It’s about 90° here now, which is unusual for April and early May. Everything is hot, including humans, animals and tiny creatures. I was on my usual excursion to my neighbor’s mailbox to retrieve her mail, and when I opened the mailbox, a bumblebee was inside. It seemed disoriented and probably was quite warm having been in a hot metal box with no escape. I had just gotten my own mail, so I had torn up junk mail in my hands which came in handy – no pun intended.
My neighbor had a package in her mailbox, but nothing else, so I ignored that for a moment and used the scraps of paper that I had just torn up to escort the bumblebee out of the mailbox. It was essentially a real Lyft. The bee climbed on and I carried it in front of me like a golden child, which bumblebees truly are. I tried to find flowers, but much of them are gone, and the new batch haven’t bloomed yet. I tried a Dianthus, but as soon as I perched him or her on there, I could see there was no pollen. I apologized and eventually convinced the bee that I would find a more suitable flower. We traveled in the same way (golden child real Lyft transport system) toward the backyard where I put the bee on some wild violet flowers. It seemed there was some pollen in these, but the bee was so heavy, the flower took a slow drop to the ground. I frowned. The bee was determined and more lively at this point, so after two attempts at the wild violet flowers, I convinced he or she to get back on the paper and I would find a flower. I walked over to the azaleas, but immediately knew there was no pollen. I was out of ideas. In that moment, the bee buzzed away – took flight and was completely recovered. Buzzy was no more silent bee. Then the bee found an appropriate weed and proceeded to feed. If you’ve been here a while, you know that I chase bumblebees for photo ops. I thought maybe the bee would let me get a quick snap in, but no. But that is ok. Their lifespan is short, after all, and they have to capture the pollen. After the bee buzzed away, I went back to my neighbor’s house, got her mail out of her mailbox and put it on her stoop.
I’ve been on insect saving duty the past three days – one of the hazards/joys (however you want to look at it) of spring. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I got Chris, my first cactus, shortly after starting my job at my former employer – around 2011. My Facebook Memories yesterday showed me Chris from a 2015 photo that I snapped in my office at the time. He was still a wee one, and I put a little note on him, because the housekeeping staff would come in overnight, water all the plants in an effort to help, but eventually they would drown them and the plants would die. Everyone knew if you had a plant you’d better stick a post it on it and write, “Please don’t water, thank you!”
Chris, April 2015 – I’d had him since 2011 at this point in time.
Eventually – and most likely unbelievably by looking at the photo above – Chris outgrew his spot on the top of the bookshelf. I had to carefully carry him out to my car at the end of the workday, being careful not to tear any limbs off in the process. I put him on the floor of the passenger side of my car, where he proceeded to tip over three or four times on the thirty mile journey home.
Chris had a spot on my bookshelf at home for a while, then he outgrew that space as well as a few pots. I’ve read that cacti don’t like to be repotted. They like to be root bound, which I am all for, because trying to repot a cactus is not an easy task.
After Facebook showed me my memory yesterday, I decided to snap a photo of Chris present day. He ended up on a perch all by himself right next to a southwest facing window. You’ll understand why he’s by himself when I show you what he looks like now.
CHRIS (the caps are intentional, because this plant is now a Hulk.) This photo was taken yesterday. As you can see, there’s no real way to get into the closet on the right hand side, and he is pulled away from the wall/window because his arms are exceptionally long.
Chris has thrived at home, and he has cousins in another room who are not quite as large as he. They all usually start blooming in October, so I’ve taken to calling them Halloween cacti. Sometimes they bloom around Thanksgiving, so they become Thanksgiving cacti. They don’t really have a timeframe. They do what they want. That’s cool with me. I’m simply glad Chris likes his pot, because I am never going to be able to repot this lanky gentleman.
To go as the crow flies is to take the most direct route somewhere. Going as the crow flies is the shortest path between two points.
This expression has to do with traveling—in a very specific way. If you travel as the crow flies, you've gone somewhere as quickly and directly as possible. A shortcut is a good way to go as the crow flies. A direct airplane flight with no transfers is another way to go as the crow flies. When you think of this term, imagine a bird flying in a straight line from point A to point B.
