A WALK THROUGH YOUR NATURAL GARDEN
Mike Evans © 2018
The stone path is familiar, you have walked it countless times. The direction is simple, leading from front door to the drive where your car is waiting. You do not want to be late for work so you have set out early enough to not feel rushed. As you close the door behind, you detect scents of early morning dew and sounds of early morning birds; you are sure it’s spring because of your familiarity with both. In these predawn hours so many baby birds have broken the stillness with their insistent cries for breakfast. You had even heard them from inside while you were getting things ready.
Now the air is fresh on your face. You are outdoors and you pause to consider this reality. You have your favorite cup in your hand and you are briefly reminded of all the times you have made coffee in camp, always early, before everyone else woke up. The quiet hour. Just you and your fire, or you and your Coleman stove. You glance again at your cup, a sentimental connection between your kitchen and your various camps. You refuse to stow this one away with all the other outdoor cooking gear, preferring to use it at home every day. It has become a simple symbol of wilderness and you have chosen to keep it close at hand.
With your first few steps through the shady section near the house, you notice the companion planting; coral bells, native iris, and hummingbird sage, all blooming. Everything seems in order for in fact a hummingbird completes the picture, hovering just one foot from the ground, partaking in a special offering. The early bird special, you muse. Could this be one of the hatchlings from last summer’s nest on the back patio? The bird darts side to side, eyes on you. All hummingbirds look familiar. You stop to examine more closely, who can know, but for you in that moment, this is indeed one of your babies, now all grown up. Startled by a mockingbird’s new song off in the distance, the hummer darts toward the trees.
You have traveled less than 30 paces on foot and you are now ready for your car. But the dry creek bed, the rock outcrop and the dudleya cause to you pause. Look how the flower stalks are just emerging. And then over in the far corner, the salvia in full bloom, its purple flowers darker than the dawn sky and a little lighter than that of midnight. Likely your hummingbird has already visited the sage this morning, and many bee species and butterflies will stop by long after you have arrived at work. The times you have been out planting or tidying up the garden, you have noticed that pollinators arrive in shifts, dawn til dusk and that some actually prefer the hot midday sun. Perhaps more nectar and pollen can be found in those times. You have discovered the myriad of species take turns at the food source and there’s plenty for everyone.
You stop, remove your day pack, set your cup down and pull a weed. Only a little mouse eared chickweed, but just the same, not a plant you had planned for that exact spot. It will wither and dry in the middle of the path and you can retrieve the desiccated remains this afternoon. Just then, a baby lizard, the one you have been watching since he was tiny, emerges from some hidden lizard abode onto a boulder, stares you down and holds his ground. You smile, greet him with, “Good morning lizard,” pick up your stuff and stand erect. Someone has to make the first move. The lizard remains motionless. Then flexes up and down. Must be he’s learning to be a man. You move away and towards the driveway. He has won the standoff.
Now you hear a pair of doves calling back and forth so your attention is momentarily focused on the tree branches. Just as your thoughts had been moving towards work, the appointments you have this morning, and all the tasks of the day, the most important thing on your mind at this very moment involves finding both doves. One is in plain view on a high branch. But where is the other? They coo to each other again. Undoubtedly they are talking about you, as you have been in their sights since you first opened the door. The mockingbird (an early riser, like you) has been nervously singing away, providing background music. Just then, he takes flight scaring both doves who with characteristic wing whistle, flap suddenly into the air, and as a perfectly matched pair, bank off towards the east. The mockingbird then flies in to land on the exact perch where the second dove, the one you couldn’t find until she burst away, had been hiding. Not so well hidden actually, you had just missed her, and what was that all about anyway? You think, who can understand bird antics, bird interactions? Did the mockingbird need that dove’s precise spot in order to resume his seemingly senseless singing? Was he trying to prove a point? And if so what point?
Another sip. Excellent. If in fact in your hand you held camp coffee, and if indeed you were in camp, this moment would be perfectly suited for just sitting still and watching that bird. And every bird. Would the doves return? What’s up with all the cooing, squawking, singing, the scare tactics, flying off in formation, and repositioning according to their own order in their mysterious overhead world? And how much better is camp coffee that every other coffee anywhere?
But the day shouts out its demands. You are not in camp, at least not in your body. You unlock and open your car door, toss your pack in, break off a handful of leafy twigs, desert lavender, and toss them onto the dash where their scent will come right at you, maneuver into the seat without spilling coffee, strap in, and start the engine. Noticing pre dawn light on the white flowerheads of the yarrow poking through the bunchgrass, the ashy grey foliage of a buckwheat and the purple penstemon blooms just emerging, you recall a day hike, come to think of it, it’s been a few years… hmmm, time to go back to that spot and see how things are on that trail… the boulder where you had sat quietly to observe a huge covey of quail (trying to count them by 5’s, estimating 60 birds) at the edge of a meadow, many quite small, probably from several families. They were clucking and prancing about, a few adults perched on scrub oaks, constantly watching for danger, everyone feeding, preening, and cavorting as if this was all they had to do. It was all they had to do. You remember writing this in your journal.
Mental note: find that journal tonight and examine the essay… including the sketch you made of the grassland, the trees lining all around, the hills in the distance behind, and the wispy clouds softening the intensely brilliant sky beyond. Mental note #2: Schedule a day for a return trip to that meadow. Mental note #3: Don’t be late for work this morning.
Backing out of the drive and starting down the street, it’s another sip of coffee (excellent again) and forward motion propels you into your day.
Between your front door and the street you have spent less than three minutes, counting the pause to pull a weed and greet the lizard, plus the few seconds it took to find both doves.
Your natural garden has just said hello to you.
Featured Photo Credit: Jacky Surber