Paying Homage to the Trees
The gardens of Serendipity Shore as landscaped by The Wise I are taking shape.
Stinky creeping juniper has been removed. Decks have been pressure-washed and stained. Plants now adorn the small deck that had once been grey, ugly and forlorn. A sweet gurgle of water can be heard tinkling down the fountain made of resin, ordered over the Internet, delivered to our door and installed, boom, in about fifteen minutes.
God Bless America.
It was a quiet but sultry hot August afternoon as I regarded my garden domain and considered the effect.
My eyes were drawn to the trees on the lot and I realize with all mine own landscaping, nothing can ever replace the backbone of mature trees in any backyard eco-system.
For the first time in my entire life I am living on a lot with a mature evergreen. Indeed Serendipity Shore's resident evergreen reaches to the sky another story beyond the height of the house. It has a fine pyramidal shape and the birds love it.
I bought this house because of that evergreen. My dream is to some day cover it with Christmas lights. Although I would likely need a crane.
Across from the evergreen a tall black walnut stands proud. Bagworms sleep happily on some of its branches. The lower part of the black walnut is bowed deep from the weight of the many black walnuts, still green but gleaming with promise of a bounty to come.
I consider that I should prune the lower branches of the black walnut. The canopy it forms over what could become another garden here on Serendipity Shore is oppressive. And yet the canopy is ripe and pregnant and filled with a nut bounty that makes it a thing of beauty.
A tall oak stands by on driveway duty. This tree sports a funny face that causes cars to stop in astonishment. Studded throughout the back yard, tall oaks and dogwoods provide nice shade and a sense of complacency.
No backyard eco-system with any pride of self exists without mature trees. Trees that wrap the homestead with their leafy presence as they stand tall and proud, happy to be a tree.
The Delaware Nature Society
The Wise I is now a representative of the Delaware Nature Society, affiliated with my beloved National Wildlife Federation. Lower Sussex county is my gig.
I will give lectures to groups interested in learning more about the NWF backyard habitat program and will come to your home and provide assistance to an end goal of being certified as a Backyard Wildlife Habitat by the National Wildlife Federation.
If any Delaware readers are interested let me know.
Delaware Nature Society HERE
More Gardens and Bird posts HERE
Sometimes It Isn't Futile
My husband comes home from work a little after 5pm and says he has a moral question. A what? (And he thinks I have the answer?)
"You see I brought the air compressor home."
Well, no. The truck is empty. I point this out to him, in case he hadn't noticed it.
"Right. It fell out. On the freeway. Snapped the straps and fell right out over the tailgate."
The freeway? Visions of "Rescue 911" or "Reality TV Unleashed" flash across my mind. "Did it hit..?"
"No, it didn't hit anything. So I take the next exit, and come back to pick it up, and there's two guys loading it into the back of their car. So I stopped and said, 'hey, that's my air compressor.' 'Not anymore,' one of them says back. It ends up they want fifty bucks for it, because they had to retrieve it from the road and that was dangerous. No way I'm paying fifty bucks for my own air compressor. I wrote down their license plate." He holds up his hand and I see the license plate written across his palm. "Do I call the cops?"
Hmmm.... What about Finders/Keepers and are we liable for littering? I don't know. Eventually we decide to call the cops and ask them if we should report it. The dispatcher says she'll send a car out.
Three hours later, a car shows up (we'd almost given up). They take Harry's story (three times) and go over the possibilities with him.
(Does it surprise anyone that he gave a better description of the air compressor than of the two guys?)
The possibilities:
1) It wasn't their car and we'll never find them. If so, no action is needed.
2) It was/wasn't their car and we find them, and they've still got the compressor. If so, you want the compressor back.
3) It was/wasn't their car and we find them, but they've sold the compressor. If so, are you willing to press charges against these guys? It's a misdemeanor theft, based on the value of the compressor. (Figuring the value took some work, because it really won't be worth much if the pavement chewed up anything critical on it.)
Harry was willing to press charges and the cops left, with a promise to call -- later that night if there was anything worth reporting, and the next day if nothing, just to touch base.
Around 9pm the phone rang. They'd found the car, and the compressor was still in it. The guys would give it back. We needed to meet the cops at the house. (At the house?? Ack!) 'Oh,' the policeman said, 'don't come too close to the house.'
