Yeah, I know, technically it’s not summer until 5:07 a.m., June 21. But hey, that’s for the entire Northern Hemisphere, and as Mr. Sun moves northward we in the Mid-South get an earlier start on summer than do the citizens of Fairbanks, Alaska.

Somewhere in the dark era of high school English lit we were subjected to our teacher’s reading of the 13th century English song, “Sumer is icumen in.” He read it to us in what he said was the ancient English dialect, as if we rural hill kids — having heard only southern drawl, except for the occasional Yankee who’d come to the school to present a program on the evils of smoking or drinking or eating too much candy — would have the faintest clue what 13th century English dialect sounded like. The first couple of lines translate thusly: 
 
“Summer has come in, Loudly sing, Cuckoo!
The seed grows and the meadow blooms
And the wood springs anew, Sing, Cuckoo!”
 
We don’t have a lot of cuckoos in these parts, and while I can hear cows lowing on the farm that borders our subdivision just four blocks up the street, and somebody a few houses in the other direction has a rooster that shrilly heralds each dawning, I nevertheless know when summer started in my particular corner of the world: It was somewhere around 4:15 a.m., Monday, April 30, as I was a quarter way into my morning walk through the neighborhood. It was still pleasantly cool, almost chilly, mid-50s, low humidity. A long-sleeve shirt felt good.

Although the weather peeps were yammering that April was ending as one of the coldest on record, what really made me think summer had arrived was when I neared a somewhat overgrown area and the fragrance of wild honeysuckle came wafting on the light breeze from the west.

As kids, so long ago, we would pick honeysuckle blossoms, pinch off the end of the flower neck, and slowly pull the pistil through the narrow tube. At the end there would be a tiny drop of nectar, which we’d touch to our tongues. So sweet!

What a delicious scent! When honeysuckle starts blooming late spring/early summer, its fragrance is the most intense of any time during its growing season. Since that late April morning, heat and humidity have gradually increased (at mid-May, the weather talking heads are effusing over record heat), rain’s now catch-as-catch-can, and honeysuckle’s delicate aroma has been overpowered by the sneeze-producing scent (and pollen) of the horribly invasive privet, and the stronger, citrusy aroma of magnolia blossoms.

As kids, so long ago, we would pick honeysuckle blossoms, pinch off the end of the flower neck, and slowly pull the pistil through the narrow tube. At the end there would be a tiny drop of nectar, which we’d touch to our tongues. So sweet!

I wonder if any kids these days do that? Or are they so immersed in the fantasy universes inside their electronic devices that they pay scant attention to the natural world all around them, never relishing the delicious scents of honeysuckle and citrusy magnolias, the delicate sweetness to be discovered in a tiny drop of honeysuckle nectar?