Meg’s Wildlife Sanctuary and Boot Camp

Photos

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 14:16:00 +0000

The door closes. The last guest backs down the driveway. The lights are switched off.

The photo album sits on the table, the sales receipt between the pages. Images of joy and laughter, garden tours, dinner celebrations and dancing, all remind us of happy times.

Yet a moment is only lived once, and photos are a thin line of smoke after a fire. Memories come with silent tears and a stinging in the throat.

After a wedding, hundreds of photos are viewed, edited, cropped, saved, moved, copied and ordered. Production methodically moves to completion, yet one photo still tugs at the heart.

It is an image of a moment when all things seemed possible, like wildflowers in early spring, emerging from their shared tangle of roots to greet one another under the warming sun.

Season's end

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 14:51:00 +0000

At season's end, the days grow shorter, one minute at a time.

Asters fade, one petal at a time.

Oaks bare their branches, one leaf at a time.

Ripened autumn fruits bend the boughs low to the ground. One by one, they drop from the branches to the soft earth waiting below.

And so it is with us. One by one, the days pass. In the end, one last breath lingers on our lips. We taste its warm sweetness like a kiss.

We long for one more moment like a lover, knowing that at days end is a long moonless night.

Wild side

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 19:12:00 +0000

Memory:

We stopped by Winn Dixie early on Sunday morning to pick up a few items. My husband tasked me with buying toilet bowl cleaner while he headed over to the produce section.

"Meet me at the checkout counter."

I recognized the brands Tidy Bowl and Vanish, but which one was superior? As I read the ingredients on the labels, I noticed that some were similar and others were different. I compared the number of uses per product, and computed the prices per ounce. I compared the frequency of application. I wondered if the shape of the container offered any advantage. I considered how blue water would look in a bathroom with gold tile.

Suddenly, a face loomed over me.

"Are you still here? Take a walk on the wild side. Get the Tidy Bowl and let's get out of here."

Here's a wonderful walk on the wild side.

The driveway garden may look disheveled to some, but I love the abundance at summer's end.

In the driveway garden, I ripped out Coreopsis tripteris and planted a spicebush in its place, but it came back and bloomed in spite of my abuse.

Beside the pavement, the beautyberry takes on magenta colors. Later in autumn, the leaves turn a lime tone, a lively combination.

Solidago rugosa 'Fireworks' blooms behind Salvia farinacea in a rare sunny spot in my garden. Bees love the salvia and tiny pollinators flock to the solidago.

You can see where 'Fireworks' gets its name. This explosion holds its own between the passionvine and the crossvine.

Rudbeckia laciniata, green headed coneflower, blooms in a shady spot, where few flowers dare.

Rain garden

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Wed, 09 Sep 2009 02:31:00 +0000

WRAL reports that early September is the most active time of year for tropical storms. I would welcome a gusher because there has been little rain throughout the summer. I also want to try out my new rain garden.

A rain garden collects water that runs off hard surfaces, such as roofs and driveways, storing and filtering the water to recharge the groundwater. This type of garden needs to be in a particular place, of a particular size, and contain particular plants.

This spring, I bought a book on the topic, Rain Gardening in the South by Helen Kraus and Anne Spafford, which provides instructions, advice and photographs about creating a rain garden. I used the charts in the book to estimate the size of the roof and to determine the size of the rain garden, 10 x 6.

I selected a spot in the backyard about 20 feet from the house, downstream from the downspout at the corner of the house. The site is near the pond and the compost pile, surrounded by several oaks and a hickory. A low area is not ideal, but there were no other options in our heavily wooded yard. The area has standing water at times, but the water drains within 48 hours, even after 5 inches of rain.

The first step is to remove the existing soil. I marked a few plants to be saved. When I started digging out the daylilies, I was surprised to find them shallowly rooted in gray sandy soil. The soil had little organic matter and no worms.

Fortunately, there were no roots from nearby trees. This made digging easier and prevented me from damaging our trees. On the PBS show In the Garden, Bryce Layne said that for the health of a tree, you should not cut any roots larger than your pinkie finger. No danger of that in this particular spot.

