It’s Summer and it’s very hot. So hot, that even at 8:00 in the evening the garden did not get watered yesterday. So, Andie and I got up bright and early, postponing toast-time to attend to our aforementioned shirking of duty. Yes, I am one of those folks, whose Celtic genes clearly have some node or other for talking to and receiving data from plant units. My plants were clearly pissed and I swear in their drooping state gave me the leaf.
All’s fine now and they continue to thrive, albeit overgrown and exuberant in their nitrogen and fish-poop Valhalla. Most of the Spring blooms are gone. Gone are the Poppies, Mallows, Butterfly spikes, Plum blossoms and Iris. In their place and always the first hint of Summer are the sky blue wild Hickory and Queen Ann’s lace that sport up everywhere around the village. To greet us first thing as the early morning unfolds, from the bed, looking through the large window are the Morning Glories climbing the stick trellis, providing me the first delight of the day and Ms. Andie her dawn view of Hummingbirds for the wake up.
In our exiting view out the back door we encounter tall, magnificent, yellow California Primrose. I don’t know what fussy Victorian named them Primroses, they are anything but. They can grow eight to ten feet tall and heliotrope, so that they resemble dancers frozen in an arc of splendid movement.
Andie continues to hunt Plums, but none of the small wild variety she so adores. This time she’s focused on the old Burbank plum we rescued years ago when first moving here. Back then Madam Plum stood on the edge of an empty crabgrass infested clay yard and looked every bit her many decades lifespan. Over the years with tender loving care she has returned like Mother Gaia with a bounty of exquisite fruit.
Such is the true joy of gardening. There is a jumbled clot of Lamb’s ear, Silver Sage and tall sky-blue Saliva growing jungle-like around her base, so only Andie can enter and retrieve the exquisite sun ripened fruit. Like a true Cocker retriever dog, she finds, holds them without breaking the skins, and deposits the gathered in a row down the hallway leading to the back rooms of the cottage. I may can them. I learned how to can last year and found the whole process very satisfying. The result: little pots of fruit-spread for holiday gifts. I give Andie full credit.
Our Summer night visits at odd hours have provided much viewing entertainment. While Andie tends to business and then hunts snails and sniffs field mice trails I stare up at wonders such as the Strawberry moon and the Big Dipper. Last night, however, we encountered a UFO. Yes! While Andie was filling her enormous ground level sensory abilities with maximum attention, I saw off in the distance a flashing red light. A plane I thought. Then I saw a triangle-shaped series of white lights flashing. Seriously? A UFO? Then I heard the whirring, buzzing sound come closer and hover over the house. ‘Well, I’ll be ‘. ‘It’s a drone!’—at three O’clock in the morning!. It then hovered just above Andie and me, while I waved and then it flew across the street and disappeared over the roof of the truck-mart house and presumably landed in their back yard.
I am becoming more social these days, mostly because of Andie. She is such a cuteness magnet with probably the sweetest personality ever, that people and other dogs immediately feel better in their encounters with her. I like to think of her as a Doggisattva. So, in our daily walks around the village I feel an increasing strong and comforting sense of belonging and care, which soothes my continuing downward decline. Between the garden, a few close dear friends and Andie, our little world becomes a delightful gratitude made manifest.