Tag Archives: Birds

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Meadow On The Mountain And Other Lovely Things

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It was a long time ago and we had decided to have a picnic.  I had the idea that I wanted to have a picnic in a meadow. Meadows were one of my favorite things in life and one of the most beautiful things that I could think of.  A wide expanse of land, high in the mountains, nestled between rocky peaks. Surround by tall forests where ancient pines and stands of Aspen lived. 

We drove up a two lane highway to Dog Valley. Not sure why it was named Dog Valley, but on the way was a sheer rocky cliff at the side of the road. The cliff was a favorite climb for the local rock climbers.  Each time I drove past this spot, memories of a fallen climber would surface.  One day, a few years before, a climber fell and died instantly, his body landing harshly against the sharp outcropping  of stone. The image of his body draped unnaturally  backwards  over a jutting section of the cliff. His body was folded as if  into a sandwich. His  spine most certainly split and fractured in two from the fall. I shook my head and attempted to rid the image from my mind.  We passed a reservoir and headed higher into the forest.  Finally, we pulled to the side on to a dirt road and headed through the forest. This forest was light and the sun shone through the light growth of pines. After about 20 minutes we pulled into an open space and parked.  

As I opened the car door and stepped out among the tall trees, I was immersed in fresh oxygen and the aromas of forest life.  Life was clean and vibrant here.  The scent of pine and earth commingled with thousands of other scents that only a forest and wildlife can produce.  The essentials that sustain life on Earth.  We gathered a blanket and our backpacks and set off to hike through the forest. We would hike  up the mountain and to a meadow we had located on an old map. 

We were both comfortable in the wilderness. We had both grown up camping and knew how to make our way and create landmarks in our minds and on the trail to remember the way. The pine needles crunched beneath my hiking boots as we ascended the gentle slope of the mountainside.  As we hiked the pines began to thin and a wide expanse of grasses and wildflowers came into view.  We headed into the grasses making our own trail.  Bugs and butterflies were abundant,  buzzing and darting about the grasses and wild blossoms.  Birds swooped in and landed for treasure.  They would either perch and stay or fly away again into the vast skies of blue sky country.  I looked down at my old hiking boots from Raley’s the local grocery and supply store. Every year before winter they would have a big sale on down coats, heavy socks and boots to help the locals survive the freezing winters in Reno and the towns that surrounded the city. My parents would herd us in there and buy us each long underwear, a down jacket, heavy socks and boots.  

My boots were heavy, old and scuffed, but well-loved.  They were making the hike on this mountain much easier. Beneath my boots grasses gave way and the soil was peaking through the different varieties of grasses and budding life.  The soil was a grayish brown, chunky, uneven and exuded the aromas of mountain life.

We reached the center of the meadow and threw out our blanket, disengaged our backpacks and laid down in the sunshine.  I laid on my back and gazed into the endless blue sky.  The air was clear and clean and I took deep breaths, filling my lungs with nature and oxygen.  The sun warmed my skin.  All of my nerve endings seemed to vibrate and come alive, reacting to the living meadow.  Life chirped, clicked, scurried and the grasses rustled.  The suns rays opened the grasses and blossoms, initiating photosynthesis and creating more chemical reactions than a chemistry lab.   I figured we probably wouldn’t  last more than an hour  or two in the brilliant sunlight. All around were grasses, birds, wildlife, the forests and flowers in all colors of the rainbow and of all shapes and sizes. Colors burst forth and shot towards the endless blue sky.  I gazed up into the blue and almost felt as if I were flying, but feeling the strong, sturdy earth against my back reminded me of my true location.  

We didn’t speak, we didn’t have to.  The world was speaking for us and we could just lie back and enjoy the conversation.  Eventually, we broke open the backpacks and pulled out snacks and water.  Something small to tide us over until we made it back to the car. I looked around and listened and felt like the luckiest person in the world. 

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Come Into The Garden

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Have you ever walked through a gorgeous garden? A garden that is teeming with flowers and shrubbery, a cacophony of life and nature in happy harmony?

My mom always loved gardens and then my sisters too. They particularly loved roses. I loved them, but until recently hadn’t found space in my life to care for them. So I enjoyed theirs. Having a garden had many benefits. It was a local opportunity to bond with nature and it also made Christmas shopping fun and easy. I love picking out wind chimes, statues and stakes to embellish their gardens. These objects were pure whimsy and not to be taken seriously.

In the garden, there were small spaces that were set aside for magical enclaves to entice children to enter and imagine. My sister had a fairy garden under her roses. She had set out miniature patio furniture, a swing and a statue of a fairy. Her grandchildren loved to spend time in the garden, playing and making up stories about mermaids, princesses and lands far away.

