A Singing Day

Dear Maria,

A warm holiday greeting to you and the family on this cold, breezy day. Despite the sunshine, high won’t make it to 40, and our coldest days of the season so far are on their way. Of course, always warmer for you—and so then that hotter than hot in August. We gets what we gets.

The family Christmas mob scene was great fun as always. Four generations, 32 of us. Santa was good to me, practical things, which I like. Like lined garden gloves. The family is catching on.

Very little work going on out back. Did make around 1000 hardwood cuttings a couple of weeks ago. Got the almond trees in, so the orchard area is pretty much complete. Blueberry bushes planted, too.

I still get asked about my daily routine and keeping busy. Honestly, never think about it. Time is no longer so neatly fragmented into stages—certainly no bells ringing every 50 minutes or so. If while puttering about something like the geese catches my eye, then so be it.

The chore can wait while I watch the males rise up on their tails and thrash the water with their wings. Entertaining to watch the rest of the flotilla turn in unison toward the posturing combatants. Or maybe it’s the heron across the way being fussed at by mallards that gives me pause. Or the bluebirds one morning out in force.

As days glide by, oddly the weeks jet by. Hours are mostly meaningless. Only the occasional appointment or lunch rendezvous tethers me to the clock. Bills keep the calendar in play—that, and a countdown to the average date for the last freeze.

Forgive me for setting aside your questions about current events. I’ll offer up one apolitical observation on the basis of scant evidence—imagine that. Trump, if he receives a serious medical exam, will be diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes and an A1C of 12. There, you heard it here first.

One afternoon a few weeks ago, I watched my neighbor tenderly lift his youngest daughter out of their van and carry her into the house. Broken leg for that 5-year-old. Several minutes later the 5-year-old neighbor on the other side was singing her heart out. I didn’t know the song, but it had the feel of a Disney epic.

Maybe that best gets at the heart of life now—despite difficulties that may arise, singing days prevail.

I trust life tumbles along comfortably for you and your tribe. Best wishes going forward into 2018.

Yours,

srk

The Daily Bonus

Dear Maria,

Okay, so I meant sort of monthly updates. Blame days that allow the pause button to be pushed. Little timeouts for me to savor a cup of coffee or take in the geese splashing in the lake or watch the neighbor children chasing about as they play. Days do not rush by—snap, snap, snap—but rather ease by. Some event that I think of as just last week more likely was the week before.

And now it is November. As to the question of the leaves changing color, yes they are. But the temperatures are so mild that several butterfly bushes are blooming again, the nandina are growing, and a number of plants in the nursery are acting like it is the growing season. Even the lilac transplanted from my sister’s backyard and one of the rescue crabapples are breaking into flower.

Go figure.

As for the geese, yes they are still coming in nearly daily. We had that stretch where nearly every evening 60, 70, and even a few times over 100 would fly in to overnight. Now the numbers are much fewer and the pattern is more erratic. Hard to know which birds might be on the move south and which might be part of the overwintering bands.

Oh, finally, after more than a year, saw the first Red-headed Woodpecker out here last week, which seems very unlikely given the many trees that could be worked over.  Or maybe it was the week before.

I am certain it was last week that while sitting out back after sunset I watched a Cooper’s Hawk glide no more than 10 feet above me and across three backyards into the shadows of the trees towards the dam. For those few moments time slowed down, a bonus at the end of what was most likely a good day.

Most likely I say because as I told a friend, my days are very nearly all cake and some are served with extra icing. Each day typically offers something special, something beyond the expected, often obvious, but I suspect not much effort would reveal a highlight from each day. Appreciation of, gratitude for—the daily bonus.

With the days shorter even more so now—dang time change foolishness—the seasonal pull increases despite the weather to date. Hope the holiday season ahead promises many good moments for you and your family.

And then 2018? Impossible.

Always yours,

srk

Some Trees, the Woods

Dear Maria,

Your namesake hurricane laying waste along its path and 28 years ago, Hugo. Only coincidence the timing of this letter, but hard not to note. As I told my mother this morning, Hugo ignites our memories without the prompting of photos.

