the zen of weeding

Started off this past Saturday morning feeling energized -- had some spare time for yardwork! Believe me, I have myriad projects screaming for attention, but gave mine to a section of 'parking strip' which was overrun by thick weeds.

I like to weed. I like to get my hands dirty. There's something so basic..so in tune...so at one with the earth...so honest in doing it. I'm sure it's much more practical to zap them. To me, that 'poisons' the process and removes an important element of satisfaction and, more importantly, the strong connection with nature that rewards the work.


I dug and dug and pulled and pulled and watched the weed pile grow and grow. That encouraged me onward. Strangely, I began to dread the thought of cleaning it up: what a sense of accomplishment was held therein! Yet, as more and more dirt was uncovered, the reward factor shifted to that side. Plants hidden since fall now basked in sunlight.

Unfortunately, the weeds, plants and soil were peppered with spiky balls -- from liquid ambers, I think. I'm certain these nasty, devilish things were the singular inspiration for that horrid medieval invention, the mace. Smaller versions - but lethal, no less, to foot, hand. And, to further prove a grim point: the decomposing ones bear a ghoulish resemblance to...uh...a human skull. Isn't there a better way to create a seed?

It took a long soak in the tub and a good bit of scrubbing to get (most of) the dirt off me. Well worth it!

Bliss: project done: weeds gone, stepping stones added!

hummingbirds...almost... fledged

Friday morning, a hummingbird check revealed that one of the pair had fledged. That's great -- but the remaining sibling looked forlorn. Out of the comforting nest, he was sitting on the pipe, facing the big world. I had a great view of his tiny body. Alarmingly...there was no wing buzzing.

Thank goodness mom, in her incomparable wisdom, had not only attached bugs the ceiling, barely out of reach unless one lifts off slightly, but also laid in a supply on the pipe supporting the nest. There little Buddy sat, pecking a bit at the ones close by, preening a bit. But way too quiet.

A new cashier at the Summit has gotten into birdwatching. She thinks it's sweet how much I care, but has become an avid hummer watcher herself. Yesterday, I made a handful of visits, instead of just one. On my first arrival, she said, 'One of them is gone!!!' The next, ' Some of the students have noticed what you're watching. Just think, they're so close...but hadn't realized what a miracle is happening on the other side of the glass.' By this time, she could tell I was concerned, and, when I returned for a late lunch, she tried to reassure me: 'He'll be fine', and gave me 50 cents off my teriyaki rice bowl.

That's when I started hating that it was Friday. What would happen to him? How will I know he made it out OK...will he be cold tonight without his sibling? I had never seen one outside the nest: Was something wrong? Could there be a wing equipment malfunction?

I did my last check after work. There he was. Sitting and staring. I stayed longer than my usual brief visits, hoping to see Mom swoop in and give him a pep talk. I started wondering if this might really be Mom herself, sitting, pondering motherhood, cleaning up the scene a bit.

Then - a bit of wing buzzing! Then more and more. Then, Buddy made some quick, short flights, directly under the overhang and not anywhere near the exit arches of the wall, always returning to the pipe. I finally pulled myself away, at least knowing he was gaining confidence, but wondering now about his sense of direction.

It's Saturday. I think I'll stop in at work.

Wish I could give proper credit for the photo, but sometimes there's not enough info on a Google image search.