Harold "Hal" Glen Borland (May 14, 1900 – February 22, 1978), born in Sterling NE, just 15 miles from where this blogger grew up, was a friend of the family. Harold signed these two books for the blogger's father. Harold was an American author, journalist and naturalist. In addition to writing many non-fiction and fiction books about the outdoors, he was a staff writer and editorialist for The New York Times, for which he wrote daily reflections. These daily reflections were compiled in two books: Sundial of the Seasons (1941-1964) and Book of Days (After 1965). In the forward of Book of Days he wrote:
"This book is intended neither as a calendar nor as an almanac. It is a daybook simply because it records my day-to-day thinking about this world around me and my fellow creatures here. In it, too, are reports about what is happening here and now, with observations on a snow-flake, a spring rain, a wood thrush singing in the dusk, an apple tree in bloom, the last shrill notes of a katydid before November's hard frost. But through it all is the persistence of three questions: Who am I? Where am I? What time is it?"
Occasionally I will post a selection from one of Borland's books or quote of his for my own reflection. Check back every so often to put your mood in a calm place as the author did in his daily editorials.
“No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn.” ~Hal Borland
June comes with its own tranquility, predictable as sunrise, reassuring as the coolness of dusk. The grass grows toward maturity, ready for the haymaker. Trees cast the same cool shade they have cast since the hills were young. Brooks make their way to rivers and rivers follow their deliberate course to the sea. There is a certainty, an undiminished truth, in sunlight and rain and the fertility of the seed. The fundamentals persist.
Nature has no object lessons, but June and Summer bring the undeniable truth of growth and continuity. Each Summer since time first achieved a green leaf has been another link in the chain of verity that is there for understanding. Every field, every meadow, every roadside is now rich with the proof of sustaining abundance, evidence that the earth is essentially a hospitable place no matter what follies man may commit. June invites man to know these things, to know sun and rain and grass and trees and growing fields. It is a season for repairing the perspective, for admitting, however privately, that there are forces and rhythms that transcend man’s particular and transient plans.
June is March and April brought to the enduring truth of Summer. It is the whole sustaining principle of life and growth, from seed to stem and leaf, from blossom to seed again. That is the eternal rhythm. That is June, and that is Summer.