By Roger Barbee
This is our first spring in the Valley since 2016. As expected newness arrived.
Last week our bird feeders and sunflower seed stored in a metal can were trashed by, yes, a bear. Fortunately, the bear climbed the four-foot fence without damaging it and only scattered things a bit. However, the feeders and metal container are now kept inside, and the feeder out only during daylight hours.
There are three bird boxes in the back yard, and one of them is on a tree next to the workshop. As I have been puttering about in the shop, I have enjoyed watching the nuthatch pair coming and going with small morsels in their beaks for the clamoring young. But two days ago there was no activity in or around the box for a long time, but then one of the parent birds landed on top of the box but did not enter. Then the other parent appeared, but only fluttered around. They would fly away, then return to only peek into the box while sitting on its top or tree.
I knew what was going on, but kept waiting and watching the parent nuthatches, wishfully hoping that what I knew to be was not true. Finally I went to the box and opened the side wall to see the coiled snake resting on what had been a beautiful nest but now was only a soiled reminder of “nature’s beautiful way.” I left the side wall open and later, after the black racer had left, cleaned out the violated nest, hoping against what I knew that the pair would return to the box.
Yesterday afternoon I got a full view of the snake as it sunned itself on the shop deck, It is thick and over three feet long. It is quite a specimen, especially for a town snake. Because we don’t know its gender, Mary Ann and I named it Sydney.
Our small back yard holds much life. The fish pond shelters 15 goldfish and one large frog, named of course, Jeremiah. Birds galore come for the day ration of sunflower seeds and the water of the pond. Now the garden’s resident snake has introduced itself and become public. Nick the beagle has yet to encounter Sydney, but we are hopeful that all he will do is bark. After all, they both have their purpose in our garden.
Poets say that a poem is never finished; so for gardens.
As I look out the window near my computer I see the purple irises next to the gate. At Lake Norman I complimented a neighbor, Mrs. Bumgardner, on hers. She gave me a bag of bulbs, and my friend Mike helped me plant them next to our gate there. I brought some with me and planted them last summer– a reminder of Mrs. Bumgardner and my buddy Mike.
They, like other garden work to come, are a journey that will never be finished, just enjoyed for its beauty and memory.
