Sunday, August 11, 2013

Autumn ... no, wait. It's August

August 11th.  Late morning.  Still, still, still.  The buzzing of a single insect nearby-- I hope it's a honey bee!  A flurry of clucking gone as quickly as it came.  Cats napping.  It's supposed to get up to 74 today, high 50s, low 60s right now.  Dropped into the 40s last night and all of the cats hunkered up close to any nook and cranny of warmth on my body.  Except for Oliver, that is, who tom catted around until 3 or so.  The green looks like that last stretch of summer before turning.  Too early to turn yet.  And yet ... here we are.  To everything turn, turn, turn; there is a season turn, turn, turn; and a time to every purpose under heaven.

The garden is bountiful and curious.  Things that weren't growing at all or bolting right away last year, like spinach, lettuces, are in abundance this year.  Because of the moisture and the coolness, the snap peas are hanging on, still giving beautiful, sweet peas.  The tomato plants keep battling blight.  I peel off the yellow, brown spotted leaves, but more come.  The fruit tastes good, though.  Pepper plants are prodigious, but because of no heat haven't formed peppers yet.  Acorn and summer squash are thriving, but the butternut, usually well along by now, have just blossomed.  Garlic I yanked out a couple weeks ago and the bulbs and yellowing stalks are drying on a table to my side.  Looking good.  Lots of borage, herbs are doing fantastic.  Too moist for the rosemary to thrive.  Beans have been good.  I go out twice a day to send a slew of Japanese beetles, those green cadillac bugs munching the pole beans to bits, to a soapy drinky death.  They are usually humping and eating at the same time.  Curious how they continue holding on despite buffeting winds, but I just tap the leaf they're on and they fall in a daze, legs up, to the ground.  Astounding how the pole bean rebounds from this locust-like devastation and just puts out more leaves, more leaves, more leaves.  Very impressive.  Just one single bean so far, again I think from the lack of heat, but they'll come, they'll come.  Carrots are teaming along.  Beets and chard and kale - last year nothing - this year BAM!  All things green are thriving.  And there have been more bees this year.  Not honey bees, but a smaller version of bumble bee, their legs covered with pollen.  Our dear friend Emily got a bee hive this year and it was so good to see so many healthy looking honey bees teaming around her hives.  Encouragement and inspiration!

I've only seen one monarch this summer which makes me sad.  And our meadow is just teaming with milkweed, their favorite.  I  had heard a report from Mexico, their usual migrating grounds, that their numbers were alarmingly small this winter.  Oh those common beauties we take for granted.  What if they're to be no more soon.

Okay, it's hard for me, but I am going to employ someone's suggestion of appreciation and gratitude rather than oh woe is me it's all dark and doom ahead when it comes to the state of the world, the environment and climate to be specific.  I suppose it would be a form of prayer, and God knows prayer in any form works, if only to put some good will into the air.  The suggestion is to thank the earth for its bounty, for its forests and jungles, its oceans and rivers and lakes, ponds and streams, ice caps, mountains, valleys, vistas, animals, birds, butterflies.  To thank it, for all its grace and gifts.  To appreciate it in the here and now and maybe that will spread to tomorrow.  A shift of focus.  I have to do it, because the grumbling isn't working for me.  Sure I'm taking steps to live in a right way, a respective way toward the earth, but the Cassandra-like predictions don't help.  There must be a more effective way of waking up.

We had 2 Canada Goose families on our pond this summer and while we were away this past week to Providence RI it looks as if one of them, the one with 4 older goslings, have flown away.  Turn, turn, turn.  Their birth, growth, and flight is an annual measurement of time passing.  A ritual to watch.  This family gave birth down the way east of here, about a mile away, across the road from our friends Robert and Lenice.  They were growing up on a pond there, but Anu, Robert and Lenice's passionately playful yellow lab would go into the pond after them and they must have just had enough one day and flown west to our place where they were welcomed - I mean, whatya going to do?   When I mentioned that they were gone while visiting with Robert and Lenice yesterday they informed me that the family had stopped by for a couple days before vamoosing for good.  Showing the kids where they were born before flying off to faraway pastures.  Maybe they'll see a few monarchs.  The remaining Canada family, with 2 younger goslings, will have a few more weeks before their flying lessons commence.

Which brings me to Hector.   I'm liking him more and more.  He has a special place in my heart.  He's the best guard goose I think we've ever had, letting us know when there's anything untoward on the property, anyone slowing down, coming up the driveway, keeping things shipshape.  He's going back and forth between our bunch and the Canada family, more welcomed by the Canadians.  He sleeps everynight just outside the pen of the goose house; Shmuel and the girls still won't let him in there, so we've all accepted that fact and are fine with it.  He's a survivor, a scavenger.  At least once a day he wanders into the chicken coop and munches on the layer feed.  I felt like holding him the other day and I thought I had him gently cornered in the coop, but man is he quick.  He assessed what was happening and darted out in a wide end run.  I congratulated him out loud for his dexterity and his speed and he flapped his wings in victory.  He likes us, I think.  He hangs close to see what's going on.

The pond is calling me for a swim and I think I'll comply.  Dive into those reflections of the trees on its surface.  That can be my splashy prayer of appreciation and thanksgiving for all of nature around me.

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