Finally, the butterflies have come! I’ve been waiting all summer, worrying that something has kept them from my garden. But here they are, the yellow and black swallowtails, at least (not so many monarchs), here just in time to fatten themselves up on the coneflowers, giant hyssops, black-eyed susans, and Joe Pye Weed before they head to winter nesting grounds - I’m not sure where, but certainly not here. I sit on the porch and enjoy their quiet feasting motions, and those of a sudden influx of goldfinches, too, in what feels to be softer sunlight than just a week ago.
We’re at a turning point - the birds, the butterflies, the garden itself, and me. Though the cicadas have been warning us that summer has nearly passed us by, this is the first time I have felt autumn’s presence in the garden. Soon, there will be more seeds and berries for the birds that stay than nectar for the butterflies that now are moving through. But here I am today, sitting with hummingbirds that duel and fuss above my head and gentle rain that falls beyond the eaves. And through the patter I faintly hear the high school’s marching band out in the football field just down the road: “Oh, say can you see?” It’s not time for school just yet, but it’s an iconic harbinger of fall to hear them practice in the rain.
I will not be sorry to see autumn come. I have some garden tasks to do, of course, as the air cools down and the days get shorter. But I am more than satisfied with the progress and the abundance of my garden in the past few months. The light, the color, the birds. And now the butterflies. I will watch them feed and then be ready to say goodbye and settle in to winter and to look beyond, toward spring.
Early Birds
The unseasonably warm weather we are now having has fed my impatience to move the calendar along to spring. I have gardens to dig, plants to order, trees to identify and trim! Every day now, unless it is raining, I don my jacket and boots, and make a circle around the periphery of our yard, then tiptoe through last year’s beds closer to the house, measuring small changes and checking for signs of life beyond the weeds that appear to need neither encouragement nor warmth to grow.
Few here can remember a winter with no snow accumulation, but here we are in mid-February, and many now conclude that this is the year that cold and snow are never going to come.
Today, as I took advantage of the sunshine to map out a new bed for prairie flowers, I spied in the grass a small patch of crocuses reaching for the sun. Aha! These cheerful little volunteers are optimists like me, I thought, ready to declare this winter prematurely done. And yes, they may be right. But I am also reminded that these crocus early birds know how to close back up and disappear if snow or cold return. Point taken. I will enjoy the warm weather while it’s here but hold my breath and patience for surer signs of spring.
Reflections
On such a beautiful, warm day as today, we grabbed the chance to walk in an old county park that John and I both remember from our childhood. There is not much that distinguishes Smedley Park - the main path winds through an old baseball field, then down underneath a busy highway, and onward, along a small creek that once powered an old 18th Century mill, the shell of which has been converted into a rather unremarkable office park - but it’s a place John considered his private playground when he was young and which brings back a vaguely frightening memory for me of scouting for bridge trolls with a young friend I can no longer name.
We do not have the opportunity to go back in time, to relive the best bits of our lives, but there are days when the sun shines and the creeks flow enough to see reflections of what is good and what is special about our life today and what mattered in the days and years gone by.