Spring fever
I can't stop cooing words of encouragement to my budding leaves.
The squirrels haven’t come anywhere near my new plant shelf, but my tea plant out there has become the hottest new club for a pair of pigeons that hang out around my building block. I hear their coos in the morning. They bring bits of detritus to make a nest, I throw it away. The birds aren’t doing any harm, but they’re flapping awful close to some pricey new tree stock I’ve bought, so I’d just as rather they hang out somewhere else.
Then again, I’ve been cooing plenty too. Over the past couple weeks, dormant buds on all my trees are swelling open and unfurling new leaves. Most of my trees are evergreens, so it’s my deciduous new arrivals that have really opened my eyes to the magic of watching the skeletal structure of dormant trees awaken and fill out with fresh growth. Did you know the inner cores of tree trunks are metabolically dead? Only a thin layer of sapwood, between the bark and dense heartwood core, is alive and growing. Ever improving, iterating its behavior to expand on a scaffold of its own design.
All of this from sunlight. Trees, man.
So I’ve been watching my trees, drinking in this moment. Something I learned in tea is the value of taking your time, of not seeking out something new, instead deliberating on your current tea collection. It’s important to make time to observe your tea—or your trees—from different positions and perspectives. Then sit with your thoughts and observe some more. It seems like you’re doing nothing at all. You don’t feel like you’re making progress. Understanding is a three-edged sword, the post-human Vorlons say on the show Babylon 5. It takes time for each edge to make contact.
I’ve been impatient. I bought some more trees I’m excited about, better material to advance my understanding. But I know I have to cool it and get back to observing. A bonsai friend recently told me that I’m way under-fertilizing my trees. As soon as he said it, it made sense, explaining the sluggish behavior of some new buds, exciting as they may be. Had I spent more time observing, reading, and trusting my gut, I could have taken action to fix that. Now the first month of the growing season is over.
Yesterday I tried wrapping my tea plant with chicken wire to keep the birds away. They weren’t happy. They started landing on my olive, my boxwood, my elephant bush. I shooed them away, they returned a minute later. I couldn’t figure out why. Eventually I gave up and removed the wire; I was causing more chaos than I prevented.
It was cold enough last night for me to bring some sensitive trees inside until the morning. As I opened my window, I noticed something strange in the tea plant’s pot.
The birds had laid an egg.
Tree reading
Ancient Persian love poetry about a cypress and an equally ancient…poet beef? Including a verse imploring the other to “go and seek another loose vagina.” This is fun. [Asian American Writers’ Workshop]
Maple syrup season is about over. Elliott Papineau has a lovely account of a home tapping setup. A subscription is required; it’s worth it. [Midwesterner]