However, a glance at the Rise and Set for the Sun for north 40 degrees latitude (here) shows four days with the exact same rise and set times. I would suspect a cover-up of some sort, but the Astronomical Applications Department at the U.S. Naval Observatory seems like they would have known or have been able to Google it.
The Solstice means the Sun Stands Still, a great trick.
As a gardener in a hot area, there is such a thing as too much daylight. In winter, I cheered the Sun on every day, marveling at each precious minute of sunlight gained. Now, I think the Sun has worn out its welcome. Lack of rain recently has left the ground hard and dry. The blazing Sun is not helping there, working in cahoots with the strong south wind. When I water the plants, I am dismayed to see the water slipping down big cracks in the ground.
Of course the road dust is choking. I run into the house when I hear big farm vehicles coming this way. Long cattle trailers, trucks pulling multiple round bale carriers and their ilk create great clouds of dirt as they speed by as if to a fire.
A singular problem I have is the chickens don't get to bed until around nine. I'm always waiting for them to roost. They are in no hurry, meandering down toward the coop and then milling about in the hen run that they were so desperate to get out of earlier.
Back to the Sun Set chart. Even though the Sun rises later now, it has been sneakily setting only three minutes later in all this while. For ten days following the Solstice, it set only a stingy minute later. The Sun is no doubt beaming at how easily we were fooled by the calendar.
As a amateur astronomer, more darkness with mild nights would be great. Ironically, in winter, we have plenty of night, when it's too blessed cold to go out.
I believe there is actually more afternoon now. It's some trick of the light that allows extra minutes to be sneakily larded in to the afternoon, when no one is noticing. As for me, I'm having a siesta in preparation for the long drawn out end of the day and possible stargazing after eleven p.m..
The hens turned out to be more resourceful than I would have imagined. With the ground hard and dry, they turned a molehill into a dust bath. I believe they scolded me to stop squawking and enjoy the summer.
