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Well, here we are in June already. As they sang in the musical "Carousel," June is busting out all over. For those of you not familiar with the show, it was a major Rodgers and Hammerstein hit on Broadway (and later became a major motion picture, as they say). The June is busting out all over song was about all living creatures getting sexually frisky in the month of June, even fish. That's right. You heard me. The lyrics say it all.
"The ocean is full of Jacks and Jills. With her little tail a swishin' ev'ry lady fish is wishin' that a male would come and grab her by the gills." Yup. Back in the mid 20th century we had songs celebrating fish getting horny. And not only fish.
"The sheep aren't sleepin' anymore. All the rams that chase ewe sheep, are determined there'll be new sheep, and the ewe sheep aren't even keepin' score." Wow. Pretty strong stuff for 1945. And the vines and flowers aren't immune to raging hormones, either. "June is bustin' out all over. The feelin' is gettin' so intense, that the young Virginia creepers hav been huggin' the bejeepers outta all the mornin'-glories on the fence." Oh man, even the plants? That June fever is really something else.
I'll never be able to look at another clinging vine in the same way again. It gives a whole new meaning to the Wandering Jew plant. And another thing, I'm swearing off tuna fish. I don't need the guilt of thinking that I may be eating a sandwich that could have been some other fish's prom date.
For most of my life I only thought of June as the month of the first day of summer, Father's Day and graduations. How naaiee of me. I grew up a sheltered child in a sheltered environment. In the fifties we never heard of raging hormones. In our house the only thing raging was my dad when he couldn't find his cigarette lighter. Hormones for me, raging or otherwise, came later. And when they arrived I didn't need the month of June either. Any old month worked just as well.
But don't get me wrong. I get the June thing. It's the beginning of summer. June brides are all over the place. Days are longer, and school is out. There's no doubt about it. Or if there is a doubt about it, nobody cares. June, whether we like it or not, is the month of coupling and romance. Of falling in love and getting into a relationship. Of grabbing a lady fish by the gills. Or ramming a ewe, if you'll pardon the expression.
Or in the words of Rodgers and Hammerstein, "You can see it in the trees. You can smell it in the breeze. Look around! Look around! June is busting out all over. All over the meadow and the hill. Buds're burstin' out of bushes, and the rompin' river pushes ev'ry little wheel that wheels besides the mill. Fresh and alive and gay and young, June is a love song sweetly sung.
"To ladies and men are payin' court. Lotsa ships are kept at anchor, jest because the captains hanker fer the comfort they ken only get in port. Because it's June ... June ... June ... June. Just because it's June ... June ... June."
And don't forget about the fish and the vines and plants and the sheep and everything else. Happy June all you ragin' hormone lovers.
As for me, I'll grab a bag of peanuts, turn on the TV and settle in for a couple of hours or so to watch the Dodgers play baseball. That's about all the bustin' out I can handle this June.
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