Back garden wonders: the hummingbird nest!

Last year in July, Dean finally got the camera he'd been lusting after forever, a Canon EOS Rebel T1i. The first pictures we took were of the hummingbird nest in our backyard poplar tree. At Christmas i actually managed to surprise him with a very cool telephoto lens. The first pictures i've taken with the telephoto lens have been of the mommy hummingbird in this year's nest! i was so happy to find her back again.

The surprises of the dirt in springtime.

It's so fun the first time i go dig in the backyard dirt. i glance at the flower beds and wonder, "hmm...how many things have i not planted that are now growing?"

 Yes! The purple lantana! This was definitely the outcome of purposeful planting.

 But this? It looks healthy, but no, i don't remember planting it.

This is a decorative lavender, not the tea-making kind, but i did plant this--

but no, not this huge fall of ivy. It's a volunteer from the back neighbor's yard. At least it's pretty.

 Quite purposeful planting! This is a California native--the Carmel Creeper plant. Lovely blossoms, and it comes in two different types: the upright and the ground cover.  This one is the upright, i think. But yes, most purposefully planted.

This one, up close and personal with the Carmel Creeper? Don't know what this is--but i know i didn't plant it. And there are lots of these sprinkled around ...hmmm... well, it's kind of pretty.

 i really love this one! i can't remember what it's called, but it grows beautiful little blossoms. Purposeful little blossoms. And then-- 

my sweet geraniums with their cute little pink and white faces, purchased at the Half Moon Bay Nursery. i love geraniums, they just grow and grow, even when i plant them.

 But again with this one? Why? And scattered along the whole bed! Volunteer soldiers, standing up so straight and proud, ready to overthrow my plants.

 And i think i'm quite happy with this, because i'm fairly sure i did plant it, and it's a lilac bush that started out a teensy-tiny thing a few years ago. When it blooms i'll know if i'm right.

 But this??? OH it's the bane of my existence--oxalis. Impossible to kill, it covers every available dirt spot on our property after the first rains. At least the yellow flowers are pretty for a time.

 This is lovely--and it fits both the volunteer and purposeful status in my yard. When i planted it against the back fence it was a bulb i had dug up from the yard, and i thought it was a white calla lily. BUT! turns out it was a volunteer bulb with glorious orange flowers, and its bloomed twice this year already.

 And here is where i THOUGHT i dug out all the bulbs of that orange flower! Happy to volunteer. And i still don't know where they came from.

Here's an especially healthy volunteer Mongo dandelion. Some of the non-purposeful plants are the biggest thrivers. One more:

 Did i plant this? No. But it grows over the fence from the neighbor's yard, the hummingbirds love it, so i do too. Plus it's red. i love red.

With all the emphasis on nature and all things "green" the question arises: should i disturb the volunteer plants in the garden-y, forest-floor-y dirt? Apparently not--

If i do? The ants get all crazy and start running around with their little eggs

 and the bees get all buzzy around my head. And there was a snake--i swear there was a snake! And who am i to bother them, after all they are just doing garden-y, forest-floor-y things, and who am i to distract them from their content creeping, crawling, buzzing little lives? 

Especially the snake. i really want the snake to be happy. And i want all the livestock of nature to leave me alone.

Seasonal thoughts on change.

Something happens over the winter. And it happens in my back yard.

i call it "nastification." All the remains of the wet season lay around like so many Thanksgiving leftovers. Weeds crop up in even the tiniest crack.

Everywhere i look something needs to be cleaned.

And who left the tools outside? If this was somebody else's moss-growing garage and somebody else's ruined tools, i'd think the photo was charming.

But then i look up to see new leaves on the poplar tree, bathing in the sun, doing that cool light-play i love so much.

And i notice my orange rosebush has amazing blooms, and even more amazingly, is still alive (no green-thumbs here, just California weather)

and my crawling, spreading white rose is crazy with new leaves and buds!

Color is returning as the geraniums are beginning to grow over the wall, making even the winter-mossed stones beautiful

and i realize that nastification is simply the result of the death it took to get to this place of new life.And i realize that all my striving to be good enough for spring requires death.

Death to my own struggle to be loveable and good enough in my Creator's eyes, and open-ness to the beauty and love and worth He's given me before i did anything to be loveable, to be good enough.

Why do i worry so much about being shiny enough? i can work and fall, work and fall. But my true worth doesn't come from the things i try to do to be lovable, or to be perfect. As i learn to turn my words of pain to God first--rather than griping to people--i'm taking steps to see myself through His eyes. The newness comes in its season. i just need to stop grumbling about the weeds on the ground and look up.

1 John 4:10: It is not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his son as a sacrifice to take away our sins.

Romans 5:8: But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.


Skimmer's recap: Look at the pictures, read the verses, ponder.

Singularly stinky Sunday.

Above: my front garden, awash in oxalis (the yellow blooms.)

Yesterday was NOT a nice day for my fibro body.

Was it withdrawal from the previous medication i stopped taking last Monday? Was it simply that the new medication needs to be kicked up a few notches? i don't know.

All i do know is that all the nasty pain from the previous week culminated in exhaustion and crankiness from the pain--added to the actual pain itself, which was bad enough. It was one of those "oyster" days where i just wanted to curl up into the fetal position and ignore the world. My dear hubby said, "I wish I could help! What if you sat in the hot tub for a while? I'll go get it ready." He did, and i did.

