Be Careful What You Wish For

My neighbor drives me nuts.  

He plays his music at an outrageous volume; in winter I can hear it through closed windows and hefty snow banks.  In summer, he floods my yard with noise.  We have to speak loudly on our own deck to have a conversation.  

I cherish music, and wouldn't mind sharing his tastes, if I could hear anything but the bass. He must love bass; it overpowers the words, the melody, everything.  I can feel the thumps reverberating in my skull and down my spine.

But, he does have a beautiful yard, and it is a pleasure to walk by his gardens.

I complained to a friend about the pounding sound pollution and voiced the wish that he would move. She cautioned me to be careful what I wished for.  And she was correct.

The neighbor sold his home and there are new folks living in the noisy house with the gorgeous yard.  All is quiet now, feels peaceful, except for last week.  The new neighbor went out to his yard with some friends and together they began ripping at his trees with a hand saw and trimmers.

What a heartache to watch him cut down a saucer magnolia.  Does he know how challenging they are to grow in our climate zone?  Does he know how inspiring it is to see a twenty-foot tree full of pink and cream blossoms; blossoms shaped like cups and saucers pouring out spring?  

Of course, all of this is none of my business.  I know that.  A neighborhood is really a village of people who need to respect and tolerate each other, so I will, and I do.

Still, how can anyone cut down a tree so lovely?  I don't understand.

And, I must be more careful what I wish for.

The Crab-apple Tree in Your Yard

The Crab-apple Tree in Your Yard

Each spring in your yard, a crab-apple tree, two stories tall

unfolds rosy ruffles, spills petals in showers of silk,

soft as your new baby’s skin.  The tree sprinkles a blessing

for those who can see.

 

Yet one morning at five, your neighbour appears

outside in her housecoat, its belt cinched tight,

outside in her yard with not a leaf out of place;

her hands on her hips, she stands under a fresh fall of petals,

a gift from the breeze.

Ah! Glory sifting pink through morning’s slant light.

But her face is pulled into a purse of frowns,

as she glares up at your flowering crab.

 

She sweeps; head down, studying the slate slabs.  She’s battling invasion.

Waging a war, she conquers each petal, every last one.

Heaving a sigh, with her brown slippers and broom,

she retreats to her house, so tidy and beige.  And later,

I hear her leaf-blower blowing, dusting the lawn

again and again.

 

Words and photo are copyright Carol Steel.

 

 

 

When is Garbage Really Just Garbage?

When is Garbage… Really… Just Garbage?

One person’s trash is another’s treasure.   I’ve seen proof of this over the last fortnight.

“Big Garbage” pick-up for spring happens next Monday.   For two weeks, people have been cleaning, creating piles, large and small, at curbside for the semi-annual garbage collection of big garbage.   We don’t have much to contribute; what we do have, we’ll put out Sunday night.  We live simply and don’t accumulate, keep clutter to a minimum.

One neighbour must be doing housecleaning in a big way.  He has a ten foot high cone of garbage in front of his house.  Another has garbage spread in a 50 foot swathe across the front of her property.

Treasure hunters are out in vans, in small trucks, in large trucks and in large trucks with trailers; they are cruising the streets.  They idyll their engines, move slowly, drive by the piles, then back up, leap out, inspect an item and throw it into their truck or back onto the pile.  Pickers drive by at all hours.  I’ve seen men with flashlights, after midnight mining the treasures.

I admit it.  I am fascinated.  What are they going to do with a cracked toilet, a broken sink, a single drawer, a television older than dirt, a defunct lawn chair or a mattress that looks like someone died on it, after suffering a messy illness?  I understand taking items that can be reclaimed for the metal, wood that can be re-purposed or plant pots that could be reused.  Perhaps someone who has mechanical abilities can salvage a lawnmower or a weed trimmer, a radio or a computer.   But, perhaps I am limited by my own imagination.  Perhaps…

Since our lifestyle is simple, most of our garbage is really just garbage.  We don’t have anything exciting for the pickers, no treasures, except an old rocking chair with broken rungs.  Someone who has carpentry skills and wood working tools could repair it.  We don’t and can’t.  I hope someone will want it and will fix it and use it. 

But…oh dear.  I have to confess.   We have skulked over to the ten foot pile and found treasures… two pieces of pressure treated lumber.  Why treasures? 

Because we can use them, of course.  

His trash has become our treasure.

Groundhogs, Free-Loaders and Friends

Groundhogs, Free-Loaders and Friends

We have tenants, sort of...   They share our property, but pay no rent.   Still we are landlords for chickadees and crows, robins and ring-neck pheasants, blue jays and mallards, starlings and a family of groundhogs.

We live on a hillside in Riverview, in a house built and planted with trees six decades ago.  The slope of the yard provides drainage, important for animals that burrow.   A honeysuckle bush, on a three hundred square-foot mound beside the house, provides shelter and shade for the groundhogs' burrows and tunnels.

We could clear out the underbrush but we let it be.  This side yard, this tangle of honeysuckle, snow berry bushes, barberry bushes, lilac hedges, birches and maples provides home for the groundhogs and nesting areas for the birds.

But, there is a problem.  These free-loaders control our lives.  We’ve considered planting vegetables near that side yard.  It’s the only spot that receives enough sunlight to grow a vegetable garden.  The groundhogs would be pleased.  They’re vegetarians.  A garden would be their salad bar.  Yes, there are possibilities.  We could capture and re-locate them or we could bury protective wire beneath the garden plot and build wire fences.   But that's no guarantee that we would protect our garden from the short, powerful limbs and thick, curved claws of groundhogs or from the resourcefulness of the birds; also looking for lunch.

