Despite winter’s lingering chill, the yard is ready for summer.
I’m looking forward to the warm months ahead, to days filled with honeysuckle blooms, nesting doves, and cardinal fledglings…
In the Yard
Flower Frenzy (arachnophobia alert!)
As winter dragged on and on this year, I developed an irresistible craving for flowers. I fantasized about petunias and daisies, about hanging baskets and terra cotta planters, about a yard filled with butterflies and hummingbirds.
Now that spring is here, I stop at the garden store every time I leave the house. I stroll through aisle after aisle of perennials and annuals, drooling over vivid shades of purple, red, and pink. And every time I stop at the garden store, I bring home a new flower. (Sometimes a new spider, too.)
My carpets are tracked with dirt, half of my fingernails are broken, and I’ve run out of pots and baskets. I might regret my spring flower frenzy when the yard turns hot and humid this summer, when the mosquitoes and black widows arrive and the flowers wilt every afternoon. Or when whatever is eating the pansies starts eating everything else.
But for now, I’m happy.
Conflicted
This week our television flashed image after image of chaos, pain, and loss. I don’t have a personal connection to any of the Boston Marathon bomb victims, nor any of the Texas fertilizer plant explosion victims, and yet my shock and grief feel personal. More and more personal as time passes, as scenes of blood and smoke and flames give way to achingly poignant details about the dead and wounded.
Desperate to escape my growing sense of helplessness, I turn off the television and retreat into the yard, where I find a foraging cardinal, a pollen-dusted bee, and a pair of brave grackles. A hungry tufted titmouse, a half-grown rabbit, and a sleepy squirrel. They remind me that my journey is simultaneously important and insignificant, that I am both connected to and separate from the world. And their company feels like a glimpse of solace, a brief visitation of peace during a week defined by turmoil.
Carpenter Bees
Our house and yard are under siege, completely surrounded by carpenter bees.
These large bees buzz around our eaves and patrol along the fence, staging vicious mid-air duels whenever a challenger enters their territory. Sometimes they crash against each other so heavily that both bees fall to the ground. Then, whichever bee recovers first hovers over the unfortunate loser and bashes it back to the ground every time it tries to take flight. These skirmishes last until the defeated bee manages to escape the disputed territory, or until the victor is distracted by another adversary.
Yesterday afternoon, I spent nearly an hour trying to take photos as one of the bees worked itself to exhaustion chasing the pear tree’s falling petals.
I failed miserably, ending up with frame after frame of motion-blurred bee.
But some of the motion blur was due to laughter. I’ve been feeling sharp stabs of pity, all week, as I watched our swarm of bees harass butterflies and crane flies, even a few hungry warblers. So I couldn’t help but laugh as this little fighter panted along, zipping back and forth in a frenzy of fury, trying to subdue a shower of sparkling petals.
Spring Gains Momentum
The yard overslept this year and still seems a bit sluggish. Even so, every day brings new manifestations of spring.
Wednesday was so warm that the flowers wilted mid-day. As sunset neared, the irises and roses wanted watering, so I turned on the hose and started working my way through the beds. Before long, I had company.
I carried the hose to an area of the yard where water ponds easily and made them a nice puddle. They stayed until the water completely dried up, though the female duck enjoyed her visit more than the male.
He spent most of the time keeping watch, muttering quiet complaints as she explored the puddle.
Every year I find myself hoping the ducks will nest in one of our iris beds, but they never do. They prefer our neighbor’s azalea bed, and a quick glance at the sky shows why.
I doubt the osprey would bother a nesting duck, but I can’t blame the ducks for seeking denser cover. Perhaps I should go azalea shopping, this weekend…
Rae Spencer 