When i feel that lousy, it's actually hard to get myself to do the things that might make me feel better, so it helped for him to encourage me to. On those oyster days my spirit droops into neverending winter, and feels as though spring will never come. In actuality, here in the lovely California Bay Area, we are having amazingly warm and beautiful weather. Trees are budding, flowers are blooming, and the oxalis has overtaken my yard. In some parts of the country i think people plant it on purpose for ground cover, here it is a weed. Appearance of this weed-flower signals the approach of spring (and the need for extreme weeding.) And yet, in my oyster days, all is dark and bleak and flowerless.

i put on my swimsuit and lowered myself painfully into the hot tub--lovely warmth that encompasses my sore body, and takes the pressure off for a bit. But the bleakness accompanied me. As i lay there, i caught the movement of something above my head--a butterfly! Black with bright gold tipped wings, it made its crazy way across the yard, causing me to look up and see the clear blue sky and the signs of life budding on my poplar tree. And then a small chirping bird, and another butterfly! Spring was coming!

It was as if God was reminding me: "Spring will always come, there will always be life after the dark of winter."

It may come in the form of a beautiful yellow flower that i have not been able to kill in the nearly 30 years we've lived in this house, or the more preferred appearance of butterflies, but it does come. On oyster days that is something i need to remember.

Fall

Today is that kind of amazing fall day i love. i always forget i love it until it comes and i realize i'm holding my breath and listening to the leaves rustle and feeling the crisp air.

In one part of my brain i think fall means brown-ness and dead-ness and winter coming (yes, i'm aware that "winter" for me here in the San Francisco Bay Area is not quite what some of you view as "winter"...) BUT--apparently there is another part of my brain i'm usually unaware of that *senses* the fall on another level. That part of my brain carries the pleasure i felt jumping in rain puddles as a child (and as a college student--yes, i really did and i'm not ashamed to admit it.) It remembers the feel of the crisp coldness of the Pacific Northwest or the Nebraska plains or England or, yes, even California in that brightness that precedes winter.

i need to listen to that part of my brain more often, i think it might help balance out the other part of my brain that can only see laundry and dust and bills to be paid.

What i did on my summer vacation.

My hubby and i got to spend time last month on two different farms. We visited relatives in Alabama where the young folk still say "yes ma'am" and "yes sir," where we stayed on one cousin's farm. Wow. Acres and acres of green pasture are anchored by the light and airy farmhouse. Horses wander lazily nearby. My damp Portland Oregon roots sighed happily at all the green-ness.

The occasion was the 60th wedding anniversary of my hubby's uncle and aunt--wow, huh?--at pretty much the same time as WE are celebrating our 30th! And i was impressed with that many years (Kind of in a "jeez, are we that old?" kind of way...) But apparently all that green comes at a cost--humidity--cousin Lea Ann said, "We call it 'air you can wear.'"

We had a lovely time visiting with our too infrequently seen relatives who welcomed us and fed us well and put us up in our own "apartment." (We too have a special place we can let people stay at our house--if ya don't mind all the boxes of Christmas decorations stacked along the bedside...it's that ambiance that says "homey, but not in a good way." )

And the countryside in Alabama--i want this view out my front door! --->
There was even a rather spectacular thunder/lightning/rain storm for entertainment--let me tell ya, that thunder and lightning bit sure seems closer out there in all that open land. And greenness abounds there, it seems--Uncle Joe and Aunt Pat's house has an actual woods in the backyard, and the church we attended better have some riveting sermons, because the walls behind the pulpit were windows looking out onto fields of green and trees...my eyes only wandered a little....

THEN we moved on to a farm in Canada--as in a working farm with crops and harvesting and all those things unfamiliar to my town-bred self. It's the family farm of my good friend Adina, in Plum Coulee, Manitoba. Her two sisters, brother, and brother-in-law were home as well, bringing the temporary household count to 9 adults, 1 almost adult (just kidding, Dorian!) and a baby. Here i am frustrated--i don't seem to be able to add a particular picture i have of the farm. So picture for yourself: a vast expanse of fields surrounding a collection of granaries, house, barns, and trees, fronted by a gravel road--all washed in a translucent rose-colored late afternoon light. And picture a big ol' red tractor with my Kansas born husband driving, a very nostalgic experience for him--although this time he could reach the pedals, no longer being 8--

<-- here's a shot of that red tractor between the granaries

Oh--and both farms had gardens--in Alabama, a softly overflowing cottage style flower garden, and in Plum Coulee, a garden full of poppies, vegetables, and fruit trees. The really disturbing part? The garden in Manitoba is larger than the plot of ground that defines our entire California homestead. Anyway, in Canada they humored me and let me play at gardening. i, who am duly impressed when i can keep a rose bush alive for more than a season, got to help harvest the remaining beans. And we had a campfire out in the backyard one night! How crazy is that? i mean, if i imagine building a fire in our backyard i know it would mean either the house or the fence or the neighbor's place (or all three) likely going up in smoke.

We attended the family's Mennonite church on the Sunday, and ate some of the meals that say "comfort food" to Adina--and i have to say, i'm good with that whole watermelon and fritter thing they call a meal! (They don't call it a fritter--it actually has a German name that i can almost say but definitely can't spell--) But, oh yum!

It was a great month, whether at a family celebration in Alabama, or a family meal or cup of coffee around the table in Plum Coulee. i won't go all philosophical and sentimental on you, but i loved watching the families in action. There's a commonality to the kinds of families who like each other, evidenced by the shared jokes and knowledge of and grace for each other. i know a lot of what helps both these families give grace is their own experience of God's unconditional love and with that, how can they give anything less to each other?

But even after my summer vacation of farms, i still don't know where the phrase "he bought the farm" comes from. Any thoughts?*

*Cousin Lea Ann has a link to the possible origins of the phrase: http://www.snopes.com/language/phrases/farm.htm