Chris...
The Farm Wife, didn't expect most of this, and wondering how I got here?
Keep coming back, page five follows......soon.
Today, perhaps for the first time in several decades, I saw bluebirds in the wild! Ray had spotted one a few days ago but wasn't sure exactly what it was. Then yesterday, in true country-life fashion, we visited our county Soil and Water Conservation Dept. whereupon we picked up a few books on birds, creating gardens that appeal to birds, and building birdhouses to suit specific birds. As Mom and I occasionally read a few fascinating facts out loud, Ray would occasionally roll his eyes or audibly scoff at the thought that I would or could do any gardening. I cannot really blame him. Those of you who know me fairly well, know that I have never had a green thumb, not even a light green thumb. As a matter of fact, I have more of a brown thumb. Perfectly healthy plants will just keel over after being in my charge a very brief time. Some have been observed trembling and paling (becoming pale, that is) when their caretakers have offered to send them home with me. Over the years I have made peace with that fact and contented myself with buying silk flowers and taking lovely pictures of other people's gardens, especially those of my mom and my sisters. (I would give you their names, but then I'd have to make up new online names for them, and I'm already in trouble with one of them for the unauthorized use of "her" name in a previous situation, so no way am I doing that again!) Suffice it to say, it is understandable that Ray was amused by the concept of my creating or maintaining a garden.
But here is my theory. (Rest assured, I won't blame you for skipping this paragraph in its entirety if you have already heard this or if you have a workable theory of your own, but if, like me, you appreciate nature but have no knack for controlling it; if you, like me, do not think that it's just wonderful to dig your hands deep into loamy soil; if you, like me, do not like having dirt under your fingernails, sweat running down your face or getting sunburned without swimming; and if you, like me, do not think it's worth it to spend so many hours on your knees pulling weeds, then just maybe you should stick around for the upcoming theory.) My theory is that gardening was not meant to give us untold hours of frustrating toil but to make us good stewards of the land and resources around us. I can appreciate the symmetry and neatness of a formal English garden. I will take pictures of immaculately trimmed bonzai trees and marvel at the discipline they demanded. I am agog at the skills required in whatever it's called when people carve bushes and trees into spirals or pyramids or cartoon characters. But I know myself well enough to know that it would drive me totally bonkers to try and maintain any of those things. Every single little leaf that had the audacity to grow outside of the pattern would scream at me to fix it! Every weed in the garden would shout my inadequacies to the world. Every flower border with a flower out of line would have me back on my knees trying to scoot it over an inch or so! This is not how I want to spend my life, folks.
(The theory will be continued here so the previous paragraph won't be too long, because research has proven that people do not read long paragraphs carefully and this could be a life-changing theory for you, as it was for me.) Therefore, my theory, restated, is that it's best to create garden areas that are similar to meadows, woodlands, and marshes, with no definitive demarcation between the "garden" and the "lawn". While we're on the subject, as a bonus for those of you who are still reading (I admire your fortitude), here's my theory on lawns: It's okay if the grass gets a little taller than two inches, it's okay if there are some weeds here and there, and it's okay if flowers spill over into the grass rather than being confined to a "bed." In other words, it's okay for nature to be kinda messy, or, hey! here's a thought: it's okay for nature to look natural.
One more little sideline and then I promise we'll get back to the bluebirds and the books. There's another reason it's a funny concept that I'd be interested in gardening of any sort. I have a problem with things that sting. Bees, wasps, yellow jackets, mosquitos—you name it, I've been attacked and stung by it either individually or in swarms. If Ray and I go on a walk together, I return with 12 or 14 mosquito bites. He is just fine. If I am in a group and a bee approaches, I am the one who gets stung, regardless of the assurances of those in the group who are saying ridiculous things like, "Just leave it alone and it will go away." No it won't, it will circle around the group several times before zeroing in on me. As it lands on my arm, those same people (the very wrong people who used to be my friends) will say, "It's okay. It's just walking around. Leave it alone and it will go away." I used to believe them. I was quite adept at holding still, at appearing casual and unconcerned about the insect in question. But the years and the number of stingers pulled out of my skin have proven those people wrong time and time again. And yet do they believe me when I try and warn them of my impending doom? No sirree. They do not. But because I am the one who keeps getting stung, I remember these things, oh yes, you betcha I do. So here's my corollary on gardening and its inevitable ability to attract stinging pests (blah, blah, blah, I know all the hoopla about bugs being crucial for pollenating the beautiful flowers--they're still pesty): If one doesn't have to be face to face with the flowers and weeds, then one can maintain a respectful distance between herself and the pests. And if a prudent gardener puts the flowers far away from the doorways into the house, then the bugs might not prevent her from safely entering and exiting her domicile. And if one is successful in providing plants which attract birds that eat the stinging brutes, then she has killed two pests with one bird (or some other clever rewording of the two birds--one stone saying, for truly I want the birds to live)! Ha! Take that, you bumblebees, you!
So, back to today's sightings. As I held the phone, enduring another endless round of voice mail, Ray spotted a bluebird sitting on the railing of the front deck. Alas and alack, before I could get the camera, turn it on, and shove give the phone to Ray, it had flown the coop, so to speak. But we were now on high alert, ready to pounce at the slightest whirring of wings. You know what? High alert gets really boring after twenty or thirty minutes! I had given up and was heading into the bedroom when I heard a "thump" at Mom's window. She was in the family room, so I knew she wasn't making the noise. As I went in to investigate, a bluebird staggered up from the ground, flying off unsteadily. I ran (yes I did!) back to get my camera, quickly changed into a black shirt so I wouldn't reflect in the window, and went back to Mom's room. In just a minute or so, the bluebird came back and perched on the bird feeder holder right outside the window.
He (for I am sure it was a male due to the way he looked so proudly at his reflection in the glass) turned from left to right and back again, sometimes staring directly into the camera. Then he suddenly took off and flew SMACK into the window again (I told you it was a male). He staggered on the ground for a few seconds, then swooped away. This process was repeated several times, giving me plenty of time to improve my position, avoid reflections, and stop laughing at the silliness of the repetition. After I was certain that I had some good shots, I just watched him.
Eventually he grew weary of bonking into the window and flew over to inspect my car, sitting for a minute in the wheel covers, zooming up to the luggage rack, checking out the bug shield on the hood, crawling up the exhaust pipe—he gave it a thorough going-over all right.
Then, predictably, he saw his reflection in the car window and began fluttering up and down, back and forth, now and then crashing into the side window or the windshield.
Believe it or not (and you have no reason not to believe me, right?) this went on for several hours. That silly bird rarely went more than two feet away from the car for the rest of the day.
Hey! Thanks for sticking around to the end! Day 18 will be coming to you soon, if it hasn't already :-)
Love you,
Farm Wife
Photographer
Bird Watcher
Man, are we happy out here?
