Focusing on Nature

 

Focusing on Nature

Nature has been a bit more obvious around here lately, with squirrels dashing in front of cars, hawks flying down closer to people and deer gallivanting on streets and in backyards. Here is an example. There were actually five deer crossing our backyard the other day. Two moved off into our neighbor’s property behind the children’s playground. One had stopped for a moment to look at the swings. I wondered if it was considering having a ride. When my husband came out with his camera, the deer moved on. They crossed the street slowly as if they were just out for a daily walk.

I think that our housing development was built on the deer’s natural roaming path. They figured out how to navigate around the fences that some of our neighbors have erected. We are used to them coming into our back to munch on our plants and our sweet cherry tree. But they have been showing up more frequently and being less reserved.

I think we all are looking at things differently now. What used to be in the background of our busy lives has come to be more prominent in our awareness as we become more locally aware. Focusing on nature is a way to step out of our daily worries and be lifted by its beauty or be delightfully surprised by an unusual encounter. I think of it as a gift that opens me up to a wider perspective.

Coreopsis on the Table

Coreopsis on the Table

The last of the coreopsis flowers graced our table last week. The plants were blooming despite the change in seasons, the erratic temperatures, and their tight quarters in a flowerpot on our patio.

These are hardy plants even though their flowers tend to look delicate. Coreopsis can tolerate a variety of soil conditions and weather. Depending upon their height, they can be used as back borders or edging. Their blossoms, which vary in color, last into the Fall, providing lovely table decorations.

I was impressed by how long the flowers lasted in the vase. They seemed so fragile, yet they stayed full and lively for the whole week. What a vibrant expression of nature in such a compact form. And that got me to thinking of how we often judge people by their outward appearance. Delicate doesn’t necessarily mean weak. It is more important to understand the inner strength of a person than to assume we know all there is to know from a glimpse at a person’s body.

When the coreopsis flowers finally wilted, I said goodbye and thanked them for sharing their perspective with me. We can learn something about the world and ourselves from the most surprising encounters.

An intro to coreopsis:

http://www.garden.org/plantguide/?q=show&id=2043

A look at the beautiful coreopsis varieties:

http://www.coreopsis.info/ 

Heirlooms

At the beginning of the season I bought some heirloom tomato plants. I watched the tomatoes as they went from green to less green to a soft yellow and got larger and plumper, full of the sun’s heat. On the day a large yellow beauty was just about ready for picking, I went outside but couldn’t find it. I couldn’t find two others, either, that were on the verge of ripeness. What could have happened to them?

My initial thought was those wascally wabbits or perhaps the ubiquitous squirrels were at it again (I didn’t have any peaches this year again!) but I didn’t see any evidence that they might leave – no half eaten tomatoes, no splotchy seeds on the ground, no broken stems. Besides, the tomatoes were growing fairly high off the ground. It would take a good jumper to get at them. Could a person have taken them? I recently read in the NY Times that urban gardens are the target of veggie thefts. But this is not a city garden. It is also pretty insignificant and in a secluded place. Who would have discovered it? Besides, if someone had asked I would have been happy to share.

There is something delightful about eating something picked moments before and I felt annoyed that I was deprived of this. My husband’s parents were wonderful gardeners. I remember how we all picked corn at the moment they were ready and ran to the kitchen to toss them into the pot of water that was already boiling and waiting. No corn ever tasted better.
I looked at the tomatoes I had picked yesterday and today. There were three sizes - a Papa tomato, a Mama tomato and a wee baby tomato, like the three bears. I put them on a silver tray that was handed down in the family; heirloom tomatoes on an heirloom tray. Ah. Perspective kicked in. How lucky I have been. I smiled. At last I could put aside my annoyance. I hoped that whoever/whatever took the heirlooms at least enjoyed them. And perhaps those tomatoes were shared with the family, whether animal or human.