SPRING

You know it is spring when the rabbits and robins have returned.

I can only wish that this was the type of rabbit that returned but, alas, not so.  This rabbit is my granddaughter who dressed this way to serve patrons at Panera Bread where she works.  Needless to say, she was a big hit with the male customers, young and old.

No, the rabbits I speak of are the cute little bunny rabbits that will grow up to be big rabbits that dine at the buffet I call my garden.  While weeding along a fence line, Joyce uncovered a nest of tiny bunnies.  Their mother scampered off, as is the practice, to distract her and hopefully lead her away from the nest.  Joyce is single minded when it comes to weeding, so she continued digging and pulling.  And then, there they were.  Three tiny baby rabbits hunkered down and remaining very still, as their mother (or instinct) told them to do.

We left them alone knowing, however, that they will likely become playthings for one of the several free-range cats that roam the neighborhood.

We have a weeping cherry tree in our backyard that each year attracts a pair of robins.  We assume it is the same pair of robins each year, but we don't know that for sure.  (They all look alike, you know.) 

The first year they settled in to build a nest in the tree they had two eggs but one one hatched.  It died.  The next year they had better luck and raised two young ones to fledgling size.  One of them, unfortunately, jumped or fell from the nest before it was ready to fly and died.

We were happy to see them return this year and start again to build a nest in the fork of the weeping cherry.  It appears to be finished although we have not seen either mom or dad take up residence yet.  Still, their presence assures us that spring has arrived.

A LOST FRIEND

I was recently “unfriended” by a friend on Facebook. That means I no longer receive news of this friend’s activities, at least on Facebook. I deeply regret this.

We had a dispute, a dispute over politics. We disagreed on a point of view, on some things that were posted on Facebook.

Words can hurt. Adults know that, kids sometimes take a while to learn that. When we say something publically, as on Facebook, that is hurtful to another person, it is out there for the entire world to see. Hence, it is difficult to take back any such comment. In a private conversation, one might apologize for a careless comment; this is more difficult in the age of Internet discourse. Unfortunately, also, our society’s hardened political ideology has divided us to the point that civil discourse, especially disagreement, can no longer take place.

Words can sooth but they can also inflame. Politicians know this. Dictators know this. Propagandists know this. Hate mongers know this. Anyone who wants to incite people to action or inaction resorts to words, carefully chosen words, words that will have the desired effect and produce the desired result.

We all learn to be careful about what we say or how we say it, especially when what we say may be for public consumption. But sometimes our emotions get the better of our minds and we misspeak or, at least, say things that would better be unsaid. We may be tired, we may be weary of the surroundings in which we find ourselves, or we may be influenced by the voices of a closed set of closed minds. (Don’t we all prefer to seek the company and comments of those with whom we agree?) As we age, though, we learn to speak our minds, especially among friends, without being overtly offensive or disagreeable.

Yes, friends can disagree. In fact, good friends do often disagree. Such friends make our lives interesting, they open us to different perspectives, different experiences, and, if we will allow, new ideas we might not otherwise consider. We are encouraged by our friends and challenged by them. We know them as caring, intelligent people with whom we have much in common, so we find it worthwhile to consider their “different” point of view, as we expect them to consider ours.

Children may pout and vow never to speak to each other again, the “if you don’t like it I will take my ball and go home” attitude. Adults may be hurt, and say so, but they respect each other too much (usually) to let a careless word or phrase ruin a valued friendship.

I very much regret that I apparently have lost a friend, a friend I admire and respect.

One of the nicer things about writing, even on Facebook, is that you can pause and think about what you have said before clicking the Send button. It is easier during that important pause to remove or reword comments that others may view as offensive, derisive, or sarcastic. We should always review critical comments on personal or national events before they are broadcast to the world. Writing, versus the spoken word, allows us to do that.

Beliefs are not facts. Nevertheless, our beliefs are important to us. When the critical or inflammatory remarks of others challenge those beliefs, our nature is to respond. We should expect that and welcome it, for from such responses comes intelligent discussion and growth.

Hence, I invite all of you, including my former “friend” to challenge my thoughts, disagree if you must, but offer me material to “chew on,” to grow in my understanding of what you believe. You have a unique life, a unique set of experiences that may well provide me with a view I cannot otherwise know. I value and welcome that.

THE GARDEN

THE GARDEN

Spring has sprung and beautiful weather such as we are having today inspires one to do, well, stupid things. I was inspired to start work on my garden today, a really dumb idea. I now hurt in places I forgot I had.

I’ve always enjoyed gardening. My dad was a gardener. We always had a big garden back during the World War II days when gardens were almost a necessity. But even beyond those days, dad always had a garden. And guess who got to do most of the weeding, hoeing and other work in the garden. Yep. Good old Chuck, that's who.

Still, I came to enjoy those moments in the garden when I could become lost in my work. I also knew that there was the promise of some reward for my efforts, not so with some of the other chores I was assigned. Pulling a fresh tomato off the vine, whipping it on my dusty jeans and taking a big bite was a special pleasure. I especially enjoyed popping open a young pea pod and rolling the young peas into my mouth with a flick of my thumb along the bottom of the opened pod. There is nothing like it. I feel sorry for those young people whose parents never had a garden so they could see how produce goes from seed to table.

There was a down side to gardening in my youth, however. I was raised in the southwestern corner of Missouri on the edge of the Ozark Mountains. It can be warm there even in April and the humidity is often as high as the temperature. Sweat was your companion as you worked in the garden and with sweat came gnats and other pests to buzz around your face. Then there were the rocks. I swear we grew rocks in that garden. Every spring after dad hired someone to plow the garden – usually a farmer with a team and horse drawn plow – I would go out and pick up the bigger rocks and throw them into a pile at the edge of the garden. Each year the pile grew larger because each year there were more rocks to remove.

That is not the case where I now live in upstate New York. My garden sets atop about 14 feet of sand. We are, in fact, located on top of an ancient lake that can be tapped even today for water by driving a point into the ground and attaching a pump. The soil is so sandy that for 40 odd years now I have spaded yards of compost into the garden to help provide nutrients and to help the soil hold moisture.

That is where my backbreaking work on the garden began today – the compost pile. Each year I dump all my yard waste (lawn clippings, leaves, carrot tops, etc.) onto the compost pile at the south end of my garden. I learned long ago that every time I mow, all the rich fertilizer I put on the lawn in the spring, and later in the fall, is found in those grass clippings. Why let that fertilizer go to waste? It goes on the compost pile instead of into a bag to be carted off to the landfill. But a compost pile must be turned to allow moisture to get in there and promote decomposition. That’s what I did today.

After turning the compost pile, I got to the bottom layer, which is where the rich earth is. I had some black soil that would make an Illinois farmer envious. I then shoveled the composted soil into my garden cart and dumped it at strategic places around the garden where I could raked it out into a more or less even layer ready for spading.

And that’s the next big job, spading the garden. My garden is too small to warrant investing in a small garden tractor, so I have to turn the soil by hand with a spade. It’s good exercise, but a back breaker unless I take my time and rest often.

My motto is rest often, drink beer and don’t work too hard. We can’t plant in this part of the country for another week or so, so there is no reason to rush. The warm weather and sunny sky beckon, however, and I must be outside doing something. And there is the promise of those vine fresh tomatoes, zucchini, and other vegetables this summer.