We’ve discussed a vegetable garden but...no....  My husband says that groundhogs and birds have a right to live here, that they’ve lived in this yard longer than we have.  It's true.  We've lived here seven years, seven years today.  However, I suspect my husband's motives.  I think his generosity might be based on a desire to avoid work, avoid weeding.  Anyway, we’ll relinquish claim to the side yard, leave it to the tenants and continue to buy produce from the Farmers' Markets.

A groundhog sighting is rare.  They are shy and spend most of their hours in the burrows.   Last week, we spotted one waddling across the lawn searching for food; it didn’t see us.  When it did notice us, it scurried off to hide in the honeysuckle bush.   It was huge; bigger than average.   At over 30 inches long, including a 6 inch tail, it must have weighed 30-35 pounds or more.  Urban areas like ours provide few natural predators and plentiful vegetation...and porky groundhogs.

In the evenings, we know when the groundhogs are out and where they are.  Our three cats are like motion sensors.  They sit in the windows, alert and watchful.  Three heads turn in unison.  Meowing and chirping to each other, their eyes and bodies turn to follow the waddling of the groundhogs.

We enjoy our trees and shrubs because they encourage and protect wildlife.   Though the birds and the groundhogs pay no rent, they have changed from free-loaders to friends.  The chance to see nature up-close is payment enough.

I think we'll renew their lease.

Photo is mine.

Weeding the Mulch

Yesterday, I complained about weeding the mulch.

Moaned about how long it takes and how many weeds there were.  Today, it's rainy and the weeding is finished (on that part of the yard.)  I'm looking out at 120 feet of rain washed and weeded mulch and damp, gorgeous weedless Russian Cypress.  Everything looks great!  For a little while...

Even though I whined about weeding, the three, long sunny afternoons were interesting.  Neighbours stopped by while walking their dogs or each other, and chatted.  We caught up on news.

I heard about who was ill and who is better, who is undergoing tests, who is glad they have their weeding all done, who is getting tutoring, whose dog cost $4000. to diagnose and cure, who is annoyed with another neighbour, who knows a man for hire who does yard work and who is just out enjoying the refreshing fall days.

And did I mention, I have 120 feet weed-free across the back of our yard?  I'm happy .

My Friends' Gardens

My Friends' Gardens

These photos are from my friends' gardens, a source of great envy for me!  Their Daylilies are everywhere in myriad colours, undemanding, tough and beautiful.

They also have Asiatic Lilies which bloom in an impressive array of colours; here in favourite yellow.

They grow a clump of bright False Sunflower in the middle of one of their beds. These flowers bloom for a long period and have great resistance to pests and diseases. 

At their front yard, there is a stunning display of Black-eyed Susans.  These gorgeous flowers bloom all summer and into fall.

I love their gardens.  I feel so happy and peaceful when I am there.  It is a gift they share with the whole neighbourhood, and with anyone who walks or drives by their lovely yard.

The Neighbour's Cat

The Neighbour’s Cat

Last evening after supper, as Mum and I sat on the deck chatting, we noticed an odd looking white bird on the neighbour’s roof.  At the same time, we heard uproar from a robin in a tree near the roof.

Putting on our glasses, we looked again.  It was the neighbour’s small white cat on her roof.  It wasn’t after the robin; it was crying piteously and walking all around looking for a way to climb down from the roof.

Cats are very good at climbing up and not so adept at getting down.  We sat and watched for a few minutes, thinking that the house must be lower to the ground on the backside, and that, likely, the mewing white kitty would tire of this and climb back down.

This neighbour and I are not close buddies; we’re merely across-the-road neighbours, who occasionally wave, if we see each other. But, thinking about the pitiful white cat wandering, crying on the roof made me remember that though I’ve often seen the cat at the windows, I’ve never seen her outside before.

Perhaps the cat had escaped and no one had noticed.  Hard for me to believe because I have indoor cats and am always panicking if I can’t find one or the others, searching until I discover where they are sleeping.  I suppose I’m hyper-vigilant about my kitties.

Enough dithering.  I went across the street and to the front door of the neighbour’s house.  No door bell, so I knocked loudly.  After a wait, she came to the door, looking like she had just wakened from a nap.  I apologized for disturbing her, reminded her that I am her across-the-street neighbour and told here that her cat was trying to get down and appeared to be stuck on her house roof.

Her reaction?  She got angry and accused me of harassing her and making jokes that weren’t funny, declaring vehemently that her cat never went outdoors.  She was upset and agitated. 

I was startled.

I decided that being really calm was the answer, as my aim was cat rescue, not a disagreement. 

I had been out talking to Mum and taking garden photos for my blog when we had noticed the cat, so I had taken photos of the escaped kitty, too.  I realized I still had my camera around my neck and so while she continued to berate me, I showed her the photo of “her roof with her cat on it.”

The angry lecture stopped.

Her door slammed and a moment later opened again.  She came out with a small ladder, went round to the back of the house and coaxed the cat down off the roof.  Since the cat was being rescued, I left; I hadn’t been enjoying myself on her front porch, with her screaming and scolding and the cat crying.

Mum and I watched from the safety of my yard until we saw the cat get down.

Here’s my question:  If you own a pet and someone comes to tell you it is in trouble and to offer help, wouldn’t your first reaction be concern for the animal, not yelling at the person at your door?

I guess it doesn’t matter.  The point is that her cat is safe again and back inside peeking out the windows.