Otherworldly

The bird garden looks like some sort of fairy tale land when bathed in the early morning light.

 

My orioles

Early May signals the return of one of my favorite birds, the Baltimore oriole. Their brilliant coloring and cheerful song makes them a real standout. This year they endured a grueling migration through an oil spill in the Gulf and record flooding in Tennessee. If I could understand their language, I bet they'd have some interesting tales to tell.

This is the third year that I've used special feeders to attract orioles to my backyard. The first feeder is a very small one that Jeremy and I made from scrap wood and a bit of tin. It has a small perch and an old nail that holds a chunk of fresh orange. It's tucked back in the bird garden near most of my other bird feeders.

I also bought a jelly/orange feeder from my favorite birding website. It has a small glass cup that holds the jelly and two copper spirals that you can twist pieces of orange onto. Clearly a crowd pleaser, I've often seen two orioles feeding from it at the same time.

Lastly is the new feeder that I just put out yesterday. It's made from a really cool antique strainer ladle that I found at an antique mall a couple of years ago ( for only $3.00!). I knew right away that it's bright orange color and shape would make for a fine feeder. Jeremy carefully drilled a small hole through the handle. We then hung it right near the jelly feeder on our pergola, and I filled it with orange flavored suet nuggets.

It's hard to imagine a more pleasing month than May, with the lilacs blooming and the orioles returning to nest. Springtime in the garden holds such a sense of excitement and hope for whatever lies ahead, just beyond that last frost warning.

Spring hath sprungeth!

Spring Song
by Robert Louis Stevenson

The air was full of sun and birds,
The fresh air sparkled clearly.
Remembrance wakened in my heart
And I knew I loved her dearly.

The fallows and the leafless trees
And all my spirit tingled.
My earliest thought of love, and Spring's
First puff of perfume mingled.

In my still heart the thoughts awoke,
Came lone by lone together -
Say, birds and Sun and Spring, is love
A mere affair of weather?

Grandma's Roses

Grandma's roses proudly lined the west side of her yard.  Their bright pink color and sweet scent were hard to miss as you entered her driveway.  My stepdad once claimed they were the loathsome multiflora rose that were known for their invasive nature, but I suspect they might have been some sort of native climbing rose as multiflora roses are typically white in color.

But Grandma didn't just grow roses.  She and Grandpa had an amazing vegetable garden that is unrivaled by any other garden I've seen to this day.  They grew everything from sweet corn to dill.  Cabbages to asparagus.  Raspberry vines climbed the fence on the east side of the yard. (My sister was particularly fond of those.  Grandma made delicious raspberry jam.)  It was a feast for the eyes and the taste buds!  I specifically remember the many times I helped Grandma harvest the asparagus.  Armed with a paring knife and a pail, I would carefully navigate the patch losing my rhythm only when Grandma yelled, "Be careful, Aimee!  You're squashing some!"  I liked being her special helper, digging deep into the soil to unearth the tender purple and white spears.  Those were always the tastiest. 

Grandma's home cooked meals were the best.  Ingredients usually included produce from her garden, and she always knew just what I liked.  Cucumbers and mashed potatoes were favorites of mine.  She'd soak cucumber slices in salt water next to the kitchen sink.  A bowl for her and a bowl for me.  I'd sneak into the kitchen and grab slices from her bowl, never wanting to deplete my own precious portion.  I can still hear her voice echo in my head.  "Aimee, don't eat anything.  You'll spoil your dinner!"  Grandma, in all the years that have passed since your stern warnings, I have never managed to spoil my dinner.  My gluttonous appetite has prevailed.  You would be so proud.

I believe those early childhood memories of her garden fostered a love of gardening in me that has only grown with time.  I think of her often as I tend my own little patch of earth.  A hobby that may have been born out of her own necessity has become a labor of love for me.