Summer in North Dakota was often beautiful. The weather was never too hot and a cool breeze typically blew, making it too cold for winter but pleasant for summer. However, for the first couple of weeks of summer, the mosquito's were brutal. If Minnesota is the Land of 10,000 Lakes, North Dakota is the land of millions of stagnant ponds and pools of water. Out of those countless pools and ponds came thousands upon thousands of mosquito's to bite anyone.
They were large, too.
In a half hour of playing tennis without OFF insect repellent that first summer on the tennis court, I had 20 mosquito bites on my legs and arms. Literally, OFF repellent became my summer deodorant. Until the Air Force got out and sprayed continuously far and wide around the base, everyone not protected was bitten repeatedly. People joked that the mosquito was the state bird, they were so large (or the B-52 bomber was the state bird). The state tree was the telephone pole.
On rare occasions, I might see a firefly at night.
Also in summer were the terrific thunderstorms that raged outside. I wrote a poem about them:
North Dakota Thunderstorm
I understand now
the worship of weather.
I, who have no gods,
marvel at the display
and the stumbling ability
that seems to understand conclusions so firmly.
Yes, an unravelling power to rival our missiles.
Yet behind the most stubborn and rugged front,
there is no simple thought.
This opposition, a kind of force
to lean on for comfort,
you never think it brings relief;
off balance, but it works.
Releasing all other forces,
building elsewhere.
Summer was especially the time for picnics and barbeque's and folks growing gardens.
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