Back to the book Rain Gardening in the South. Kraus and Spafford recommended removing all the soil from the hole to a depth of 12 inches. Here I made my first mistake. I found a ruler in the house and brought it outside. I started digging, removing all the soil from the 10 x 6 hole to the depth of the ruler. Later I noticed that the ruler was 14 inches long instead of the standard 12.

After digging out the soil to the proper depth, it was time to stir in the amendments. I had a leftover bag of Black Cow manure and a large pile of compost. I added these amendments at a ratio 2 to 1, soil to amendments. Then I put the soil back into the hole.

By this time, I have been shoveling and amending for 3 days. I remembered reading in Gaia's Garden that old pieces of log would hold water for plants to use during drought, so I buried some limbs of oak trees that had fallen 7 or 8 years ago. This may have been my second mistake. I will find out soon enough.

In the end, the rain garden was 4 inches below grade. I used chunky semi-composted oak leaves from my new compost pile as a 2 inch mulch on the top. Then I formed a berm on the north side of the rain garden.

The following weekend, I was ready to plant. Using the lists of plants in the book, Rain Gardening in the South, I had long ago made a planting plan that was interesting and attractive. I purchased new Illicium plants and planned to transplant Ajuga, Epimedium and ferns from other areas of our garden.

Then I made my final mistake. I went to the plant sale at the NC Botanical Garden and found several that I have been seeking for a long time. I bought twice as many as I had space for, so some of them found a home in the rain garden.

At last it was time for planting. The soil in the rain garden had been resting for seven days. It was rich, dark and moist, perfect for roots of young plants. I was tempted to lie down in it, but I didn't.

Now I am waiting for rain, and lots of it.

Butterfly

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Fri, 04 Sep 2009 01:34:00 +0000

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Butterflies turn up their proboscises at the flowers in my garden. They prefer a hot sunny spot and my garden is cool and shady. But over the years, I have planted perennials, shrubs and trees that the caterpillars need for food.

The monarch caterpillars eat plants in the milkweed family. These two large fellas are feasting on common milkweed, Asclepias syriacus.

The spicebush swallowtail eats foliage from spicebushes and sassafras trees. The large "eyes" are fakes, designed to intimidate predators.

This year, I only saw two Eastern black swallowtail caterpillars on the parsley.

The pipevine swallowtail caterpillar feeds on pipevines. This year, we had a bumper crop.

This pipevine swallowtail has just emerged from her cocoon and dries her wings before floating away to nectar in a sunnier garden.

Good luck, little butterfly.

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Rosebud

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 00:46:00 +0000

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You were already gone when I met you, a pink rosebud on a satin pillow. By days end, you were wrapped in a thousand tears and buried in a silent place.

Later there was a wildness behind your mother's eyes, like the sky before an autumn storm. She spoke in a calm voice, but in the distance, dry leaves rattled in the wind. The sky was heavy with dark clouds and there was a scent of rain in the air.

That was years ago. She still thinks of you every day, whether she speaks of you or not. Even for me, despite our brief encounter, I think of you more often than you would imagine.

Fear

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Tue, 25 Aug 2009 00:14:00 +0000

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At 2:30, the dog woke with a shake. I followed her through the dark house and unlocked the door to the carport. Outside, the overhead light had burned out.

The night air was thick under a heavy moonless sky. In the garden, looming masses pressed onto the driveway, dogwoods indistinguishable from beautyberries.

After several long minutes, the dog ran back to the door. We slipped inside quickly. My hand shook as I fumbled with the key in the lock. Finally, I heard the click.

Back in bed, an hour passed. Beside the nightstand, fear stood by silently, her dark cloak brushing my face. I thought of my daughter beneath the wide black sky of Olympia, 3000 miles away, asleep in her teepee with only a veneer of canvas between her and the somberness outside.

I counted the hours before she would wake to a new day of harvesting tomatoes and potatoes, secure in the risen sun of the Western sky.

Dozen vines for wildlife

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 01:31:00 +0000

In the wild, abundant sunshine and moisture produces a diverse array of plants that jockey for position, competing for resources. Nature thrives in chaos. The jumble of perennials in a meadow provide food and shelter for birds, bees, butterflies, chipmunks and toads.

