fog

I actually like these overcast days. I can work in the yard for hours and not get overheated, which is what I did today. The major part of the landscaping being done, now its just the minor adjustments and the maintenance. Which is endless.

I sit on my patio, sipping a glass of wine, my attention divided between the view of my flower beds and my book. I'm re-reading Ishmael, by Daniel Quinn. I read this when it first came out, ten or so years ago and I remember my response to his premises being a resounding YES!!! He had articulated exactly what I have felt all my conscious life about the earth and civilized man's role on it. Which is to say, his (our) attempt to conquer and control the earth, and the universe. And how we are destroying it in the process. And how we can't seem to stop. (Here's where I should be describing more about the book and Quinn's premises and conclusions, but I'm only 1/3 way through at this point and my ten year memory is fuzzy. Get the book and read it yourself. Its short enough and an easy, interesting read.)

I glance up again at my yard. My flower beds, full of carefully selected nectar and seed producing plants, tall structures, thick shrubs, big inviting bird bath. A well thought out manipulation of my little mini-environment, in a pitiful attempt to coax "nature" back into my yard. All for my viewing pleasure, of course. A little microcosm of man's attempt to create paradise on earth, a la Quinn. And I realize the irony of it all. My little yard in back of my little house, in the middle of a small sub-division of like houses, surrounded by orchards (regularly sprayed with god knows what chemicals) in a valley of like subdivisions and orchards, in a state/country of more of the same, including thousands of chemical/smog/ozone belching factories etc and on and on. My futile attempt at trying to re-create "nature" in my yard in this context is like trying to put out a fire with a squirt gun, or however that expression goes.

So anyway, I'm trying to create this bird friendly environment, because among other things, I love birds. When my cats left this earth three years ago, I decided for various reasons, I could not be a cat owner again. By default, my "pets" have become the wildlife in my yard. My little hummingbird with the white beak who wintered over this year, with the help of all the nectar plants I planted last fall. The doves nesting in my hanging geranium under my patio cover. The mockingbird that absolutely cracks me up with his crazy mixture of songs. The lizards - the fat, dark ones coming out at the same time each day, doing their little (mating? territorial?) dance; one circling the other intermittently shaking and doing push-ups, the other hunched in a submissive posture; little skinny pale ones that scurry at the speed of light, long ambling alligator lizards. I can't believe how many lizards there are in my yard.

And then there's Fred. The gopher. Which is probably Fredda, more likely, as I'm sure she's either building a nest or feeding her young as we speak. Feeding them MY PLANTS! At any rate, said gopher has been driving me nuts for the past two years. Think Bill Murray in Caddyshack. Except that I, animal lover that I am, refuse to kill it. I mean, Fred's just a little wild creature trying to survive, just like the birds and the lizards, right? why would I want to KILL him (her) ? Discourage maybe, but not kill. So there're lots of gopher holes in my yard. A few plants get sacrificed. The "landscape" is not perfect.

Well, neither is life.

I still refuse to kill the gopher.

Maybe there's hope for me yet.