Shhhh. This is kind of a secret. I almost never tell anyone this. I think only one or two of my neighbors know. But I’m sure you won’t tell. I’m rather bonded to a group of scrubjays. I think it’s dreadful that scrubjays don’t have the word “blue” in their name, don’t you? So maybe I could say I’m bonded to a family of blue scrubjays. There. That would make me feel a lot better. They need to be fully honored. I’m quite close to them, as they would tell you.

It all started three years ago, and, in fact, my very first post on Plant Whatever Brings You Joy was about these very birds, so some of you might actually recall that that first year I came here they (blessedly) built a nest just outside my kitchen window, which my daughter noticed and brought to my attention. One of the things I never mentioned, that in retrospect was one of the very most endearing things that happened that year, was that one of the parents came back after the babies were fully fledged and cleaned out the nest. How dear is that?

The next year for some divine reason I was standing at that very kitchen window when a pair of them returned and I could actually see that one was animatedly showing the other the old nest and was picking at it, clearly attempting a good sales job on where they might start another family. The idea, I learned, was rejected, and I noticed instead that they wisely chose a thicker tree in the back yard which provided not only better protection in terms of the nest not being as readily seen by predators (think meow–but not Maine Coon or Siamese meow, oh, NO!) but also meant that fledgling babies landing on the ground prior to learning to fly would most likely land on this side of the fence, not in the alley. No guarantee, mind you, but much more likely. And there are so many places to hide once in the back yard! The first year, much to my horror, while the babies fledged on this side of the fence, they were immediately exposed to the front street, as they did not have the safety of the big back yard. Indeed, I came out and found a young woman excitedly talking on her cell to a friend, “You won’t believe what I found! There’s a baby bird on the sidewalk!” Enter at rapid speed your trusty blogger, scoop up baby in hands and rush him back to the side of the house. Put up puppy fencing and cover with blankets and hope for the best. Oh, it was hysteria, let me tell you.

So last year it was SOOO much better. I only saw one bright-eyed baby on the ground. Oh, the innocence was enough to take your breath away. And did. And I ran in the house for my camera but he was instantly gone. I can only hope that had a happy ending.

And that brings us to May 2008. I knew they’d chosen that same thick tree. And, oh, dear readers, I have to confess and apologize that in spite of my best efforts, you will have to apply your own imaginations as my photos of this event are, well, lacking. Yes, they are. However with the slightest efforts of your most creative minds, you will follow along and get the picture, so to speak. Right? I thought so. Thank you for your forbearance.

So here is the tree they chose for the nest the last two years:

I don’t even think it is a tree, do you? I think it’s a bush gone wild. Does anyone know what it is?

Anyway, believe it or not, in March I saw a blue scrubjay in the nest outside the kitchen window with a mate in tow, trying the sales job again, and again the wisdom of the second mate won out for the second time. Whew! In fact the nest was so hidden this time I missed almost all of the activity until suddenly I heard the unmistakable sound of fledglings begging for food back in the quince bushes way in the back of the garden. Animal alert. The doggies were clearly informed that the scrubjays reigned for at least a week and all their outdoor activities were going to have to be monitored closely until I knew the babies had their wings developed. I alerted the neighbors to please watch their Jack Russell terriers and their cats. They respectfully agreed. (They are getting used to my ways at last.)

Imagine my horror when I caught a grey squirrel trying his best to eat one of the babies! A mama jay was squawking loudly, rushing at him, warning him to stay away. I engaged Conner to bark at the squirrel, who happily obliged and after being harrassed for a couple of loud and harrowing minutes by an angry mother jay, an alarmed blonde and an obliging Border Collie he finally surrendered and left the scene.

It’s tough being a fledgling, I’ll tell you.

Next day I found one of them back in the fig tree looking stronger than I might have expected. I watched, enchanted. One of the parents spotted me and half heartedly sounded an alarm, but these birds know me well and trust me and her alarms were soon interrupted by a stash of ants she found climbing a branch, which she began to nibble, only to sound a call once or twice just to keep me on my toes that she was watching. Yes, I know. I watched the baby for awhile, comforting myself that flying looked intact.

In the days that followed I found two in the fig tree and simultaneously heard a third being fed in the tree that holds their old nest. Three babies is a good thing. This very much warmed my heart.

Knowing that the parents have so many mouths to feed I resumed putting peanuts on the sidewalk next to the camelia tree where they had their original nest. It’s Our Spot, and they know it. If I whistle for them (we have a special call) they land on the fence to see if there are peanuts. I did this yesterday, and sure enough, both parents came almost immediately. They will teach their offspring about this little feeding ground and the cycle of life and love will continue.