Floods, hurricanes, earthquakes—so many terrible trials for so many, many people.

As to some of your questions—and numbered?—the nursery idea is rooted in a 3-year plan to be growing 2000 trees and shrubs. At least. No, really. Right now my last inventory counted 152 items that could be sold, but generally I bought small to grow tall. How’s that for sloganeering? And pretty much this year is a lab with a lot of surprises, aka steep learning curve.

Part of that curve is discovering I enjoy more one Chinese wisteria coming up from seed than the 20 river birches adding a foot or so of growth this season. So, plant 5000 seeds? I’m thinking about it.

My youngest neighbor—I am, or very nearly am, the senior citizen on the cul-de-sac. How the heck did that happen?—he worries about my little growing adventure. He frets about the costs and thinks I work too hard out in the sun. His observation: I don’t know anyone who ever bought a tree. I told him my doctor would approve the pushing, pulling, lifting, and digging. Rather all of that for me instead of repetitive exercises. His response: You can work out in a gym. And so it goes.

To be fair, he mows the slope between our yards to keep me off of it with my push mower, and I have no doubt he would lend a hand with a heavy load. He loves his kids and seems to have a mostly easy-going hold on life. A good neighbor, as they all seem to be in this neck of the woods.

As for the birds, the usual suspects. More particularly, two sightings of bald eagles so far, a Cooper’s hawk 30’ away on the back fence the other morning, a bluebird and a goldfinch landing together in one of the rescue willow oaks, over 100 geese coming in last night to overnight on the lake. May not be the cranes at Gibbon or flamingos at Nakuru, but I find the comings and goings of my—my—geese amusing and comforting.

My seasonal lament is always the same, the shortening days. I drink my morning coffee on the patio now in the pre-dawn coolness before the geese are stirring. But life remains good, and that is no small thing as we both know.

As always, my very best to you and the family.

Yours, srk

In Time, Just

Dear Maria,

I will freely admit chagrin. 

And you may be assured that on your behalf I have been chided, admonished even. Rather than the opinionistas, your birthday card clucking about my 64th has put me in my place here at my desk again. After nearly 9 months. Oh, yes, I checked.

And you were right about how settled into this new landscape I have become. As you know, I have had yard canvasses to work with before, but never quite so large and quite so blank. The house sits up on a bit of an unshaded knob to be thoroughly broiled by the solar engine, and so I have planted 12 trees intended to produce shade asap. Of course, I am willing to anticipate results that may be 3 to 5 years out, or even 10-15 should I be shuffling around this property then.

I did tell a former student that I seem to have a temperament for delayed results. Indeed.

Then one thing led to another--how banal that phrase, but onward--and I planted a number of fruit trees--apples, peaches, jujubes--and then cucumbers, squash, melons, tomatoes, and beans. Oh, and I started a nursery of trees and plants, which now has about 40 different species growing in around 300 containers. 

No doubt you are laughing, or smiling wryly, to think of me planting for food. Blame one of my neighbors who is quite the gardener. He corrupts me with the vegetables, and I retaliate by talking up trees and shrubs. We toss cherry tomatoes to each other from yard to yard. My mother is calling us the Hardy Boys of gardening. He would be the younger Joe in this duo.

I am still out of bed before dawn each day. Now morning coffee includes rounds to check on what is breaking leaf, fruiting, blooming, or in some kind of trouble. The rhythm of the days turns by the arrival and departure of geese on the lake, the first birds of the morning, the last few at dusk. 

In truth, I am at a point where I often can be wrong about the day of the week--twice in one week, as has happened. Daytime heating dictates my activities more than the calendar, clocks run forward without signifying much by way of beginning or ending times. A day, a week, an hour or two, all ease by. 

But now you are reinserted into the rollcall of what deserves attending to. I will stay in touch. Exactly when, well I cannot say. 

May all be the very best for you and your family.

Yours, 
srk