Vines have an edge. They grow quickly because no energy is spent forming a woody trunk. In the race to expose leaves to sunlight for photosynethesis, they can outmaneuver perennials and overwhelm shrubs. They can climb to the top of trees.

Uncomfortable with the wild ways of nature, people control their vines, using trellises or arbors. My unruly garden has a dozen vines and none of them are trained onto trellises. They scramble or climb or crawl, fulfilling their role in providing food and nesting places for wildlife.

Aristolochia macrophylla

In spring 2005, I planted a Dutchman's pipe vine as food for the pipevine swallowtail caterpillars. This year, black caterpillars with red spines were feeding on the vines. A few weeks later, I saw the large black and blue butterflies gliding about my garden.

With large heart shaped leaves and strange flowers that curl like a pipe, this vine climbs by twining up a trellis or shrub. This summer mine had rooted itself among the Virginia sweetspire. I chopped and uprooted the upstarts to keep it in bounds. Perhaps the carnage was attractive to the pipevine swallowtail, who laid her eggs soon after.

Parthenocissus quinquefolia

Pools of Virginia creeper cover the dry shady areas under the Japanese maple and the red buckeye trees, where nothing else survives the summer drought. It also grows up the brick along the east side of the house. Virginia creeper cements itself to walls and trees by secreting its own adhesive. It is said to produce berries for the birds, but I have never seen them. If grown in partial sun, this vine turns shades of red in autumn.

Smilax smalii

Cardinals nest in the Jackson vine that grows along the front of the house, their orange beaks just visible behind the foliage. Today a chipmunk hid in the vine over the carport, perhaps investigating the three nests hidden there, although all have been abandoned by now.

Jackson vine produces blue berries that ripen in late summer.

Hedera sp

Years ago, my young daughter found this ivy among the discarded stock at a plant nursery. When she brought it to the cash register, the owner charged her 50 cents. A slow grower, this shiny patch of green curls is a hideaway for chipmunks.

Gelsemium sempervirens

Along the highway to the beach in late winter, the yellow blooms of the Carolina jessamine drape the trees beside the culvert. In our garden, this aggressive grower ignores the fence but smothers a white oak sapling planted nearby. In early March, the cheerful yellow flowers welcome visitors to the back garden.

Lonicera sempervirens

Coral honeysuckle climbs the crape myrtle in the back garden. Hummingbirds use the spring flowers for nectar and birds eat the berries.

Passiflora incarnata

Passionvine blooms throughout the month of July with large lacy flowers. It wanders around the flower beds but any unwanted growth is is easy to pull out. I enjoy its ability to hide the foliage of flowers that look tired by midsummer, like daylilies and gladiolas.

Bignonia capreolata

Two crossvines cover the trunk of a dead oak tree in the front garden. They shower the tree with orange blooms each spring and toss off a few flowers throughout the summer. This year, a passionvine climbed the crossvine 80 feet to the top. Today, there are both purple and orange flowers on that old oak.

Other vines in my garden include native and exotic clematis, as well as native wisteria and trumpet vine. These vines scramble over shrubs and have nothing to show at the moment. So no photos with my apologies.

Sand

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 20:49:00 +0000

Leaves in various states of decay had accumulated on the surface. I brushed them away and thrust the shovel into the brown earth between the daylilies. They had bloomed once, in their youth, but they had long since exhausted the nutrients in the soil. Shallowly rooted, they relinquished their lives with little resistance.

Beneath the lilies was sand, gray and dry with a gloss of quartz. The spade sliced easily through the soil. Loose sand slid from the spade back into the hole, where it was shoveled out once again.

Deep in the sand were objects lost long ago -- four orange bricks, two large chunks of soft stone, and thin pieces of fencing, perfectly preserved. Digging deeper, the shovel struck clay, compressed and compacted, a primordial slab.

The tool slammed into the clay, like steel to bone. A few shards chipped off, but the core did not yield the shadows buried there.

Love

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 01:58:00 +0000

She watches every move. Even now, curled in a ball, snoring lightly, she senses me. I turn my head toward her and she opens her eyes slowly. I stand and walk softly to the door. She rises sluggishly to follow at my heel. She sighs deeply.

