Plunk. Rollidy, rollidy, clunk. Rollidy, rollidy, klish. This strange alarm clock of mine still awakens me at any time of night, but I seem to be tuning into it more frequently during the early dawn hours. Sure, in California, it used to be the crows that woke me regularly. But here in the South, midst the Carolina pines, my new nature call is squirrels. Oh well, if the squirrels think it is time for breakfast, I'll get up and have mine, too.
I occasionally go outside to see just how far from my house those pine trees are growing, because I am absolutely convinced that the squirrels have to throw the pinecones to reach the house. What other explanation could there be? Short of putting a nanny cam on them, I decide to scour the area immediately surrounding the house for any pinecones at nightfall, and then check again in the morning to determine from which trees they are being hurled. It's not that it matters, but it will give me a new game to play, in order to get all the pinecones picked up before I run the riding mower over the acre of lawn.
The thing is, it takes a game to get me outside in the early, cooler hours. This used to be my favorite time to garden in Southern California--pull on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and head outside barefoot to soak up the morning sunshine with a cup of tea, and then cultivate around the entire house in twenty minutes flat. Now, in the middle of South Carolina, I have to don long pants, long-sleeved shirt, socks, heavy shoes, gloves, and lather up the rest with mosquito repellent to go anywhere near the garden at that hour, or I won't be fit to be seen in public for at least three days. Mind you, the temperature may already be seventy-five degrees at seven in the morning, so this outfit is not exactly what I'd call beach-casual. People had told me the mosquitoes would be big. They were wrong. Just prolific. My new favorite "house pets" are the toads, geckos, and skinks often seen very lazily snapping up mosquitoes for their breakfast without moving even a centimeter. It's too hot.
So what makes all of this worthwhile? I open my eyes each morning to see the pines, the oaks, and the azaleas beautifully framing the lake just two hundred feet from my window, the sun shining its promise on the lake, with turtles and fish breaking the mirrored surface. Thankfully, the geese and ducks are quiet most mornings, eagerly searching out brunch, but the occasional flurry of flapping wings outside my window serves my heart well. Yes, trees, birds, reptiles, flowers, sunshine and water make every day a great wake-up call.
After the pinecone plunks, of course.
U NO ?
Barbara at Butterfly Landing
copyright 2005 |
