The Wandering Naturalist Returns Home

Six weeks away.  In that amount of time spiders take over, reclaiming our house as their private property.  My husband was here but he had enough to do with work, the yard, and putting pots under the many roof leaks that appeared during the biblical deluge that hit this part of Texas while I was gone.  As I mentioned before, he and the vacuum cleaner have barely met.  So, as in other “first days back”, it was a black day for the many spiders whose webs were coating my vacuum cleaner head. As each egg sac contains hundreds of baby spiders, the “nursery” in my vacuum bag must number in the 1,000’s.

Being home means the mosquitoes no longer need to appeal to the blood bank for their meals.  I went out, foolishly without my whirring mosquito thingy, and acquired 25 bites (I counted them) in one session of filling feeders.  It is clearly my yard full of ivy that draws them to my property and my property alone.  To remove all that ivy would be to take away the year round green that drew me to this place to begin with.  And oh, the guilt of a naturalist that turns to sprays.  I have yet to do so; too many birds about.

All that rain encouraged the always willing weeds to go viral.  The rocky footpath that encircles the yard is sprouting weeds I have never seen before. Interesting, but they must go.  And as 30 minutes of weed pulling leaves me soaked in sweat, it might take awhile. 

It seems the wrens and the titmice and golden fronted woodpeckers have doubled their numbers.   

And a young phoebe was sitting out front shooting out for invisible bugs.  In the front we DO NOT have mosquitoes.  Wish I could I entice this bird to the backyard but maybe it doesn’t like mosquitoes either.  Actually, I read once that mosquitoes also get their blood meal from birds and mammals but only we humans react to what they give back by itching insanely.  

Squirrels are looking thin.  No corn for them when I am gone.  They were looking too “Diabetes 2” when I left anyways. And the buck that wanders down, receiving only threats from my husband for eating everything we plant, had already discovered I had thrown out some apples for them.  Uncanny how quickly they know the “food truck” is back in town.  His velvet antlers have doubled in size from the buds they were when I left.

About those apples, in the past three years there were very few and the birds got them all.  This time, with all the rain, they produced more, but not very tasty and it seems to me they would be enjoyed more by the deer than this New Englander who prizes crisp, juicy apples in the fall. 

My refrigerator however, is full of plums; hundreds of plums that my husband gathered. Not quite ripe but they do ripen up, so plum “kuchen” and plum jam will have to be attempted later in the week. 

Hummingbird feeders were black and nasty, but I see they were willing to try again once I cleaned them.  I was just watching, what seemed to either be a young one or one who got a mouthful of yuck the last time.  It was so tentative but then fed for several minutes.  As I write this I notice more have come; word gets out quickly it seems.

It was SUCH a wonderful trip though, covering thousands of miles, seeing so many old friends, being dazzled by more gorgeous vistas than I can recount and once again realizing that Texas is where I live, but New England is my home.  Hmm, that sounds like the Gertrude Stein quote,  “America is my country, but Paris is my home town.” 

When I am back among huge trees, forests of moss and ferns and chipmunks chipping from every downed log, it just feels right.  THAT is my preferred habitat.  It just is.  And Texans would tell you the same thing if someone suddenly transplanted them to New England.  They would miss the wide-open skies, their huge ranches that are beautiful and be shocked to find the roads so full of little cars.  I think I have mentioned that my tiny car finds shade among the trucks when it can. 

 

The roots of home clearly grow deep, deep enough to persist through 19 moves to different places. I hope YOUR summer finds you in the habitat you most love.  Or visiting your roots, which maybe also go deep in a place where you no longer live, but still call home.