Day 89: Forgiveness

Shelter in Place

Spiders we do have. In abundance. There’s a particularly large one that fights me for control of the path back to the shed. Most mornings, I try to walk under the badminton-sized net he’s spun from the Meyer lemon tree, across the path, to the purple hebe (Day 85). When I happen to break it by mistake (or bat it out of the way, if I’m going to be honest), the next morning the spider’s spun a new trap in its place. Forgivness must come easy to a spider. 

What I didn’t know until I moved here was the difference between a “spider web” and a “cobweb.” The latter is an old one, abandoned and collecting dust. The railings of our deck look like it’s always Halloween. The lovely and complex succulent (Aeonium "Blushing Beauty”) at the bottom of the stairs is a trap for dust and leaves, and a haven for spiders that never clean up the mess after they’ve moved on. Today is First Day (again) and I’m going to sit in my chair and think about forgiveness.

Day 88: Hiding in Plain Sight

Shelter in Place, San Francisco, California

I’ve said before that our garden boasts few insects, but this daily photo exercise is teaching me to look again. Watering the rosemary hedge the other day, I thought I saw one of its closer branches begin to move - not soft undulation caused by the the hose’s pressure, but an independent, high-tail-it-out-of-reach kind of move, as if the branch suddenly had legs. On closer examination, of course, I saw that it did. I grabbed my iPhone from my pocket and shoved it into the bush to get a close-up shot.

A little research tells me that my visitor is an Indian walking stick, a bug that has been present in California for only a few decades, an invasive species that particularly likes to feed on many of the plants present in our garden - roses, azalea, camellias, geraniums (no mention of rosemary on the list). “If the insect is in danger of being harmed,” the description reads, “the female will splay her forelegs to reveal a bright red patch on her inner femora near the attachment point to the body." ...Exactly what happened here when the camera got too close. She also lays millions of eggs unpredictably and indiscriminately, which makes it hard to stop the spread.

Nature is remarkable. I cannot really imagine - in spite of my rudimentary understanding and fervent belief in science - how and why the Indian walking stick ever evolved or, for that, matter, how it managed to move into my garden. But here she is, this female, red-legged warrior, hidden in plain sight. Can she serve as analogy for the virus that lurks among us? I wish not. A friend shared an article today from the ever-sober Atlantic Magazine (https://www.theatlantic.com/…/2020/06/virus-will-win/612946/? ) reminding us that this new dangerous “bug” not only exists in our midst, but that as more and more people discount the science behind its spread, the “virus will win.” Yikes. We seem to need such reminders every single day: though we cannot see the power it holds over us, though we are anxious to resume the life we lived, this disease is going to be around for much longer than we hoped, the danger hiding in plain sight.

Day 87: Still Standing

Shelter in Place, San Francisco, California

I wondered aloud this week how soon the single stem of white (Iceberg) roses would fall under its own weight, but it seems I underestimated the branch’s strength. Probably half of the forty buds have now opened and still the stem is upright. It makes a beautiful bouquet. Behind the rose and climbing up and out is one of two bougainvillea, finally filled in enough to show off (what I’ve managed to hide is the vine’s twin, which seems to be on a different flowering schedule and is not yet ready for prime time). Last year, in trimming the pair, we accidentally pulled them from their trellis, but I’m happy to report that though they now loom more than arch toward our patio chairs, the plants have managed to stay upright, and promise a summer bright and red.

It feels like we are, for just a small minute, between two crises now - the virus’ first spike, and the upheaval of our country’s sudden racial reckoning, with both promising to reemerge and darken as the summer moves along. Cases of the virus are beginning to rise again, and predicted to nearly double the current death toll by September; the president seems bent on fanning the flames of racial unrest with his provocative trip to Tulsa, his conspiracy theories, his threats to intervene in Seattle, and his insistence that there be a full-fledged convention in spite of the tension and the risks. I dread the summer’s heat. 

Yet here we are, the two of us still alive, still standing nearly as straight as our umbrella, still in relatively good health and emotional shape as we contemplate the near future, at least, from our little bed of roses. That’s something to celebrate for now.