Eyes on the World

At the end of my previous post, I was contemplating the newly bare patch of earth in front of my home.  I recalled how the process of transforming my garden had begun.

When I had purchased the property, the front plot had Bermuda grass, two pink camellias and a juniper hedge between the lawn and the sidewalk.The garden behind the house was sterile. Aside from a lone bird of paradise, the back was mostly cement patio. A potting shed extended the length of one side. Brick planters rimmed the other three sides. One held a box hedge; the other two each had a few 40-year old roses in luscious yellow, peach and deep red. Snails, legions of ants, aphids and occasionally lady bugs comprised the wildlife that showed up. 

Over the years, I struggled to conquer the tough grass with a mower and edger and to keep the back garden plants pruned. Then, I found myself dreaming to change the garden, inspired by two creatures who came into my life. You may have "met" them in my welcome post on July 28, 2011.

I want to tell you about these two partly because it might be that you, like I did, may find that having a vision helps to achieve something worthwhile. It's also a pleasure to honor two friends whom I love.

My first inspiration was Amy. She taught me life-changing lessons during the 18 years we shared a home. A lovely, stand-offish, long-haired torty feline shown in the photos, Amy opened my heart as soon as she came to live with me. She and I quickly shared adventures that would fill a few children’s books. 

Amy's initial lesson for me came long ago on the first day I left her alone at home. When I returned that evening to find the lace kitchen curtains in the sink, I was struck with a truth: this home—this habitat, if you will—was more Amy's than mine because she spent all of her time here while I spent my days elsewhere.  

Amy’s lesson about the inside of my home later influenced my thinking about the creatures outside.

That happened when I met Captain, the surf scoter in the photo, named for his competence in patroling a cove at the Berkeley Marina. I visited him every day during the summer before I removed my lawn. Weeks passed. Then I sensed that he recognized me when I arrived to spend time with him. 

One day I found myself seeing through his eyes. I came to appreciate from a place deep within me that all creatures, like us, are here to be born, to eat, to procreate, to see the night sky or the sun sparkle on the Bay, and to die. Like us.

I grasped that in my garden, Carpenter bees sleeping behind the hydrangea petals were in fact in their "bedrooms."  Lady bugs were at their "dinner table" when consuming the aphids clinging to the rose bushes. 

With the lawn now gone, each time I went out front to gaze at the bare ground, the perspective I'd learned from Amy and Captain underlaid my thinking and my vision to create my garden anew.