The door to the mind should only open from the heart. An enemy who gets in, risks the danger of becoming a friend. Joy Harjo (U.S. Poet Laureate)
Each morning I go outside and raise the blind so that the sunlight (or cloud-light) may make its way into the living room. I also step over to the birdbath that sits near the corner of the house and fill it with fresh water for the day from a handy, nearby spigot. If the bluebells or shrubs look a bit dry, I’ll give them a drink while I’m there, for I’ve got a nozzle that ensures they’re all within reach. Once I’m finished with the front, I head out back and repeat the process for the birdbath and variety of flowering bushes and plants that are quite pleasant to behold.
I’m very much a minimalist when it comes to yardwork. I clear away the dead stuff, of course, and tidy up the grounds every little bit, but I’m not a fanatic about it. I have no interest in trimming bushes and plants to create some artificial balance or artful topiarial effect. I’m content to let the plants get scraggly, if that’s how nature has made them.
There are a few varieties that need to be hacked back, of course. The blackberries will absolutely run roughshod all over the place if one doesn’t take a whip and chair to them. You can’t kill them with weed killer, of course. Blackberries just laugh at such puny and paltry efforts. All you can do is dig down deep and remove as much of the roots as you possibly can. They’ll still come back, though, because nature always wins. But one can keep them under some semblance of control, and that’s all I want.
There’s a healthy strain of blackberry that holds up the fence between us and our neighbor, so we get all the blackberries we ever want from that one group of bushes. Aside from that, though, the rest must be rooted out and disposed of. It doesn’t take too much time, and that’s fine with me. I think nature should be enjoyed and isn’t something to be conquered or beaten into submission.
One of my great joys is watching birds fly down to the birdbaths to bathe. I never know if they’re trying to tidy up before flying off to work, or if there is some other purpose. I suspect they may simply be playing in the water because it’s something fun to do. I never see that “I’m late for work” look on their faces, While beaks tend to look pretty hard to the untrained eye, I’d swear I can see smiles on those little avian faces.
Not only do the birds smile, but they often invite their little buddies to come join them, and I’d swear I’ve seen them get into little water fights and splash-fests. It’s no wonder I have to fill those bowls each morning; the water doesn’t evaporate: it gets splish-splashed all the way to tarnation and back!
We could learn a lot if we would take time to observe the natural order more thoughtfully. Oh sure, there are carnivores and herbivores and not a small amount of violence taking place out there – survival of the fittest and all that guff. But I am talking about watching the ways animals and birds and plants go about tending to what they do, and ignoring all the rest. I’ve never seen a squirrel criticize a bear for eating fish, or a tulip critique a rose. Each does what nature has made it to do, and the rest let God be the judge.
I’ve gotten to appreciate nature more and more in my old age. It makes sense. It won’t be too long down the road before I’ll be filling the earth with my remains, and I’d rather have the planet welcome me home than hold resentments against me for things done or left undone.
The earth is a friend, and the least I can do is love and embrace that from which all humans sprang. It’s the berry/bury least I can do. At least that’s my gravest perspective here in this, our valley.
Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of newly released: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available exclusively through Amazon in Print and e-book)
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