I often invite her to help me in the garden, but she prefers the controlled temperatures and cushioned surfaces of the house. If I slip outside, she moans and whines. As I work throughout the garden, she follows my movements from inside the house, running from window to window, hoping to catch a glimpse.

She only has eyes for her love, but if she could see beyond, here's what she would find:

These intricate flowers look exotic, but the passion vine (Passiflora incarnata) is native to Piedmont NC.

I removed the butterfly bush this spring and exposed these purple coneflowers (Echinacea purpurea) to more sun. In celebration, they put on a big show.

Hummingbirds love the red blooms of Monarda didyma. I do too, except for its tendency to flop. This year, the blue Brazilian sage (Salvia guaranitica) offers its support.

Hemerocallis 'Baltimore Oriole' is near the end of its season.

I planted this button bush (Cephalanthus occidentalis) in 2003 and it bloomed for the first time this year. Button bush likes a damp spot and this spring, there was ample rain.

The prettiest flower of all.

Reading garden

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 03:14:00 +0000

Across the hall from our new library at Duke is a new, but rarely-used, terrace. On the North side of the building, the terrace is on the second floor and overlooks a remnant of woods. Four enormous glasscrete containers dominate the space, each with a single coralbark maple in the center. Tables and chairs are scattered about the terrace.

For several months, few people went outdoors to enjoy the fresh air, the new furniture or the coralbark maples, except a few smokers who used the containers as ashtrays. Last month, I asked the administration if I could buy some additional plants and warm up the space. They agreed and I started experimenting with building a reading garden, where students can read or study or meet in small groups.

The terrace is surrounded by glass walls. I used hostas, heucheras and ferns in this shady area. These plants can be seen from inside the building and the low profile does not obstruct the view to the rest of the garden. Hostas with thin blue leaves burned in the morning sunlight, so next year, they will be replaced by thick waxy leaved hostas and heucheras.

Along the far edge of the reading garden, I experimented with plants to attract hummingbirds, including lantana, pentas, salvia and petunia. I created four containers and these are growing so vigorously, I wish I had bought more.

The glasscrete containers in the center of the garden were planted with scented geraniums, trailing vinca and sweetpotato vine that will eventually trail over the side to cut down on the glare from the planters.

Almost immediately, people started using the new reading garden. No one smokes there now. A co-worker told me that the smaller containers were out of scale for the large space. That is true, but they are removed at the end of each season, so they must be portable. I need to create more mass without creating more weight.

Pssst

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 00:26:00 +0000

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Did you hear something?

It's Lisa's birthday!!

Hope it is a happy one, sweet girl.

Kiawah

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 01:52:00 +0000

For your birthday, I wish we could spend the day at Kiawah.

In the morning, we would wake early to walk to the beach while the air is cool. Along the surf, sandpipers dart in and out of the water as we search for sanddollars and seashells. The gray-blue ocean stretches on forever.

In the afternoon, we stay indoors to escape the heat. We talk or read or nap in air-conditioned comfort. Hours later, the sky darkens and we hear thunder. The rain cools the sultry air and in the evening, we venture out again to window shop at the Straw Market.

Time goes on forever in an ocean paradise. I wish we had that time again at Kiawah.

June bug

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Fri, 12 Jun 2009 01:41:00 +0000

Once we lived in the same house, you and I, with more than a dozen others. Now we live in separate homes 600 miles apart.

Despite the crowds and miles and years, I often think of you in June, your warm and welcoming style, your quick smile and ready laugh.

I think of you in my garden.

The hostas in your garden on Tristam were magnificent. 'T-Rex' is a new hosta in my garden this year. The blooms are tall and strong but the folliage is no comparison to your 'Gold Standard.'

Orange dayliles and blue stokes aster seem to smile in a rare sunny spot in my garden. Opposite colors often make lovely combinations.

Common milkweed loves to travel and welcomes visitors of all kinds. In June, milkweed buzzes with bees on every sunny day. In autumn, monarch butterfly caterpillars use the foliage for food.

Chipmunks love to dine on lily bulbs. These have escaped notice, so far. These lilies bloom every year on your birthday.

I wish you a very happy birthday and a year of abundant beauty.