I moved to the state I live in now when I was just turning seven. For reasons, Mom and I were graciously taken in by family members who lived one state away from our previous home. It wasn’t terribly far, but to a six-year-old, an hour-long car ride seems like a great distance to travel.
From there, Mom and I moved across a two-lane highway – which is now a four-lane highway – to an apartment complex. We lived there for seven years.
Mom found her final home in a neighborhood she admired for years and would drive through on her way to pick me up from my friend’s house.
I just realized the other day, that if you plot all three of these points of residence on a map, the triangle is very small. In fact, I determined that the distance from Point A to Point B to Point C forms a very small triangle, with each arm of the triangle being about 300m. 300m translates to 0.186 miles.
Some people may think this is incredibly isolating and not very worldly, but it was entirely coincidental and not planned, as far as I know. And since I didn’t even realize it until a few days ago, I guess it could be a statement about how much I like my neighborhood and my surroundings.
You guys know Jerome, right? He’s my crow. Well, it’s more true to form to say that he is my nemesis. He is the crow that’s mad at me for eternity because I wouldn’t let him put his dirty bagels and french fries in the birdbath. He and his friends and family caw at me as I’m walking in the neighborhood. If I’m at the local pharmacy and strip mall, they’ll do it there, too. They somehow know when to show up. If I walk out of my house and Jerome starts cawing from somewhere far enough away that I can’t see him, but close enough that I can hear him, I know I’m in for quite a mouthful. Other people have crows bring them money and shiny objects. Jerome has given me intergenerational hatred. I would prefer money or shiny objects, at the very least.
This is not Jerome. But Jerome would do this: join a gang of crows and become violent against ravens and also me, most likely
“I hear you, Jerome! Good morning to you, too!” I say loudly. I’m sure my neighbors think I’m crazy, but that crow and I have beef. I wonder how old Jerome is, and how long he’s been watching me. Maybe his great-grandfather, grandfather and father saw me at Points A and B. Point C is Jerome’s territory now, as the crows fly.
Now meet ERJ. First I should tell you about ER. ER was my beloved first Eastern Redbud. Eastern Redbuds are my favorite tree because the flowers emerge from the bark. They come in shades of purple and pink, and also white. They bloom in mid April. They are a native species to the United States, and if you pay attention, you’ll see them everywhere. 
ER was just a wee babe in 2013-ish, when he arrived to my yard. I estimate he was about four years old, because he was flowering, and it takes about four years for the tree to become old enough to flower. ER was planted out front for all to see. Each spring I would wait for the buds to appear, then the flowers to emerge, followed shortly – or simultaneously if the weather is especially warm – by the heart-shaped leaves.
ER did well for a few years, but then he took a turn for the worse. He wasn’t very old, but he started to develop problems in his bark. His location in the yard was facing southeast, and he didn’t have much protection from southern storms and brutal Nor’easters. It turns out Eastern Redbuds are a little bit of a delicate tree and probably should have more shelter than was provided to ER. ER suffered mortal wounds shortly after his diagnosis and was cut down. I was devastated to lose this tree, but when I noticed the tree was sick, I gathered the pods that formed on the tree, which happens in autumn. Inside the pods are little seeds that disperse as the pods fall on the ground. These pods contain many seeds and there are many, many pods. When the pod breaks open, the seeds are naturally sown, and if the conditions are right, a new tree forms. This is why you’ll see groups of Eastern Redbuds growing in areas where there is not much development and trees can be left to be, well, trees.
Back to when I was gathering the pods. I read up on how to gather the pods, prepare the seeds and sow them. I had little pots with soil, and after I prepared the seeds by scraping off the outer hard layer and doing something with hot water (I can’t remember right now), I planted them. I covered them with plastic wrap and put them in a sunny window. I waited.
And waited.
I kept waiting.
And nothing happened.
It turns out it is difficult to cultivate Eastern Redbuds. I didn’t get any trees from my attempts. ER was cut down and I assumed that in a few years I would buy another tree and plant it elsewhere, where it was safer.
