grow taller before your eyes, and everything gets two shades greener. Rainbows are a distinct possibility so it’s best to put your back to the returning sun and scan the skies.

Summer thunderstorms are high drama. Often occurring at the end of heat waves, big thunderheads build up until the rain pours down in sheets causing roads to steam and pop-up lakes to appear in fields.

But my favorite rain does not happen at home. I have spent many hours of my life in the deserts of the Southwest and I love desert rain.

New Mexico might have the best rainstorms in the whole world. The sun shines almost every day and the sky is huge. When the summer monsoons arrive, it is possible to stand in full sunshine while watching a dramatic thunderstorm off in the distance. A desert downpour is usually quickly over. Then the arroyos gush with orange water from the desert soil, the sun returns and everything glistens. Since deserts are the great evaporators, the water will soon journey back to the sky.

But the most magnificent part of a desert rain is the smell. The rain releases the smell of juniper, piñon and myriad other desert plants. It is olfactory heaven and better than the finest perfume ever invented.

With a bit of reflection, I am certain that most people have rain stories to tell…..what would yours be?

I try not to be a Luddite. That would be too easy. I must be somewhat in the present moment, or you would not be reading this blog.

Despite the fact that I do email, Facebook, Messenger and, when forced, cell phones, I continue to be an ardent fan of snail mail. I find no good reason to abandon sending greetings that arrive in a mailbox only because newer methods of communication are speedier. The tangible, archival qualities of paper letters and cards can deliver joy, and joy is in short supply in the modern world.

Since I indulge in snail mail, I’m a supporter of my local post office, buying stamps almost every week. The best stamps are miniature pieces of art and a delight in their own right. When buying stamps, I always peruse all the offerings.

I recently read about some ingenious new stamps in an email design magazine called Dezeen Daily. The British Royal Mail had the brilliant idea to commission a set of six animal-shaped stamps to appeal to children. Osborne Ross was the graphic artist selected. Each of the six animals he created appear to cling to or hang from the side of the envelope.

The designer said,”We tried variants using people but animals gave more scope in terms of hanging and clinging onto things; they were also inherently cuter.”

I agree and only wish I could be sending off letters with these whimsical creatures. And think of how much easier it would be for children to write that thank you letter to grandma if they could use an Animail stamp.