We got an address and took the Tundra to go on a bad guy hunt. Ever tried looking for an address you're not supposed to find? It's not fun. "Well, let's see, the number is 8000 and we're at 7300, how much farther can we go and still not be seen by the target address?" Add in country road and nearly moonless night, and it's the makings for a bad horror movie.
We got as close as I dared (Harry was willing to go farther but I was driving) and pulled over, waiting, in the dark. Pretty soon Harry's cell phone rang. It was the cops, wondering where we were and telling us we could come on to the house. But keep our distance, they didn't want a confrontation. (No problem there.)
We found the house and there's the car, with air compressor overflowing its trunk, two cops, the two guys, a wife, a kid or two, and about fifty neighbors looking on. Harry gets out. (I stay in the truck, with it running. I've seen those shows... by God, if a fight starts, I'm gonna run one of 'em over with the Tundra.) The group talks. And talks. And talks. Felt like several years, but was probably only a few minutes.
Then Harry and a cop put the air compressor back in our truck. We left, and I went the wrong way out their driveway. (No use giving them any help finding us.) Harry told me on the way home that he'd asked one of the thieves to help him load the compressor back in our truck. When the guy looked at him like he was crazy, he explained he just didn't want to scratch the paint on the car. There are definitely differences between "them" and "us."
The moral? I could say something trite like it pays to use the justice system, or there sometimes is a cop around when you need one, but really all I think is ... use new straps when transporting an air compressor.
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Michelle, winebird@inreach.com
The Desk Drawer, writer's exercise email list:
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More Guest Writer HERE
Those Talented Dogs
A week or so ago we had a few visitors here at Serendipity Shore.
The dogs, well they were okay.
However, late in the day I allowed the dogs, an odd couple of a Belgian Malinois and a nasty dachshund, to perform their talent show.
Indeed the dogs of Serendipity Shore are very talented and don't say not.
Cleetus, the nasty dachshund, will sing on command.
All one has to do is inadvertently "lose" him.
The game begins with my surprise that I cannot find Cleetus. Cleetus, of course, is standing right there but he is so little that he is easy to overlook. Cleetus becomes very anxious as his greatest fear is that we will lose him. Big galoot Jo-Ann, the Belgian Malinois, does not nothing to ease Cleetus' concerns. Jo-Ann will suck all the canine air out of a room and crowd Cleetus out from any pettings or attention.
I then call for Cleetus, who I have once again "lost". I look under tablecloths, under ottomans, inside of closets. All the while I am calling for Cleetus. Who is, once again, right there by my side.
Cleetus will begin his long and mournful song. For a small dog Cleetus can sing his song really loud. Cleetus will bay and howl and drown out the sounds of flying jets as I search the surround for his sad self.
Jo-Ann, who never has to fear being lost as it would be impossible to lose the 80 pound hound, thinks this whole charade is stupid. The shepherd will stand by as Cleetus howls his dismay and as I call for Cleetus to come out from inside the closet. By Jo-Ann Cleetus is right there and I am the human idiot for peeking under tablecloths for her nemesis and boss, the nasty dachshund, Cleetus.
But the big galoot shepherd is not without her talents.
For Jo-Ann is in charge of all the many balls in the backyard. Of which there are, oh perhaps a hundred.
Indeed if there were a world record for how many balls a dog could hold in its mouth, Jo-Ann would win. At any given time upon exit to the back yard, Jo-Ann can be seen trotting around merrily with five goofy balls in her mouth. She loves to sashay past Cleetus, all of her balls in her mouth, with an air of superiority over the little dachshund. Whose tiny mouth cannot even grasp one of Jo-Ann's toy balls.
Jo-Ann also likes to corral all of her beloved balls into her "swimming pool". Which is naught but the top of a wheel barrow. We purchased a real kiddie pool for Jo-Ann but the thing was so light and fragile Jo-Ann took to trotting around the yard with the ENTIRE POOL in her mouth.
I'm not making this up.
And so you have it. Two talented dogs. Cleetus the singer. Who can also dance a fine cha-cha by the way. And Jo-Ann, the Belgian Malinois.
The Keeper of the Balls.
Below a pet cartoon in case my tales of talented dogs begins to bore.
I'd certainly welcome any other examples of talented dogs. Surely I don't have the only ones.
More Pampered Pets HERE
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