In late spring of 2020, there were some weeds growing in the front flower bed and grass was growing where ER used to be. One day, I happened to be looking around in the weeds and grass and noticed a tiny heart-shaped plant. I immediately pulled all the grass away from this little guy and studied it further. Sure enough, it was an Eastern Redbud baby. Excited, I went in the house to gather supplies so that I could MacGyver a little cage for the baby. While I was doing that, I noticed another one very close to the first baby. I prepared a little nursery for that one as well. And then I decided I’d better check the whole yard even though the pods don’t disperse that far. To my surprise, there was a larger baby very close to the porch, which is about 10 to 12 feet away from where the original tree had been. This was the largest tree out of the three I found. I prepared the nurseries for all of them and tried to mark them very well so the landscaper wouldn’t weed-whack them. Unfortunately, what I was trying to protect from happening did happen – the baby near the porch got weed-whacked. I was devastated. Did he not see the entire contraption around the tree? The pink tape? Nothing?! With hands on hips, I stomped immediately over to the departing landscaping guy and told him what he did to my tree. This was still Covid lockdown time, and one of the positive distractions I had during this time was this baby tree. He was apologetic, but I was still upset. My beloved ER had come back in the form of ER Junior, II and III. And now the largest of them gets weed-whacked. Fast-forward a couple months. I have finally calmed down, and they’re all still growing well – although one of them was missing a limb.
A few months later, the sewer line collapsed. None of the trees were affected, thank goodness, but the ground had to be dug up to replace the sewer line and once that happened, rain water did not drain properly and pooled in the front yard.
In the spring of 2021, I needed to have the front yard graded due to the water pooling issue. I had to move two of the babies in order to save their lives. My electrician was recruited for the job. He arrived in the pouring rain, and I stood beside him with an umbrella, as foreman of the project, showing him each tree and telling him where to plant them in the backyard. After much mud, II and III were successfully moved. ERJ was not in danger, so I left him where he was.
The yard was graded and landscaped. ERJ could be seen properly, and it was obvious that he had been naturally “planted” (I had nothing to do with it) in a perfect spot. Not too close to the house, but not so far away that he would be in danger from the elements.
In 2022, we had a bout of very hot weather with no rain and ERJ started to lose his leaves. I watered him every day, but still the leaves fell off. I thought the tree was dying, but I watched him when he went dormant in the winter. I pushed on his branches to see if they would snap and they didn’t. That means the tree is not dead. In the spring of 2023, he started to grow leaves and I knew that he was OK, though he didn’t have any buds formed on his bark. Recall from above it takes years for Redbuds to mature enough to form the buds. ERJ grew very tall last year. I encouraged him by talking to him and letting him know that he was a very tall young man and I appreciated his heart-shaped leaves that were very healthy. I pruned the tree and shooed away birds who were too fat to perch on his skinny branches. I wondered if ERJ would develop buds for the spring of 2024. I kept checking him all winter, and I couldn’t tell, but I thought maybe…
By March, I could see little nubs growing from the bark. I know what leaves look like when they are starting to form, and this wasn’t that. I think I did a dance on the front yard. No, I’m sure that I did. Certain that flower buds were forming on ERJ, my miracle Eastern Redbud that appeared years after the parent tree died, I began to document via photographs the bud formation. Without further ado, let me introduce you first to ER, then ER Junior.
(And what about the other two trees, you ask? One of them was injured when a nearby tree branch fell on him, but he is slowly recovering and is growing tall. The other one is very small but still alive. They don’t like to be moved after one re-planting, so I’m going to leave him there and see if he might want to be an Eastern Redbud bush rather than a tree.)
ERERERJ, early MarchERJ late MarchERJ early AprilERJ last weekERJ a few days agoERJ yesterday. His blooms are fully out, and his leaves are coming in nicely. Do you see how they are heart-shaped? 🩷
They’re so stinking cute! It’s going to rain for the next couple of days so I think these blossoms are going to be gone soon. Keeping that in mind, I wanted to capture a few more images of my favorite bumbles. One of them buzzed into my head today by accident. Both parties were uninjured.🩷
Once the cherry blossoms reach peak pollen stage, the humans suffer greatly with allergies, but the bumblebees party hardy. (I saw a few honeybees getting down, as well.)