Love and garden blessings,
Kathryn xox

Posted on May 20th, 2008 by Kathryn
Filed under: Animals | 28 Comments »

Recently I was very delighted to receive email from Becky, a second cousin of mine in Utah, suggesting I might be interested in a little book called Seedfolks by Paul Fleischman. She said the book was a charming story of a group of varied urban people coming together for the purpose of creating a community garden. She thought that might appeal to me, and, as I discovered, she was quite right.

Seedfolks, in a surprisingly streetsmart vernacular, tells the tale of the unfolding and spontaneous creation of a community garden in Cleveland, Ohio. The story is told through the voices of each of the participants, so one is treated to the particular lens through which each person views the experience, and deftly the stories begin to overlap and weave together as any actual garden might do. The tiny Vietnamese girl who plants the first seeds in the garden, a secret and solitary act, she thinks, is viewed by an elderly neighbor, an Eastern European woman, from an upstairs window. Gradually other neighbors discover the garden activity and lend their own voices and points of entry. Ultimately each finds his or her inspiration, connection and place in the garden, as gardeners everywhere understand, until something bigger and better than any one of them might have created on his or her own unfolds. More importantly, bridges are built between cultures, transcending prejudices, fears and misinformation to create a better understanding, and ultimately, a stronger community in which to live. It appears this would be a very timely book, indeed, as we witness leadership setting the tone for that very important step in our history: to rise above difference and embrace our common interests. Timely indeed.

I found it very interesting that simultaneous to reading Seedfolks I heard from a friend of a community garden that existed in Mendocino. The plot thickened when I discovered after a couple of phone calls that a piece of property I had recently found myself drawn to was, in fact, the garden itself. It is located behind a Native American museum/art gallery I sometimes visit. In spite of the numerous times I’d been there, one particular afternoon I suddenly noticed a fence at the back and rather than going into the museum, I walked toward the back and found myself peering through a rather tattered fence, where children had clearly torn back the wire in order to have access to what they must have considered a shortcut to wherever they wanted to be going. Rather captivated, I stared into what looked like the remnants of a very large garden. Strange, I thought. What had they been growing? And who? It had obviously been the subject of much work, but now lay in apparent disrepair and neglect.

Well, that’s about to change. In part I was viewing a Garden in Winter, so no wonder its state. But also, as with many community projects, let’s just say it’s had its history. It is now firmly under the umbrella of a non-profit organization called Cloud Forest Institute which is able to offer it the insurance it needs to continue, and enough guidance to have secured the promise of an experienced, committed Hispanic-American man who has worked the garden previously, who knows most of the participants and will see to it that it moves along smoothly.

Upon learning that the garden I had been peering at through the fence was the place I was now seeking I was happy to have the reason to now further explore. I went to a house nearby the garden as I was instructed and met a lovely young Hispanic-American woman named Fabiola who immediately walked me over to the gardens with her precious little daughter, Pearl, as she told me what she knew of its history and what current plans were. Here is what greeted us as we entered the large property. (Wouldn’t you know it?)

As above, so below.

Apparently Fabiola’s parents have been very involved in the gardens, and Fabiola walked me back to her parents’ large plot where two very tall thick stately rose bushes, one red and one pink, had been planted and stood watch over their onions, garlic, leeks and strawberries. The ground has been prepared for many more things to come. I was particularly moved that the mother had also planted a long row of cactuses, reminiscent of her native Nayarit, along one end of her garden, acting as a reminder, no doubt, of her own early years in a garden in Mexico, but also serving as a deterent from those who might want to enter her plot. Here was one such garden sentry:

I’d be thinking twice before entering, wouldn’t you?

The other twenty-two plots lay in various states of being. Some were full of foxtail (eeeooouu), plantain, lots of mature onions, a thicket of California poppies, a long raised bed of strawberries, and two very long board-sided boxes from a former participant, now moved away, leaving behind her many many irises, left to chance and their own destinies.

But it is spring. I’m anxious to see how this project looks midsummer. I will surely return and admire the hard work and determination of this little community’s efforts to create what is happening in towns all over the country, as we turn our attention to growing food. The return of the Victory Garden, some are calling it, coupled with an energy conscious public looking for practical solutions to the rising costs of carting foods half way ’round the planet, all so unnecessarily. Eating locally, again and at last.

The most promising sight for me in the community garden at Cleveland Lane was this…

…a perfectly executed “empty” plot beckoning a vision and dream of the plot’s owner. I can’t wait to see what he creates in that verdant space. Can you?

Love and garden blessings,
Kathryn
Footnote: Cousin Julie sent this inspiring Ohio link 10/27/08:
http://ourohio.org/index.php?page=growing-green-communities-2

Posted on May 7th, 2008 by Kathryn
Filed under: Book Notes | 18 Comments »