The hummers are back, the hummers are back! The thought registered seconds after I watched the darting, mini narwhal-nosed flier poke in and out of one of the two feeders I’d stocked with a quarter cup of sweet sauce, just in case.
Now I’m on alert. A portion of their energy source is me—and will be until they leave home this October or November. And to the bird gods, I hereby promise to thoroughly clean the feeder with every new sugar-water refill. I solemnly swear, on super hot days, no more than three days between changes. I promise to protect bees from themselves, and if a little honeybee scoots up the holes and helplessly drowns, I will be there. I will be that bee’s lifeguard.
You know how the best maids fluff pillows and down comforters with the softness of their palms, creating a cloud of love for sleepers? Well, I’m doing that—in the yard. With the wide rake’s comb-like teeth, I’m pulling into piles last year’s acorns, broken and intact, dead and dormant grasses, twigs, and leaves. It’s intense. Each spot needs at least ten to twenty good pulls. The amount of debris is unacceptable to my green-thumbed bare feet, and I need to work hard now to meet her standard of comfort.
What a running day today was. Even though it was just another training day, I can tell that pushing myself in the first mile had a lot to do with my personal bests in the 400 meter, 1k, and 2-mile.
I bought a large bag of shell-on peanuts in the outdoor bird section at Walmart earlier. While Dave was on a break from helping Evelyn bathe, we talked on the front porch. Seeing a crow reminded me of their daily presence around the feeder. Their strut through the yard—and the cats’ obsessive interest in them—makes me want to keep them around this year too. They’re social, and maybe I’ll get a shiny watch or ring as a gift for my efforts.
If not, oh well. Their presence is enough.
This time of year is my favorite. It’s as if everything resurrecting itself back into aliveness is doing something similar in me. I fill with wonder at the wisteria vines I’d forgotten about until a few days ago, now spilling their playful purple down from trees at least twenty feet tall. On my runs, wafts of their perfume drift by, and I can’t help but think of a long-distance aunt’s too-strong scent at a too-close encounter in a family reunion buffet line.
In my faraway-looking moments—when my gaze drifts across the front yard landscape, or lack thereof—strong impulses to act hit. Just now, it was the urge to lop off all the thorny, spiky underbrush from the tree bases up to about eight feet. Those brittle limbs break off anyway, so using my impulsive Costco purchase of limb cutters always makes me feel like it wasn’t for nothing.
If I whisper softly enough so Mother Nature doesn’t change her mind, I’m fairly certain we’ve had the last freeze of the season. No more panic over the strawberries’ white flowers not fully forming to juicy sweet edibles.
Well, I’m now in bed early because my body is exhausted. I’d better go brush my teeth and then turn in. I’ll see you here tomorrow. Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 