Babies in Our Backyard, Part 1
- At July 21, 2011
- By Roxanne Snopek
- In Life, Roxanne Writes On
- 0
I know, how lucky are we to have this kind of wildlife just outside our doors, right? The dogs think it’s quite an enormous responsibility, keeping all these interlopers out of their territory, and most of the time, it’s okay. (Having survived a coyote attack a few years ago, Myshkin frantically informs us – from the safety of the yard – whenever one of these bad guys is around.)
Deer, rabbits, bear, bobcat, eagles, owls, we’ve got lots of interesting wildlife, but the deer are by far our most frequent visitors.
When the dogs see the deer, the predator switch flicks on and they lose their small minds. But their prey just looks up as if to say, “Seriously. You’re going to chase US?” Then they take one leap and disappear, leaving the dogs hopelessly snarled in blackberry brambles.
But when there are new-born fawns, it’s a different story.
A few weeks ago, we noticed one doe hanging around behind our house. Apparently Mama-Deer had a new fawn tucked away up there, because every time the dogs went up the mountain, instead of running away, Mama-Deer charged at them. Well, I should say “him.” Addie and Gemma like to bark, but let’s face it. Neither of them are exactly … athletically inclined. So Myshkin’s the only one who can even get near the deer.
Well. The look on his face was priceless. You could tell he was thinking: “Hold ‘er Newt. Who changed the rules to this game? I’m the chase-er, not the chase-ee.”
But he’s no dummy. He saw the crazed-mother look and I don’t know, maybe he recognized it. At any rate, he turned right around and left her alone.
And then, a few days later, we were rewarded when Baby popped out to greet us.
Yesterday, I saw Baby again, under very different circumstances. Stay tuned, I’ll tell you all about it shortly.
Alive with Possibility
- At July 07, 2011
- By Roxanne Snopek
- In Life, Roxanne Writes On
- 0
I stood at my kitchen window this morning, waiting for my coffee, and was treated to an airshow. Swallows swooped between my rescued spruce tree and that darn cottonwood that will not be killed, sparrows fed on aurinia now gone to seed, hummingbirds dipped in and out of my hanging baskets, chattering and squabbling. Occasionally one perched on the supports against which clematis vines send their delicate tendrils. The scent of roses, planted and tended by my own hands, hung lightly in the morning air.
Butterflies drifted in and out of a patch of pink yarrow. Now and then, a robin flew in to break up a gathering, and deep within my heavily-laden currant bush, a pair of roufus-sided towhees scratched and pecked. As my coffee and toast got cold, I watched a group of little red-headed finches perch along my espaliered apple tree, six or seven amongst the four horizontal branches, each budding with a different variety of apple.
My yard might not be magazine-worthy; there’s whole patches that I haven’t dealt with properly yet. I plant things, only to realize that they would look better or be happier in a different spot. I build a terrace, only to decide a month later that it’s not quite deep enough, or needs more rock. Wild bunnies make lunch dates in my flowerbeds, and the deer sample pretty much everything, but I figure they were here first, the least I can do is be gracious.
So I move plants, redo hardscaping, dig, replace, adjust. Slowly but surely, I’m making headway against the invasive thorny weeds, but it’s a never-ending task, and I use Polysporin as hand lotion every night. I suspect the apocalypse will end with fleas, cockroaches, thistle and blackberry standing triumphant.
For me, gardening is – like so much of life – an ongoing project. Ideas sprout in me like scarlet runner beans, and I’m never happier than when I’m working on some new possibility, be it a book, a painting, a recipe or a new twist on an old relationship. But bringing ideas to maturity takes patience, thought, observation, more patience, and the willingness to try out something, even if it turns out to be wrong.
Or even if – especially if – someone tells me it was a bad idea.
More creative minds than mine insist that there are no bad ideas. I cling to this. Some ideas are better than others; some ideas are simply jumping-off points. But none are bad. The fifth try might be perfect, but you can’t get to five without going through four. Writers refer to this as the “shitty first draft” concept, which makes sense. Manure is fertilizer, after all.
So I shore up my shaky courage in times of creative drought and seek out warm shelter and support. I’ve found that gardens usually come back, when the season is right; life, it seems, is forgiving to those who keep trying.
So I’ve got flowers, animals, birds, insects, and even food. I’ve got stories, friendship, love, beauty, purpose. It’s summer, finally. My little bit of Earth is thriving …and nurturing my soul along with it.
Day 96 Scary Eyes
Sniffy Snifferson was back in class today. Really, there’s something wrong with a person who’s so oblivious. Lest you think I’m psycho-reactive, I wasn’t the only one annoyed, as I heard a few other pointed huffs and ahems. To no avail, though.
As I attempted to reach a Zen-like state of non-attachment to my sniff-free existence, it occurred to me that I probably have habits, tics if you will, that annoy others. “No!” I hear you protesting. “Not you!”
Nonetheless, I have to consider it. Unlikely, to be sure, but within the realm of possibility.
“I thought I saw you in Home Depot today,” said Randee as I swiped my pass card. “I tried to say hi, but you looked… busy.”
Why is it always that just when you’re at your smelliest, dirtiest, wearing garden-clothes and that horrible hat, that you run into someone you know? Of course, they recognize you despite the hat, sunglasses and the massive grunge, which makes you a little nervous because shouldn’t that be just a bit of a disguise? Or is that your baseline and you just don’t realize it?
“You looked a little… intense,” Randee added.
And there it was, the thing I do without realizing it. My kids call it “scary eyes” and it happens when I’m in a hurry and annoyed with people who have mnemonics up in their staff room to improve their customer service, but cannot in fact, put their snazzy little rhyme to practical use.
“Um, yeah,” I said. “I was trying to buy bark mulch and it wasn’t going well.”
No less than six people attempted to assist me in putting a bulk order through, a procedure we’d been assured a few months ago would be “no problem.” In the end, after about fifteen minutes cooling my heels, I was told they’d have to look into it and call me back.
So yeah, I had my scary eyes on. What can I say. At least I wasn’t sniffing.