In my mother’s garden, hummingbird feeders were hung and there always seemed to be a butterfly flying among open buds. Many times the butterflies would land and perch on my mother. They somehow knew that she loved them and they were safe with her. A stone fountain invited birds to come take a drink and rest within the quiet green enclave. A collection of chimes provided a musical backdrop for the natural magic.

Photo by Jeff Finley on Unsplash

I eventually reached a point where I wanted to start a garden. I found a great sprinkler guy. Hard working, great prices and he set out to provide the life source that every garden needs. Precious water. Water that covers most of our planet, but becomes so scarce as you move inland. Even though we live over huge aquifers, accessing this liquid gold has become a privilege as cities and counties tax and raise water prices. Not a new occurrence as significant water wars were a fact of life for the early settlers of the west. The most famous water war in the Inland Empire centered around the needed water for citrus and created the legend of Eliza Tibbits, a sociable and intelligent matron who had to water the two trees that started it all with her own dishwater.

So the waterworks were installed, it was time to pick plants and visit nurseries. There was an amazing nursery in Riverside; Parkview Nursery. Here, one could find all exotics varieties of flora and natives too. The plants were healthy and primed to create beautiful gardens. I picked out a beautiful pink iceberg rose variety and a few other colorful species to plant. A careful education was provided, some great plant food, and I was on my way.

This was the start to some sporadic gardening sandwiched in between long work hours and the other specifics of daily life. Eventually the weather turned cold and the garden rested and sporadically bloomed through the cold, short days. Finally, I understood, why people looked forward to Spring.


Photo by Anthony Tran on Unsplash

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Mockingbird Miss You

Photo by jurien huggins on Unsplash

There was time that I was lying awake at night for several hours in the middle of the night. It was a real bonafide case of  insomnia, caused by many things, but once I understood the physiology of it, it didn’t bother me too much. I always feel calmer when I understand a process and why it’s happening. I committed myself to rolling with it and figuring it out. It was new foray into human psyche and physiology; a couple of my favorite subjects. I figured that if I got really tired anyway, I would eventually pass out from the fatigue and my body would sleep. So I decided to make the best of it. Sometimes I’d get up and clean. For some reason it really made me feel clear as if I had cleaned my own inner psyche. Most of the time this would result in a fall into the restful crevice that I craved. I would drop off, my obsessions worked away with a dust rag and mop.

Another favorite was listening to complete albums. When I was young, before the internet, this was a fun way to spend the afternoon. Once the internet arrived and civilization moved into high speed living, I seemed not to have those hours anymore. Hours to just lay back and passively receive the magic of taking in a musician’s journey. Lying awake for hours in the night was the perfect setting for intense musical appreciation. I could float along on a timeless wave of notes drifting over my staring eyes and weighing down my eyelids until they were too heavy and closed with sleep.

The one thing that I enjoyed the most about this time, was a bird that took up residence in a tree near my window. My new guest was a mockingbird and he literally sang the night away. He would start his song at about midnight and carry on till about 4 am.  At first I didn’t realize it was one bird. Mockingbirds imitate other birds and don’t repeat a song during the course of their concert. It was amazing to listen to the endless variety of birdsong. His voice was loud and strong; so strong that he kept my neighbors awake too. The mockingbird made being awake in the middle of the night fun. It was wonderful just to lay back and listen to the endless birdsong and contemplate the mysteries of the world. As the spring progressed, his skills became more adept. His song became louder and more precise as he matured. He seemed to be somewhat of an opera star, loud and proud. I pictured him with a puffed up breast, his beak raised to the sky as his song rose into the night air reaching for the stars. He was really demanding, but seemed to deserve the attention he worked so hard for. He was consistent. He showed up on time. He was talented. I felt lucky.

Photo by Linh Pham on Unsplash

It went on like this for at least a month. My neighbors wearily complained that they were losing sleep and they didn’t love this bird like I did. I got it. I know not everyone appreciates gifts; even when it comes for free and has been there all along. I knew that most people when awakened in the middle of the night were disturbed and not delighted; unless it was a lover. Then suddenly, one night, the air lay silent. The night had been  abandoned by birdsong. The music that had provided entertainment through the wakeful early morning hours when most of the world slept and dreamed was no more. I was disappointed and a little disoriented. I really wished that he would come back. My ears seemed to ring with the silence that had once been filled with music and entertainment. Now I would have to move on and let the insomnia roll once more and take it’s course.

The next year another young mockingbird appeared, but his song was not as confident and his range seemed decreased. He sounded smaller and he progressed with time, but not to the heights of his predecessor. The  year following that, there was no return at all. Pretty soon I forgot about the bird. I forgot I had insomnia and life fell into a normal routine again. But sometimes, out of the blue, just like the night he appeared in my tree, the memory of him returns and those wakeful hours we spent together.  Him, joyfully entertaining the neighborhood and me, enjoying a concert when I needed it the most.