As is my normal routine this time of year, I chased bumblebees around the tree. I’m sure my neighbors think I’m daft, but I don’t particularly care. I love to be amongst the pink canopy watching the creatures pollinate. Sometimes I even see butterflies, but not so much lately, and that gives me a lump in the pit of my stomach.
Back to the bumblebees. They are docile, and they seem quite clumsy, but they have a mission. That mission does not include me with my phone’s camera all up in their grills trying to achieve the perfect capture. They buzz and tolerate me, but they despise close-ups. Trying to get a close-up of a bumblebee is like trying to catch a toddler who just found out about running: good luck.
These are a few of the photos I captured on my chase.
I couldn’t resist this capture today. I often walk around my front yard with my phone camera ready and waiting.
Dandelions feed the first bees and also the bunnies. I know people consider them weeds, but they’re not. They are food for creatures that are hungry after winter. They are bright, joyful indicators of spring, and I’ve heard you can make delicious wine from the flowers. The greens are very healthy to eat, as they cleanse the liver.
When the dandelion petals turn to fuzz and their seeds can be dispersed easily, this is where most people have a problem with them in their yard, but I’ve always liked to make a wish and blow the seeds wherever they may go. I’m hoping one day my wishes come true.
I’m not the only one.
One must always take advantage of dandelion fuzzies, even if you’re doing your job at the time. Wishes must never be wasted.It’s almost perfectly round. The imperfection on the top left makes it more interesting. There are a lot of wishes waiting to happen.
A young deer collided with my mom’s car this morning. We were driving back from the grocery store, trunk full of food, discussing something mundane about the week; something I can’t recall now. We saw one deer dart across the left lane of traffic and we gasped. My mom applied her brakes. We momentarily believed we had escaped what could have been a horrific situation, and then, just as suddenly, two more young deer darted from the brush.
My mom did what she could to slow down, but there was no way to avoid what was to come. The third deer ran head first into the driver’s side of the car. A loud thunk was felt and we pulled over. Already I was sobbing. I did not look back. I COULD NOT look back. My mom was shaking and sobbing. People began to pull over, maybe wondering if they could help us, maybe wondering if we were ok. Some did come up to the car and talk to us, making sure we were all right.
Physically, we were fine. The car was not damaged. Emotionally we were not fine. I am still not fine. That young deer didn’t die right away, it lingered for maybe 10 minutes before dying. Someone – I don’t know who – came and took the deer away. I don’t know if it was the County or a person who was planning on utilizing the meat. I don’t care. A deer died a traumatic death in the middle of the road because of a man-made vehicle that could not stop in time. The people inside that car do not agree with killing of animals for sport, and one of them (me) is adamant against such activities. So, to accidentally kill a deer – or any animal – is, for me, excruciating.
To unintentionally kill a beautiful animal that has every right to live is a horrible, horrible feeling. I took my mother’s hand and held it. And we cried. I cried not only for that young deer in the road, but for all the other deer who meet similar fates, and for others who are cruelly killed for sport.
Finally, the police arrived and said they do not file police reports for deer collisions, and since there was no damage to the car, my mom would not have to fix anything, so need to contact the insurance company.
Deer hair lingers on the driver’s side window, though, and I can’t bear to go over to that side to see the small dent I have been told is there now.
So that’s it. Nothing can be done. We just go on about our day? What about the two other deer? Where did they go? Do they wonder what happened to the young doe?
Are they waiting for her on the other side of the road, off in the distance?
Sorry, I just can’t finish this. I can’t stop crying.
Please, whatever you do today, hug your dogs, your cats, your ferrets, whatever pet you know and love. And hug your people, too. We are all fragile in this life.
My flowers are starting to come alive now that we’ve sprung into Spring. I’ll have a post about my favorite tree – the Eastetn Redbud – coming soon, but until then, please enjoy these photos of what’s happening around here.
The Gerberas have started to thrive again, though I do still have to cover them at night.The Dianthus is massive. it’s been like this all winter. The blooms on this are really cool. They might happen as early as next month.This is my mother‘s Weeping Cherry Tree. As you can see, it is very much alive and soon will blossom. I have written two poems involving this tree. I will link them below.
“It's Amy,” I said. 