Greeting the day like this hummingbird: leaning into the moment, shoulders relaxed, and basking in the light.
Joy in the morning. 🌟
Last week, a fire-breathing dragon swooped into my backyard garden, wreaking havoc.
It scalded these Meyer Lemons, which were just about ripe.
It was a relentless, record-breaking heatwave that scorched everything in reach.
Healthy leaves curled in on themselves, and turned crispy brown. Rose petals got singed, and assumed grotesque shapes.
This week is all about digging up and pruning back, salvaging what I can and encouraging new growth. From here on, it’s a game of wait and see: a budding leaf, the subtle lift of a drooping plant. I’m optimistic, for the most part.
A rascally rabbit has joined my clean-up crew–comic relief! Butterflies drift through the yard, laying eggs that will eventually replace the caterpillars that didn’t make it.
The urge to reproduce is strong, isn’t it? The need to set things right. But dreams don’t often translate into reality overnight.
Lesson from an incinerated garden: Soften your gaze.
110 record-breaking degrees here today, whew!
Our backyard critters were unusually quiet, save for the Monarch butterflies that drifted through the milkweed, laying eggs, and the honeybees that swarmed the birdbath.
Hummingbirds performed aerial feats against a backdrop of shimmering palm fronds. But they eventually called it quits, and retreated to the leafy shade of our Brazilian Skyflower.
A lizard skittered across the blistering concrete, looking for a dark, cool place to nap.
It was unseasonably warm, and the afternoon breezes did little to cool things down. But the blazing sun is fading now, ever so slowly. A warm glow has fallen over the neighboring hillside, and temperatures are dropping.
Ahhhh, time for a long, cool drink of water!!
When the sun angles low in the late-spring sky, and a hummingbird is resting on a tangerine tree branch, after bathing in the backyard fountain…
Little wings flutter
Morning starts with eyes smiling
Birdbath needs filling. ~Ormond
I had my doubts, but our burbling fountain is already attracting hummingbirds. Goldfinches, too! I snapped these photos through our backyard slider, so as not to interrupt their private bath. Can you spot the bird behind the lemon tree leaves, patiently waiting her turn?
Red’s not my favorite color, but our backyard fountain draws quite a crowd. And lucky me, I have a front-row seat to sweet moments like these, all day long.
As with haiku poetry, simple pleasures really are the best.
A well-tended garden is the sign of a happy heart. That’s what I think, anyway.
It welcomes visitors of all kinds,
and swings wide the gate to our most delicious memories. Juicy secrets, too.
It heralds Spring’s arrival, and the turn of every season.
It’s where the seeds of our wildest dream take root, burrowing deep before they flower.
My own garden isn’t tightly curated, as you might guess. It’s a quasi-random blend of colors and textures–a joyful noise, like this blog, where order and chaos co-exist.
It’s at once a playground and a sanctuary–
home, at the intersection of Elegant,
It makes my heart sing, when you drop by for a virtual visit! If it shows signs of neglect sometimes, it’s not because I’ve forgotten it–or you.
We’re sometimes called to tend a different garden for a while–it’s the rhythm of life, isn’t it? In this case, I was temporarily sidelined by an injury. I can’t wait to feel the grass underneath my feet again! But even from this distance, I can watch the hummingbirds feed their hatchlings. And as the milkweed sprouts new leaves, I can recreate, in my mind’s eye, the life cycle of the Monarch butterfly, from caterpillar to chrysalis.
I wanted to plant bulbs and flowers on Easter weekend, and to gather the first rosebuds of the season.
“Not yet,” my doctor said. So I’m resurrecting my blog instead. Moving ever forward, in joy and without judgment …It’s the gardener’s way.
So tell me: how does your garden grow?
Well now. Looks like mama hummingbird’s granting us another bird’s-eye view of her nursery!
I don’t know when she laid her eggs, but I suspect it was shortly after she put the final touches on this nest–very likely, a few days ago. Hummingbird incubations typically last about 14-16 days, but since we’re having a cooler weather (low to mid-60s), the hatchlings might wait a while longer to poke their beaks through their shells.
We’ve lived at Chez Shore for almost four years now, and in that time, we’ve watched lots of hummingbird mamas build their walnut-sized nests in this sheltered alcove, right outside our front door. Their instincts must tell them it’s a safe place to be. Tucked into the furthest reaches of this “Thalia” Fuchsia, their nests are well-camouflaged. The tile roof is a barrier against winter storms.
Look closely: Can you spot her nest in this leafy nursery?
A quick note of reassurance: I took these photos at a safe distance–at least 10 feet from the fuchsia. The nest is about 10 feet above ground.