Nature and Me

I believe I’ve struck a bargain with the birds. This is the second year they built a nest on top of the porch light. A bit of cardboard and the wood deck is saved from their excrement. That’s an easy compromise compared to abandoning the porch altogether when the chicks chirp their hunger with such frenetic energy that as I mother, I understand exactly that offspring is saying. My heart races and I scoot.

In the fall, I placed a Faeries Happen sign on the light, hoping to discourage the birds from building a nest because of the discomfort I figured we caused the birds. My plan worked through spring, until we arrived a few days ago. The baby birds were so tiny in their nest on Saturday. On Monday, we saw two chicks bursting either side of their home, and a couple days later, I notice there were three chicks in the nest. They are very quiet birds until they are hungry and then they are absolutely insistent. I mean, the energy is downright frenetic. Their parents swoop around the deck, but don’t dare deliver the food until we leave our beautiful shaded porch to play in the forest or go inside and close the door.

Sometimes Joey grumbles that I insist we abide the babies’ random schedule, but it’s familiar to me, and I feel sympathy for the parent birds. I also won’t allow him to weed whack the terrace where we building new garden beds and preparing for rows of grapes, until I have harvested the dandelion, which I clearly cannot do until all the bees have had their fill. But he’s the best at transporting seedlings into the earth. His tender, confident touch pulls in the dirt around their tender shoots, creates a well and then waters our plants deeply. We love living in harmony with nature.

While we gone, the rain and fog waters our herbal allies and food. It’s amazing, but the plants flourish, even during our long absences. Then they bloom in greeting when we arrive. The feeling of connection with my garden is transcendental. The rose geranium has become a bush from a sprig. The calendula opens for every single visit. Garlic stalks are over two feet. The artichokes are growing strong, safely protected by deer resistant flowers, chicken wire and flashing CDs. This week we transplanted two kinds of pumpkins and watermelon seedlings. Fingers crossed. We planted many starts too, including strawberries, thyme, basil, oregano, comfrey, and borage. Joey built another garden, fixed the road that got washed away this winter, mowed miles of road, and cleared the fallen trees.

I tend the garden and read many books preparing for a new career as a narrator and some clever videos to promote my next book, A Box of Magick. I’m careful about the hours that I am under the sun because it can be blistering, sweaty hot. The shower has questionable water pressure, more than a dribble, but nothing raucous. This is where I draw the line in homesteading.

So, while the birds fetch, deliver, and consume worms, I am inside with the walkie talkie while Joey goes to the wellhead at the top of the property two miles uphill – at an elevation gain of 400 feet. In order to water the cannabis plants, the previous owners laid ¾-inch pipe to fill water tanks next to three grow operations of thousands of potted cannabis plants.

Joey turns on the well to release water through pipes that run from the top of the property to the bottom, where the little house is located in the hollows. When the water in the water tank, about 100 yards from our house, overflows I alert him through the walkie talkie. It took half an hour to fill the tank and four minutes for it to travel from the top of the property to the bottom of the hollows.

The plan is to double the width of the pipe and set up a second water tank at the halfway point to the house to create more pressure because of gravity.

“We abuse land because we see it as a commodity belonging to us. When we see land as a community to which we belong, we may begin to use it with love and respect.”
― Aldo Leopold

The babies are quiet now. It’s time to go outside and sit on my lovely porch watching butterflies dance fly around golden poppies, bright yellow dandelions and calendulas blossoms that look like the sun itself. The afternoon breeze will rustle the bay leaves. And if the babies get hungry again, as they are wont to be, I will take a walk through the forest.

Within a few days, the biggest of two birds flew away without our notice. The smallest bird stayed in the nest for a full day. The mama bird chirped and called to her chick, but s/he didn’t want to go. I understand. Just wanted a little space, a moment to breath before launching yourself into thin air. Plus, this really is a cozy home in the hollows for generations of birds. Then, I looked up and the baby chick was gone. Time to fly.

Spring on the homestead

Three feet of the road crumbled under the torrent of water rushing down the hillside. Several trees, included a beautiful cinnamon colored, 40-foot tall madrone were ripped from their roots and lay prone sideways. Joey recharged several batteries on the chainsaw to clear a path for us to drive the truck to the bottom of the hollows.

I want to learn how to operate a chainsaw and cut up the fallen madrone into chairs or rounds for serving homemade food from our gardens. The culverts await on the side of the road because you can’t bring in heavy equipment when the road is still wet and mushy. I am learning a lot about road maintenance and how it can work well with permaculture, like building French drains and water bars that move the water so it won’t disintegrate the road, gardens or the root systems of trees you want to save.

I admit, I do like feeling close to the land in a way that I can measure my take or use of power. I watch the percentage of energy drop on the solar powered battery when I charge my phone or Bose speaker, run the toaster or the camp lights. When the battery runs low, we carry the solar panel outside. We don’t have cell service so we listen to downloaded podcasts, do puzzles, work on the house or deck, or I read to him or myself. We just settle into life, listen to birds, watch the flowers grow, and tend the garden. We emptied the perlite soil of two hundred grow bags into the garden because we plan to grow the artichokes in the ground. The new wire is working great to keep out the deer. The garlic are growing and I cannot wait to try them!

My beloved sexy man and I were in the quiet of our sacred homestead over Beltane, my most favorite pagan holiday in late April. This sabbat celebrates the unbridled joy of living. It is a time to celebrate the end of winter by jumping over a bonfire, which we built in the middle of a spiral that will one day be filled with wildflowers. When we left Crowley Lake for our homestead in the hollows, the snow tunnel to the wood shed was still eight foot tall on either side. We had shoveled countless hours as the world became a blizzarding white monochrome for five months. Now, we were submersed in nature’s green bounty.

The Wheel of the Year had turned and spring had sprung in Willits. I rejoiced when I saw the poppies, iris, red clover, plantain, pennyroyal, horsetail, olive fruits, blossoms of apple, pear and fig. Even the gorgeous black trumpet mushrooms didn’t escape our watchful eye. I felt immense joy at the return of life… this separation and reconnection cannot be experience until you have lived the pain of a colorless world. Spring is such a metaphor and guide in our lives.

What are you welcoming back into your life with a profusion of life, color and strength?