Gardening with Lucky

Image: Creative Commons License

There are times when one wishes they had not made such good friends with a bird. The term birdbrain takes on an entirely new meaning. Like the day I made the new raised planting bed on the north side of the deck.

There I was peacefully playing in the fresh, dark soil and minding my own business. The planting was now down to the half flat of Begonias I saved to fill in the outside corner. Suddenly a flapping of rusty red wings plopped an eight pound body with skinny green legs in the midst of my activity. Damn bird! She was squashing two of my just installed Begonias.

"Lucky! Get out of here ... go on now."

Of course she stood firm, craning her neck around and surveying the scene. I know what her next move is before it has entered that pea sized brain. There is nothing red here so she is about to start digging for her favorite wiggling delicacy. An activity that will not end until she hits the hard ground below. There are no grubs in my just screened soil.

"Shoo! Get!"

I was rewarded with the evil chicken eye. A swiveling head motion that puts their profile face first and places that beady eye up close and personal above your nose. At times the evil eye is comical, but not while the miniature dinosaur is crushing my flowers. She was testing her authority to the limit.

I gently pushed her aside to move her off the broken little plants. But ol' Luck was not in the mood to be told what to do right then, and commenced to digging. The soil she removed was settling over all the little Begonias. At a furious pace, I might add - I no longer wonder why chickens have such sharp edged toes. Those feet work like prehistoric rototillers with a miffed pea brain is minding the controls.

Having had enough of her brand of help, I pushed her off the end of the bed. It wasn't but 8 inches to the grass so I wasn't worried about hurting her. This strategy only served to set the imperious Queen Lucky's feathers on end.

One should use caution when dealing with the head of the hen house. She had more power than any of those cocky roosters. No one, or should I say no bird, stood up against her. I, however, am farther up the totem pole and reserve the right to stop her from time to time.

Shall we say that we weren't seeing eye to eye right then? If you think that chickens have no expressions, then you have never lived in close proximity to them. She stood on the grass almost shaking with anger over her unseating from a moment of industrious glee. Wee little mind that she had, the decision was instantly reached as to the next strategic move should be.

She jumped right back up there next to me and pecked a hole in the back of my hand. Having had the final word in a one sided argument, she drew herself up with all her lofty airs and strutted away like the Queen of England. While I sat there cussing her feathered behind as the wound began to bleed.

Lucky was normally my pal and followed me everywhere. She was actually mad at me. Refusing to keep company with me for weeks. If she saw me coming - she ran the other way. If I tried talking to her when I did get close, she stuck her head in the air and dramatically marched away.

Snubbed by a chicken - can you imagine? What an uppity old broad! She may rule the hen house, but she wasn't in charge of me. Tit for tat, I began ignoring her completely. After a couple of weeks, she must have decided to let the loss of a power struggle slide. She returned to being friendly and placing herself in the middle of any activity that involved in digging in the dirt.

It was rather hard to dig a hole with her around. If you were walking with a shovel, Lucky would come screaming from any direction to help you uncover what lay below. Somehow she figured out that the implement meant there was assistance in uncovering juicy white grubs. If you think digging a hole is hard, try doing it with a big chicken jumping in and out of the hole. Don't stop - she'll attack your feet and untie your shoes.

Commonality Highs and Lows

What do stars and flowers have in common?

They both rise out of darkness and shed light on the world.
They come in different colors.
They are brilliant.
Some are single and others arranged in clusters.
Both are a symbol of great tradition.
They are treasured.
No matter how small they are, someone is enchanted by them.
They appeal to young and old.
Both can speak volumes to us without saying a word.
The world would be dreary without them.
They help us to tell time without a clock or calendar.
When their days of glory ends, each falls to the ground.
Both are a mystery man seeks to solve.
They appeal to young and old.
They mark the passing of the seasons.
Yet one is born of soil and the other of elevations unseen.
So very different with many similar traits.

A Small Voice

Just one small voice, can you hear her? So much anguish and even heartbreak colors the tone. A mother robbed of her children and her home. Men with no hearts or feelings have plundered, oh so joyous in the spoils of their deeds. It mattered not that they had murdered so many of her beloved. The entire kingdom as it was known, is either in flames or completely obliterated. Never again will she be able to feed or give comfort or bring joy to her beloved family.

In vain, she repeatedly warned them, yet they paid her voice no notice. She raised them to understand they must never allow any harm befall a one of their treasures. Given them the instinct to protect each other and yet in the end her entire life's work was for nothing. It has all been laid to waste, her creatures and beasts of burden lie lifeless and the ugliness of greed wafts heavily like an unbearable stench. The anguish cannot ever be erased, the outcome is what shall always remain. No hope, no plan for the future, she has nothing now but a void that will stretch on for the rest of her days.

Are you saddened by her tears? Do you sympathize with her, feel the need to comfort her over your loss? Yes, your loss - for you are one of those that she has lost. You and the brotherhood of men, every bird she set to flight in the sky, each beautiful mammal lovingly placed upon the soil, all the fishes that swam through her waters and the magnificent beauty of flora that once carpeted the planet and created air for all of her children to thrive. Mother Nature does exist, she who brings life to everything on Earth with a finely woven tapestry of skill and innovation mere man could never mimic. Yet man is so egotistical that he attempts to make a better world than hers. Man was created by nature and cannot ever be nature. To continue to attempt to do so is to dig all or our graves.

You who have all become so specialized in industry that, that place so far removed from the soil. Lowly earth, your true source of sustenance and yet you cannot comprehend nor care to hear the messages. She is not amazed - it is not what you know any longer. The mechanisms and livelihoods of everything in the natural world is something you have schooled yourself to not be able to fathom. If you did understand Earth and Nature would not be in the state of abuse that they are. Natural resources belong to every living thing on earth, not to one group of humans, nor to one man. Without them being there as resources, nature will sicken and die. Without nature, there will be no life on earth. It's a circle, not an oblong. There is no Fix-A-Flat. Just one crack in the circle and that's it dude, all life is toast.

It isn't like there is another one somewhere. You can't mold one out of resin. Of all the things that could ever be broken, this will be the greatest faux pas of all time - anywhere in the solar system. The most deplorable point about all of this? It is not yours to destroy. Not yours, ours, his or theirs.

Perhaps you will understand with your last remaining breath. Perhaps not even then. After all, it would be highly inconvenient, completely non-cost effective and definitely frowned upon by those whose climb to the top you so emphatically seek to mimic. Mere man hath no power whatsoever when faced by an all consuming wrath of Nature.

More horrifying than anything the world has seen before, and yet it is a most inconvenient truth.

Goddess of the Gardens

Paints gleefully, with flowers.
Dancing barefoot in the dirt.
Smiling she toils 'neath the Sun,
Rendering with Mother Earth.
Tinting each nook and cranny...
Her palette ablaze with hues -
Each color kis't by the Moon.
Here she reigns her slice of earth,
The Empress of leaf and bloom.
Growing up a merry tune,
Faerie mirth plays the chorus...
Echoes 'cross petal and leaf,
As dusk's light settles upon -
The Kingdom of Her Gardens

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