Intolerable cruelty

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Wed, 10 Jun 2009 14:05:00 +0000

While deadheading the columbine, I noticed a brown caterpillar clinging to a stem, it's body covered by the pupae of parasitic wasps. The caterpillar was motionless, past its misery, mercifully.

At dusk, I noticed a young bird sitting quietly in the neighbor's grass. He was a big fellow with black feathers and hooked beak. I watched and listened for his mother but he was alone. The next morning, the bird lay on his side, motionless. An ant crawled up his leg.

Nature can be so cruel.

When I looked today, the bird was a handful of black feathers tossed among clumps of green turf. That silent trace will be completely erased on the next mowing with the John Deere.

Green and white

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Fri, 05 Jun 2009 02:15:00 +0000

Soothing colors of green and white look fresh as the days turn hot in June.

Hosta albomarginata and Virginia creeper (Parthenocissus quinquefolia) get no respect from the horticultural community, but their tenacity in a difficult spot in my garden is much appreciated.

Bees adore the white racemes on the Virginia sweetspire (Itea virginica) but people love this shrub for its colorful fall foliage.

I once discovered a lush planting of goatsbeard (Aruncus dioicus) at a state park in Indiana. Last year, I bought two from Niche Gardens, but they struggled throughout our sultry summer. This spring, there is a lone survivor.

Hosta 'Francee' started life in a pot, but after a few years, she outgrew her home. I planted her in a hosta bed under a mature Japanese maple, a garden mistake. I rescued 'Francee' on her deathbed but she has made a fine recovery in a large pot under the dogwood

The small white flowers of the tall meadow rue (Thalictrum pubescens) are sweet, but this perennial is grown for the delicate foliage.

Hare

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Tue, 02 Jun 2009 02:52:00 +0000

Many small mammals call my garden home, among them, a clan of hares. Hares are born above ground in a flattened area called a form. They are born furry with good vision and can fend for themselves within a few days of birth.

Last week, beside the path to the concrete bench, I noticed a square patch of bare earth among the leaf litter and Virginia creeper. Upon inspection, I noticed a shallow cavity at one end. I looked inside but no animal was nesting there. Then my soaker hose caught my eye. An animal had chewed through the recycled rubber of the hose.

The following day, the leaf litter was returned to the space. I walk up the path every morning, hoping to catch a glimpse of baby hares in the nest, but I have never seen them.

Dark night

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Fri, 29 May 2009 03:14:00 +0000

I peered out the window, checking for fireflies, but the night was thick and black. The rain had stopped so I stepped outside into the gray fog. I walked down the driveway. A strong methane gas odor wafted from the daylilies. I shined a flashlight into the flowerbed and noted that the asters had been eaten.

As I stood there quietly, I sensed someone's presence among the azaleas. Fear rose within my chest. Suddenly, a young deer jumped back and ran down the street.

To cut off access to the garden, I backed the car midway down the driveway. As I walked to the house, I noticed the tender new plants purchased today for my container garden at work. As I carried them into the kitchen, I noticed a soft brown substance on the side of the petunias. It leaped off onto the floor and hopped away.

It is not easy to trap a toad. Eventually, I caught it in a dishtowel and moved it outdoors without damage. He stuck around long enough to be photographed. Good luck, little fella.

Deer

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Wed, 27 May 2009 21:57:00 +0000

In the morning, I smell them. Their scent floats along the fence on the East side of the garden. A musky smell, wild and dank.

I look for evidence. Phlox glaberrima 'Morris Berd' -- every pink blossom is nibbled away. Chartreuse foliage on yellowroot (Xanthorhiza simplicissima) is tattered and torn. Gumpo azaleas are trimmed into a tight ball.

Along the grassy path to the driveway, a branch on the dogwood hangs limply. The Johnny jump-ups, full of color yesterday, are nipped to the ground. The tender tips of the asters are roughly chopped. By good fortune, the daylilies and hostas are spared -- for now.

I have heard that deer love roses, thorns and all. Yet the ground cover roses along the street are ignored. If only 'Snow Carpet' would become a good meal, I could find the courage to replace them. I planted them 5 years ago to provide rose hips for the birds, unaware that ground cover roses form no hips. But despite my garden regrets, I do not welcome grazers.

