Cardinals Nesting

The cardinal waits, hidden in the camellia, for its eggs to hatch. 

Dogwood Blooms

White dogwood flowers

     floating on waving branches 

outlast cold rain gusts

Rhythms of Life

As a natural gardener, I strive for low maintenance. In the last few weeks, I have neglected both my garden and this blog after my husband had a heart attack. I even stopped refilling the bird feeder and bird bath for a couple of weeks. Nothing seemed to matter except caring for him.

Fortunately, the small half-sun vegetable garden was well-enough established by mid-June to survive neglect. Sungold and Sweet Million cherry tomatoes ripen by the dozens. And today I harvested a bowlful of Roma tomatoes, which will turn into sauce tomorrow.

Slowly, my interest in the garden has returned. It’s calming to watch a catbird splash joyfully in the birdbath. The cardinals and finches chase each other off the bird feeder. The ruby-throated hummingbird darts from salvias to annuals in pots, always in a hurry. The swallowtail butterflies flock to the Joe Pye weed. Today I saw six at one time on the small patch along the street. The rhythms of life continue, and when I slow down and watch, I see all’s right in the world.

Of Butterflies and Weeds

The bright orange butterfly weed (Asclepias tuberosa) is one of the most beautiful plants flowering in my garden. As I backed out of the driveway yesterday, I spotted an orange butterfly, perfectly mimicking the orange of the flowers, sipping nectar. It flew off when I got out of the pickup in an attempt to identify it (monarch and viceroy butterflies are the two most likely candidates). Later, I saw a spicebush swallowtail feeding on the butterfly weed.

It pleases me to think that the many types of native perennials and shrubs I've planted (including spicebush) are providing food for caterpillars and nectar for butterflies. Monarch butterflies, for example, breed exclusively on milkweeds, of which butterfly weed is one.

Butterfly weed has another appealing attribute - it likes poor soil with no mulch, fertilizer, or need for supplemental water.  I planted mine three years ago, never watered it after the first year, and it blooms beautifully.

A Veto on Wrens

Sigh. I notice today that the umbrella has disappeared from the corner of the back porch, and the Carolina wrens' nest with it. The culprit, my husband, explained, "They were making a mess, those wrens." Neatness prevails over nature.

Carolina Wrens' Umbrella Nest

Today's dilemma: Do I let the Carolina wrens continue building a nest on top of the table umbrella? We hadn't used the umbrella since Friday, and by Sunday, I noticed that wrens carrying twigs and leaves were busy flying into the ficus tree on the back porch, then hopping upwards into the corner of the eaves.

A peek outside the door revealed a nest under construction. I give the wrens high marks for energy (as always) but rather a low grade for nest design. It looks like a small, sloppy leaf pile. Perhaps wrens prefer comfort to style. A quick look in Charlotte Hilton Green's "Birds of the South" confirms the impression - the author notes that "wren families have been raised in the pockets of old coats, in old cups, broken gourds, discarded basins."

As I write this, I realize I already am attached to the idea of the wrens nesting there. I adore Carolina wrens.  Fearless and curious, they investigate everything new in the yard. They seem to have an affinity for anything man-made - shoes, buckets, garden tools, rain barrels. An open shed door is an invitation to enter.

An attractive brown with yellow breast, the Carolina wren usually has an upturned tail as it perches or hops around investigating. I often identify its singing simply by sheer volume - as the Cornell Laboratory of Ornithology says, it has "one of the loudest songs per volume of bird." It seems to have dozens of different songs, which it sings like a stage pro, with head thrown back and beak opened wide.

So I'll make the trade - lunches on the back porch in the shade of the umbrella for the pleasure of watching these little birds raise a family. Not too difficult a decision, as rains of the last week produced a side effect - mosquitoes.

Piedmont Spring

Spring has come, with life emerging from the soil beneath dead leaves and branches bare just days ago. Each day brings subtle changes in the swelling buds of trees, coloring the hillsides in red and beige and palest green. One day the understory in the woods is bare. A day later viburnums and buckeyes display the delicate green of tiny new leaves.

Magenta buds cluster along the crooked branches of redbuds. Trout lilies swim in thousands down the slopes near the creeks, showing speckled blue-green leaves and tiny pale yellow flowers facing down. Daffodils shout spring in the suburbs; trout lilies whisper the resurrection of life in the Piedmont woods.

Windflowers sway in the breeze sweeping along the creek, tiny and white, sized for fairies. Spring - fleeting, faithful, miraculous.