VTFlowerGirl
04-28-2002, 07:00 AM
Yesterday morning as I sat here at my desk reading the incoming mail, I heard a thud as something hit the side of the house. I saw a big brown ball of feathers tumble to the ground, and I looked out the window and saw a beautfiul quail flopping on the ground outside my window. I ran outside and picked it up. Not a mark on it, but the bird's neck was obviously broken. As I held it in my hands I just kept thinking how beautiful it was yet here it is gone in a second. Ironically, I thought of of the words from "Fly" by Celine Dion that I had posted here during the week. Fly to heaven little wing, close your eyes and go, you'll be back soon.... and I said a prayer as the bird closed it's eyes and crossed over.
Another ironic thing is that during the winter a few months ago I had seen this happen to a chickadee that hit the window. But that tiny bird survived. That bird was stunned, I ran out into the snow and picked it up and brought it inside and held it as it regained consciousness. Shortly thereafter we watched as it flew away to enjoy another day of life.
The rest of the day was spent transplanting little seedlings, some so tiny I have to use tweezers to hold them as I gently replant them in their new homes. If you've ever grown petunias, you know what I'm talking about, hopefully all 300 of mine will grow strong. There's so many miracles in gardening, the first being the actual germination of the seed, some so tiny you can barely see them, and this year I've had the best luck. Then I look at some of these seedlings, that still have the original seed shell attached to them as their greenery pokes through the ground, and it reminds me of the belly button we humans have.
I've got lettuce growing that was started outside three weeks ago, enjoyed tropical temperatures for days, then was snowed on and has endured freezing temperatures. But they survive under a thin agrifab cloth, and their "breath" (transpiration and respiration) is what maintiains their climate inside their bed.
I have a crown imperial plant that is struggling to survive in the freezing temperatures, the irony is that it smells like skunk and does a fine job of keeping the voles away from my bulbs, yet is so very beautiful and towering like it's the protector of them all and darn well knows it! The skunk smell of this plant is what protects my sweet smelling hyacinths at it's base.
Life and death in my hands and all around the garden, tragedies and triumphs in nature and the dirt. Miracles bursting forth from the snow and tiny seeds.
"The deeper we look into nature, the more we recognize that it is
full of life, and the more profoundly we know that all life is a secret
and that we are united with all life that is in nature. Man can no
longer live his life for himself alone. We realize that all life is
valuable and that we are united to all this life. From this
knowledge comes our spiritual relationship with the universe. "
- Albert Schweitzer (1875-1965)
I'm going to pluck the feathers from the quail to use for craft projects, then he'll go to the compost pile to decompose and become worm food. Now regarding compost, there's some irony there too.... but I'll spare you the details.
Will someone please turn the heat back on?
Another ironic thing is that during the winter a few months ago I had seen this happen to a chickadee that hit the window. But that tiny bird survived. That bird was stunned, I ran out into the snow and picked it up and brought it inside and held it as it regained consciousness. Shortly thereafter we watched as it flew away to enjoy another day of life.
The rest of the day was spent transplanting little seedlings, some so tiny I have to use tweezers to hold them as I gently replant them in their new homes. If you've ever grown petunias, you know what I'm talking about, hopefully all 300 of mine will grow strong. There's so many miracles in gardening, the first being the actual germination of the seed, some so tiny you can barely see them, and this year I've had the best luck. Then I look at some of these seedlings, that still have the original seed shell attached to them as their greenery pokes through the ground, and it reminds me of the belly button we humans have.
I've got lettuce growing that was started outside three weeks ago, enjoyed tropical temperatures for days, then was snowed on and has endured freezing temperatures. But they survive under a thin agrifab cloth, and their "breath" (transpiration and respiration) is what maintiains their climate inside their bed.
I have a crown imperial plant that is struggling to survive in the freezing temperatures, the irony is that it smells like skunk and does a fine job of keeping the voles away from my bulbs, yet is so very beautiful and towering like it's the protector of them all and darn well knows it! The skunk smell of this plant is what protects my sweet smelling hyacinths at it's base.
Life and death in my hands and all around the garden, tragedies and triumphs in nature and the dirt. Miracles bursting forth from the snow and tiny seeds.
"The deeper we look into nature, the more we recognize that it is
full of life, and the more profoundly we know that all life is a secret
and that we are united with all life that is in nature. Man can no
longer live his life for himself alone. We realize that all life is
valuable and that we are united to all this life. From this
knowledge comes our spiritual relationship with the universe. "
- Albert Schweitzer (1875-1965)
I'm going to pluck the feathers from the quail to use for craft projects, then he'll go to the compost pile to decompose and become worm food. Now regarding compost, there's some irony there too.... but I'll spare you the details.
Will someone please turn the heat back on?