Welcome to the Hotel Calamondin

They are bending the limbs down on my tree, even breaking some. Yes, there are thousands of Barbie sized orange look alikes. Their purpose in life is calamondin ade with lots of honey. Better yet, I go to the IFAS canning kitchen and watch Phylis, the canning guru, demonstrate how to create jars of marmalade or cupcakes. Yum ! A locavore's dream.

House of the Rising Sun-flower

Just finished one of the best books I've ever read on attracting birds to the back yard. It's called Best-Ever Backyard Birding Tips by Deborah L. Martin. I've always been somewhat casual about attracting birds, believing that those feathered folk who wanted to come would show up. Then I began reading about the importance of birds in pest control and pollination and decided I needed more help in the both departments. Evans is a delight to read. She assumes no prior knowledge. Her last hint is, if you have time to do only one thing plant a sunflower. Black oil sunflower seed is the preferred delight of most birds in NE Fla.

The Lime in Winter

Mornings on the St. Johns shore have been heartbreakingly gorgeous. First, the cosmic artist drenches the sky with ebony which fades into blue;then a slash of apricot appears. Birds begin to zip westward. They are silhouettes of aerodynamic zoom and purpose. Later in the morning the Top Gun pilots will try to emulate them, much higher and so very much louder.

Compost Tea in a Sun Tea Jar

Put some high grade compost in one of those mysteriously single socks that return unmatched from the washing machine. Add water. Some folks add molasses and use an aquarium pump. I don't. I put the jar in the Florida sunshine and leave it for three to five days. Then I decant it and pour it on my green friends. I am frequently assisted by my grandson Harry, a truly amazing novice gardener.

Santa's Helpers Are Subordinate Clauses

Hard to believe it is five days until Christmas. Totally unprepared for the onslaught, I find myself sitting in the camphor alcove watching the big red tail hawk. She swoops in about 11:00, settles herself on the river arch and lunches on something in the rye grass. Lizards? Snakes? I can't tell from the alcove. Her feathers are red gold and black. When she swoops away, her white undertail is a banner flying against the St.Johns blue gray.

She reminds me of the post Vietnam year when I produced my first born child, raised a red tail hawk in the guest room and tried to be a good Mrs. Lieutenant.

Mother Nature and Father Time

The winter sky over the garden this morning is mother of pearl gray. We have had four inches of rain in one day and the rye grass is drinking it up. Everything is green and gray with only the brave narcissus poking its cluster of white flowers into the air. Yes, everything in the garden is the offspring of Mother Nature and Father Time with perhaps me as the clumsy midwife.

And we say EPA is too costly

The fresh apple, still cold and crisp from the fridge, is not-me only until I eat it. When I eat, I eat the soil that nourished the apple. When I drink, the waters of the earth become me. With every breath, I take in I draw in not-me and make it me. With every breath out, I exhale me into not-me.

If the air and the waters and the soils are poisoned, I am poisoned. Only if I believe the fiction of the lines more that the truth of the lineless planet will I poison the earth, which is myself.

Donella H. Meadows 1941-2001