I wish the deer family well -- a long and happy life. Living creatures need food to thrive. I hope they find plenty of nourishment in our neighbors yards.

Memorial day

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Mon, 25 May 2009 21:59:00 +0000

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The garden is lush and green during the last week of May.

In the morning light, tall oaks shade the stone path to the door.

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Johnny jump-ups at the front of the path were trimmed regularly by deer and rabbits throughout the winter. They explode with flowers in May but will flag in the sultry days of June.

The bleeding heart and purple heuchera make a striking combination beside hostas 'Sum and Substance' and 'Francis Williams.'

Near the end of the path, more hostas are protected by low sweeping branches of a Japanese maple.

A concrete bench invites rest in the shade beyond the hostas.

Remembrance.

21

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Thu, 07 May 2009 18:11:00 +0000

She would be 21 this year, she noted. I wonder how she'd be?

There was a long silence and when she spoke again, there was a catch in her voice.

When she heard the news, a crevice began in your mother's heart that deepened with every passing week. The sides are dark and jagged with sharp rocks. At the bottom is a salty river of tears.

Beautiful days in the month of flowers are the most difficult.

At 11, you were a serious student, a kickball champion and a help-mate to your mother. By 21, you may have remade yourself several times over. But you would be proud of your mother's new career, and you might admire the scholarly achievement of your sister, although you would have earned several of your own by then.

It was not your choice to leave, and we would have stopped fate if that were possible. There is still an empty seat at every dinner table, and in every reunion photo. But most of all, we miss you today, and wish you could stand beside us as we look at the ferns and hostas in your mothers garden.

Cinco de Mayo

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Tue, 05 May 2009 14:02:00 +0000

!Feliz cumpleanos a mi querida hermana,
hoy en 5 de mayo!

Prayer

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Tue, 05 May 2009 00:47:00 +0000

Blessed are those who are slow to anger
And quick to forgive.

Blessed are those who are gentle in spirit
And kind at heart.

Blessed are those who are merciful to children
And generous with parents.

Blessed are the peacemakers,
For they bring the kingdom near.

May blessings come to you today,
On your birthday, and always. Amen

Nomadic pond

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Fri, 01 May 2009 02:09:00 +0000

Every spring, I dig up my pond and move it.

Last year, I found the perfect site in the far corner of the yard, nestled among ferns and mosses and wild dayliles in a low spot, shady and cool on a hot afternoon. Flat stones circled the rim. Three pond plants and three small goldfish completed the habitat.

At the time, we were in drought, but a few months later, a hurricane slogged along the coast, kicking up 4 inches of rain within hours. The water puddled until it submerged the pond, which could no longer be seen.

In the deep water, the fish swam over the rim of the pond and hid amid the floating leaf litter, twigs and chunks of bark. They celebrated their emancipation, darting and diving in their expanded home, unaware that it was only temporary.

As the water subsided, I could see the rim of the pond. To rescue the fish from doom, I crouched in the mud, spaghetti strainer in hand, but the fish were adept at hiding among floating debris. They darted this way or that, avoiding the strainer, which in turn stirred up additional rubbish.

The fish enjoyed their freedom and didn't give it up easily.

In April, I moved the pond again and began contructing a rain garden on the low shady spot. As I do every spring, I vowed never to move that pond again.

Crickets

noreply@blogger.com (Meg) — Thu, 23 Apr 2009 01:18:00 +0000

The Chemlawn truck prowled around the neighborhood this week. People pay companies to spray poisons on their gardens. I hope for rain -- cool wet days to wash away the poisons before the chemicals complete their killing.

By late April, crickets sing their scratchy songs every evening. I walk down the driveway after dark and listen.

I pass the house to our West. The yard is completely silent. I continue down the street. The next house is also silent. The house after that has crickets. They are lawn people, but they also have two small daughters.

I continue the cricket inventory. Our neighbors to the East have no crickets. The next yard or two down the way is also silent, but at the corner, crickets are singing their happy tune.

Back in my own garden, I listen. So many crickets -- they make me smile. May they be abundantly fertile.