June 2007

I have a knack for finding secret places. Like this morning when I convinced my husband to trek out with me on my walk. There was an opening, well, a space really, where the wild roses were not so tight. An invitation.

We had to step high, like fancy horses, to avoid the prickers that reached in front and in back of our legs, “tread softly,” they seemed to say, “slow down, this is worth the effort.” Somewhere, I could hear on the other side of the brush, the pull of water. I was not disappointed. The shale was black and wide and stepped like a staircase. I don’t know who was happier, the water or the shale for making an ocean out of a 4 foot wide bend of stream that I had never seen before. And the tree roots, wider than both of your hands, form large quiet trees begging us to follow their winding and dipping curves. Sheer curiosity moved us along and suddenly, there it was . . . an old weathered rope swing. Someone, perhaps someone like you, had shimmied to the top of the tree and wedged a knot of rope in the little crook where the tree could not decide which way it wanted to grow. Or maybe the tree knew that crooks make wonderful playgrounds and planned it that way. Your guess is as good as mine.

Me first! I swung out curling my legs above the clear water. I was 12 again with my best friend in Maine where we took deep breaths before swinging wildly into the air, doing our best to hold hands, and dropping into the cool black lake, then the flapping, flapping, flapping until we reached the surface and breathed again. I swung back with a smile. Rob next; I didn’t ask where he went, but he looked 10 to me swinging over a fishing hole he never had.

I have a knack for finding secret places.

Crooks of hollow trees where messages were undoubtedly sent from one captive to another; a fairy tree where the keeper of the forest surely resides; the leaf of the nasturtium after a rain, and have you ever seen the center of a Shasta daisy – it has its very own yellow brick road. The universe waits for us in these places.

I just read a poem by Naomi Shihab Nye about a man who gave his Love two skunks for a valentine. She cried. But he had seen such beauty in the skunk’s eyes. My favorite line goes like this,

And the poems that had been hiding

in the eyes of skunks for centuries

crawled out and curled up at his feet.”

Keep your eyes open, you never know what’s in there.

May 2007

Everything happens in May.

The trees are in bloom and my favorite maple is throwing little whirly helicopters into the air. When the sun is behind my woods and the wind blows hard, it looks like a whirl of snow passing through in short sleeves. Each little helicopter catching the light and showing us how to fly.

The birds are choosing houses and gathering sticks and my crabapple is blanketed in pink and white blossoms that sweeten the air; the whole world is changing over, ready to believe once more in the promise of life. It’s everywhere.

Blades of grass are green with summer and reaching reaching for the sun. The bees are buzzing buzzing at the cotton candy on the trees. And you, I suspect keep looking looking outside until you can get your bare feet in the grass and your face in the sun. And so it is with May.
Dreams abound!

This little picture happened last May, but I didn’t have a Garden Diary then so I’m sharing it with you now. Something you may not know about baby bunnies…..their mama is very clever, rather than hiding her nest in the bushes where a predator might go searching, she digs it right out in the open. Right in the middle of my backyard! It is about 6 inches deep and wide and covered with her checkerboard fur; a patchwork quilt of softness, comfort and affection. I’ve already told you she is very clever, now listen to this . . . she only visits the nest a couple of times a day! - and only for a couple of minutes each time. That way, no one can watch her and discover her precious babies. She can’t go hemming and hawing about how gorgeous her new bunny-lets are and put up pink and blue signs and fancy balloons; it wouldn’t be safe. Lucky for me, I knew this. (Well, I looked on the internet and then I knew it.) So I watched silently from my deck, a good 20 feet away. Sure enough right around dusk, she hopped quietly to the nest, gently removed the fur covering, and nursed her children. When they were full and satisfied, she covered them once more and hopped back into the woods. Clever, huh?

So if you come across these little delights, don’t assume mama has abandoned them. Remember, she only visits a couple of times a day so keep a watch out for her. If you take a peek in the nest, as long as the babies look plump, they’re okay. And remember, mama’s probably watching you, so, as with all living things, be gentle and filled with love.

update

2007 Entries uploaded soon. Got a little back logged......stay tuned!

April 2007

If the titmice and cardinals and chickadees never ate any of the seed I put out for them, I would have a mound of seed piled a mile high in my garden, and I would be a very sad person. I’m thinking of giving and receiving. I imagine a giant, gentle hand taking care of all. And I get to be a little hand doling out seed here, a smile there, and, in the same breath, I remember it is also my job to receive.

What good are cherry blossoms without the wind to carry their scent, the eye to sit beneath them and ponder their shape, the heart to float among them and dream? They are beauty, yes. But that beauty is tripled a thousand times with each note of thanks; with each nod of appreciation; with each breath of wonder. And so I’m glad the birds receive from me. They show us a very good lesson as we look to follow our dreams. Are we receiving the opportunities, the helping hands, the cherry blossoms, or letting them pass unnoticed?

Think of a time when you helped someone (or some thing). Remember how good it made you feel? Remember to return the favor! R e c e i v e.

So this month’s diary is devoted to giving and receiving because they really are the same thing. Next time you receive, take a glance at the other person’s face, notice how you give them the opportunity to smile, how you allow their heart to flutter with happiness…..hearts always know, don’t they.

As you can see, Anthea & Marigold are experts at both giving and receiving; they’ve had the best teacher – Mother Nature!

March 2007

If you want to smell Spring in the middle of Winter, all you need do is ruffle your nose into my kitty cat’s fur. Fresh breeze, tulips dreaming, and a promise of hope, it’s all there in his fur. (I wish I had hair like that.)

On the first day of this month I was greeted with a batch of bright, buttery, yellow crocus in my front bed. Today, they are closed tight with a few inches of new snow on their heads. They came when they did, I suppose, to remind me to keep watch; a change is coming. They are covered in snow now, I suppose, to remind me to be patient and not to interfere with the natural timing of things. So, I have hope and trust and patience in a little batch of crocus and my kitty’s golden fur.

So it is with Spring!

Here are my crocus, you can almost hear them singing for Spring. Anthea and Marigold keep very good watch over the bulbs in the garden, singing them to sleep in Autumn, and waking them with gentle taps in spring.

February 2007

Our Carolina Wren stays a warm burnt sienna brown, even in winter. She doesn’t gray like the other birds. I like the idea. Although winter is the essence of sleepy wistful rest, the spirit is never still.

This morning I found my favorite stream to be thickly frozen over. It’s about a mile from my house and makes for an invigorating walk, like knowing you’re going to win something when you arrive at the fair.

I sneaker skated leaving wide uneven trails where the fine snow had already fallen. How does water turn to land? I saw places I don’t normally see. The echo under the old, stone bridge was more hollow than I imagined. And on the other side - running water; pure, whispery, alive! Just like us . . . in winter.

Anthea and Marigold enjoy the beauty of winter – At first, Marigold is a little uneasy on his skates, but Chickadee promises to go slow.

This is the dark-eyed-junco, (otherwise known as “Snowbird”), as you can see, he is quite agile on skates.

January 2007

With windchills hovering at a meager 0 degrees, we finally have a day that feels like January.

The woods call, don’t they, on a day like this. Still, cold, but very present. Wondering if I might disturb their silence, or swim in it. I leave the scurry of birds at my feeder – finches, titmice, cardinals, nuthatches and a brave flicker – and enter into a hush of winter.

The woods smile. They hold a deep knowing of almost everything…faith, perseverance and a silent gentle welcome, that if I listen to, always invites me in.

Always what I need.

If you were a bird, you would undoubtedly enjoy the special perks that come with winter - a silent, slower world; feeders miraculously filled with treats and cool wind lifting beneath your feathers.