Being At-One With Nature

Each spring my peasant DNA demands expression. The primal need to get my hands into the loess of a garden urges me to plan a garden. There’s nothing like the smell of good soil; the feel of well turned dirt is incomparable! The sounds of birds building nests and tending their young fill my heart with delight. Life has returned to the Midwest. I am at-one with nature.

"The year’s at the spring
And day’s at the morn;
…

I spend hours of back breaking labor joyfully, kneeling in reverence to Mother Nature. The floral theme for the front yard is red and white this year. Nearly four dozen candy striped impatiens will greet visitors drawn to the Veranda which is surrounded by red and while striped geraniums and firecracker salvias. Soon baby rabbits will poke their heads out from the tell-tale holes we found in the front yard.

The back will host a variety of vegetables, herbs, and flowers. I have great hopes for the gladiolas. Sun exposure is perfect for the comestibles. Shady areas will feature forget-me-nots and the left over impatiens. Jolly dahlias will greet those who enter the yard. Peonies provide an early burst of color. The five-varieties-in-one apple tree already has delightful “baby apples.” Adding to the tree’s charm is a robin’s nest, carefully guarded by mom and pop red-breast.

The lark’s on the wing;
The snail’s on the thorn:

All the plants are in. I can sit back and reap the benefits of my plans and toil. My husband has helped with the drudge work. He, however, is not as “at-one” with the seasons as I. The cause of his unease is the pesky squirrel.

My husband has a “thing” about squirrels. He hates them. We have a large red oak in the backyard that provides beauty and shade. Hubby insists that the squirrels use the tree to bombard him with acorns in the fall. Marksmen squirrels take turns dropping their missiles on his head. He wanted to have the tree cut down last year, but rationality prevailed.

The oak is perfect for aerie squirrel nests. Parent squirrels break off branches and tear leaves to make their cozy home. A high and comfortable platform where large branches diverge makes secure footing for their fledgling rodents. Three times this spring the man has risked life and limb to knock the nests down. He has fashioned a nest destroying pike from the extendable tree trimmer. He wields his pike with abandon while precariously perched on an extension ladder.

I expect to be made a widow over those squirrels. “What harm are they doing?” I ask. “After all the poor things have to live somewhere.” I urge him to relax, enjoy, and stop to smell the roses. I exhort him to be at-one with nature.

God’s in his heaven—
All’s right with the world." [Robert Browning’s Pippa Passes]

He should be more like me, attuned to the rhythms of the earth. He must learn to enjoy birdsong at dawn; listen for the twitter of baby robins with sweet anticipation; yearn for an early glimpse of those adorable baby bunnies.

Wait! From the front gutters a secret sparrow nest spills groundflood too near the foundation. Those d---d rabbits are eating my geraniums and salvias. Squirrels have been digging up the corms. All those hours on my knees! Husband, hand me your pike.