High Intrigue

Last week, there was high intrigue in a little commune near our house. Indeed, what occurred was the culmination of days and weeks of mutinous plotting, the carrying out of a betrayal that left a kingdom (queendom, actually) divided.

It seems that some of the ladies-in-waiting, the monarch's most trusted and loyal subjects, grew tired of her ladyship or of the size of the castle (or whatever, I hadn't the chance to ask any of them). At any rate, they elected, secreted away, and groomed a replacement. Then one day last week, they revolted, openly declaring their change of allegiance.

Fortunately, it was all very non-violent. No blood was shed; in fact, the reigning queen was allowed to keep not only her life and wealth (mostly gold) but also her castle. Her only loss was half of her former subjects and army, as they chose to flee the castle altogether. The mutineers with their new queen were discovered (as pictured below) by our next-door neighbor. I called a friend who agreed to offer them amnesty, and toward nightfall we installed them in a new castle and drove them across town to his place.

It was undoubtedly a traumatic event for all concerned, but by nightfall peace reigned in both castles and everyone could look back on a good day's work.

A Guatemalan Gardener

For some reason, I've been thinking about a particular gardener that I spent several enjoyable days watching years ago. My oldest son, Nathan, and I were staying in downtown Guatemala. The "hotel" was a group of bungaloes separated by lawn and gardens and walled off from the surrounding city sprawl. We were cooling our heels while waiting for research permits (we eventually headed back to Tikal to collect blood samples--for genetic analysis--from Swallow-tailed Kites). So we spent a bit of time swimming, sitting poolside, or reading in the gardens.

We had plenty of leisure to watch the gardeners (of which there were actually three). A typical morning's work for one of these men was to trim a vine growing up one of the stairways. It would require a bit of snipping here, a spot of pruning there. He raked up the trimmings and swept any flagstones or walks as he went, never making much noise or breaking a sweat.

The afternoon might have brought a small patch of lawn to mow. This was accomplished with an old mower like Grandpa had, with the spinning blades. Edging was done by hand. There were no motors, no gas fumes, no noise. I've heard tell of the attention to small detail of the Japanese gardener, but he has nothing on our little Guatemalteco. His was a simple employment, and one which he seemed to enjoy and at which he excelled.

To tell the truth, I haven't been just thinking about this gardener from time to time--I've been thinking wistfully about him, perhaps even envying him.

67 Degrees

Here on the high desert of Central Oregon, we had record high temperatures for this date yesterday. We've had plenty of very cold days this winter, and we'll undoubtedly have more before warmer days are here to stay. But what a blessing it was yesterday afternoon to be out in the yard (in shorts and a tee!), raking up needles and tidying up the still-dormant garden beds.

To be sure, every February brings signs and promises of coming Spring, but rarely does that promise come to lighten our hearts as early as two days after Groundhog Day. I even saw my first lone Turkey Vulture of the year, more than a month ahead of schedule! Okay, I can't be certain that this bird even made the migration this year--occasionally one can't join the fall flight and ends up lingering all winter long. But that scenario is truly rare in our area, and I choose to interpret yesterday's sighting as yet another message of hope that warmer, longer days are about to make a return (as they have reliably every Spring that I've wandered this northern hemisphere).

This Spring, I'm particularly anxious to see how the new front garden looks. We moved things around a bit last fall, put in irrigation and a new patch of lawn. This left us with a border garden where we planted a variety of bulbs--tulips, iris, calla lilies, hyacinths of different colors, and miniature narcissus.

For me, Spring is a wonderful season (and by that I mean a season full of wonder). My wife and kids and I keep one another apprised of each "first" of the year--the first crocus, the first Western Kingbird, Say's Phoebe, Bullock's Oriole, or Western Rattlesnake. But this year, we several months ago gave ourselves an added gift of delight--a variety of first blooms of each of these garden flowers planted as bulbs in the fall. (I'll let you know how they do.)

Today, I'm wishing for you a promise of the warmth and light of Spring.