A Midsummer's Eve Nighthawk

Welcoming the Blaze of '25

Vol. 158, June 24th, 2025 Published a day early online

Midsummer’s Eve

In retrospect, the “Wee Wee Mart” seems a lousy name, and has nothing to do with 7-Eleven. The name arrived long ago on a Thursday. That’s when the musicians played outside at the city zoo. The sun would sink low, touching the grass, then tumble through the sky with a thump as I rolled down the big hill. Itchy, I’d make my way back to the picnic blanket where the grownups droned on pleasantly in early evening. Finally the band would close, everyone would clap, and we’d head home.

One night, Dad made a detour to a little store on a leafy street, still warm from the day, and we all got snacks. “This Little Piggy” was in heavy rotation on the Urban toddler charts, and for some reason, I ran up and down the block in that evening shade with my brother, yelling “WEE WEE WEE” as in “all the way home.” The cicadas sang the night in, and they almost sounded like it, too. We begged to go back every week.

All these years later, on a Midsummer’s eve, I heard the same bugs singing the night in, and suddenly, I was there. It’s officially summer. Roll it out, and unpack the memories that lurk deep in our hearts.

Cast a line and see what you find. All the way home.

Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose (Sargent)

Painted outdoors over two seasons in 1885-86 to capture the fleeting light, this beloved work is quintessential summer.

Robert Boucheron oversaw a fine literary journal called The Rivanna Review. They were kind enough to feature a few of my essays, and a book review of Cities. Sadly, the last issue printed, and the doors are closed. One of my favorite themes from the magazine was the spotlight on classic art. Taking a cue from Mr. B, I’ll be including more of that in this publication. The Review will be missed. Thanks for the good work, sir.

Quote for the Day

“Sumer is icumen in, Lhude sing cuccu!”

–Cuckoo Song, the oldest song in the English language.

Speaking of songs…

Song of the Week: “Those Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer”

Nat King Cole’s ‘63 classic deserves a spin at the start of any summer.

Carol’s Appalachian Word of the Week

Snake doctor (dragonfly): “I seen 2 or 3 snake doctors down to the pond today.”

“Flying Like Saucers”

Ken Arnold sees UFOs over Mount Rainier on this day in ‘47, coining this classic phrase. The “like” was dropped by the media.

Write to Us!

The Nighthawk is a new old-fashioned way to connect, published weekly. You’re invited to write back, or just enjoy reading. Let’s have some fun! It’s a social paper! Send stories, etc to: PO Box 783, Rustburg, VA 24588 or Joshurban@protonmail.com

Letters from Josh

(A weekly update from Josh Urban’s adventures on the farm and in the city. #238)

Appearing in the Altavista Journal, etc.: The Summer of ‘25

Howdy, folks, and welcome back to the show! I’m parched for light. Mom brought a carton of fresh orange juice by the other day. I poured a cup, and slugged down the sunshine; for it is sunshine, in a roundabout sort of way. It was good. Hello, summer of ‘25.

The winter was long. I’ve been splitting firewood from all the tress lost to the ice. But there’s something else that hasn’t been chased away by the heat. Darkness of a sort, the kind that gets into the world and won’t let go, or at least says it won’t let go and we almost believe it.

Maybe this is a bit much. Sympathize with my neighbors. They watch me walking down the street with concern. I’m liable to drop a poem on ‘em at short notice. Throw in some newfound religion, and I’m a loose cannon.

“Got my concealed carry” I boasted the other day, and whipped out a tiny pocket Bible. “It’s orange. Wa-bam!” If there are guardian angels, mine is earning double time and hazard pay.

Maybe it’s thinking about those things, or the books on the shelf. I try to study classic writers, but–everyone dies and it rains. Hemingway drinks too much. He’d call me a lightweight. He’d be right. “Make it an orange juice, place.” Perhaps it’s too much phone time, and arguing on the Internet.

But still. There’s something up. Maybe there always has been. It’s a good time for the solstice.

It was officially summer on Friday, June 20th, the shortest night of the year. The sun hit its maximum northerly latitude –and we’ve got maximum light these next few weeks. Welcome to the summer of ‘25. Now what? Sometimes I get a wild notion to rent a van and hit the road, or go on a picnic. Maybe I will. Sometimes I think the last summer of (19)25 would have been more fun. But, I suspect that It isn’t out of state or buried in the past.

Sure, I’ll venture to the river this year, and splash about in the shallows. Already bought a ten dollar ice cream cone by mistake. Finding the best lemonade is on the list. But I think I’m looking for the light. Orange juice–that sunshine by the glass–and the little orange pocket Bible sitting next to the carton seems a good start. I hope you set out to look in your own way, too, whatever and however that may be.

Keep looking up.

Catch you on the flip side,

Josh

Send postcards and your best summer traditions to P.O. Box 783, Rustburg, VA 24588 or on X @RealJoshUrban