Visions of Time – Milestones clicked off

In my mind's eye I see the timespan of a year as a sort of flattened circle. New Year's Day is the highest point after which we coast counter-clockwise past the day our income statements  arrive and we hire someone to fill out our annual income tax declaration. Now that tax returns are filed electronically, there isn't much of wait until we can sit down and decide the wisest thing to do with our refunds.

Meanwhile we pass Martin Luther King Day, President's Day, and Valentine's Day. I also always note my first son's birthday. He would be 63 on February 24, 2009, if he had lived past 31.

After we curve down through January and February we are buffeted by the windy days of March until the first warm kiss of spring brings us renewed hope. The seasonal changes are not as striking here on the Mexican border in Southern California as they were back in New England, so I look back to the memories of the seasons of my childhood. I remember the first pussy willows, wind flowers, violets and hepaticas, and the migration of birds passing overhead. The first robin to hop in our yard was always a mileston and a harbinger of spring. Here on the west coast by the shore I have seen a robin on New Year's Day.

Then comes the dreaded heat of summer, extremely dry here compared to the breathless muggy days and nights, violent thunder storms, or extended periods of non-stop rain in New England. It is common here for the temperature to rise above 100 or even 110 degrees on the edge of the Sonora Desert, but because the humidity is usually very low, the heat is not so hard to bear. All is lightened by the good times of vacation trips, especially near the water; camping, swimming, canoeing, sailing, snorkeling, hiking and exploring. I can remember many pleasant evenings of aching muscles watching sunsets, moonrises, fireflies, and camp fires.

As we make our way down around the bottom curve of the year's circle into September, it's back to school or work for most people. That means new clothes, new opportunities to join interesting groups, go to new plays and movies, and enjoy the brilliant colors of leaves as they sing their last glorious high note before dying with the onset of freezing weather. After we have enjoyed Halloween, and honored our military heroes on Nov. 11, we can look forward to great sales in the malls that begin on Veteran's Day. Some of us may enjoy the cold weather sports of ice-skating and skiing, but then we will moan and shiver, and keep our fireplaces glowing until spring comes around again.

Today, just before the end of November, as we have completed the pleasures and demands of Thanksgiving, we are rounding a curve again, beginning the crawl upward through uncertain, wintry weather that usually assails us starting in December. Here on the Mexican border I think we get our coldest weather in December and January. Most of our snowstorms in these mountains usually come later, but Canada often sends jet streams of cold, windy blasts with temperatures down into the 20s and teens any time after November 15. Palm trees freeze back to their trunks, and citrus farmers in the valleys have to go into high gear with smudge pots to protect their crops.

Right now migrating birds are heading south, crossing high above the border fences and Border Patrolmen and struggling human beings below. Yesterday, Thanksgiving Day, was not a lucky day for one streamlined little Black-Capped Gnatcatcher. My youngest cat, 5-year-old Tuxedo Charlie, was lurking in the grass when the little bird landed to pick up a snack, and Charlie pounced on him. Apparently Charlie was not in to mood to eat birds, because he brought the little bird inside and dropped it at my feet. The bird was in shock. Most of its tail feathers had been clawed out, but he was alive. I couldn't see any real injuries except to his tail - his rudder. He lay quietly in my hand as I picked him up, his little heart going a lot faster than a mile a minute. His bright little eyes were still blinking. I knew I couldn't do much for him, and should probably let nature take its course. I shut all my cats inour trailer, and the two dogs too, and took the bird back outside. He was still very much alive but quiet as I put him on the floor of a big knothole as high as I could reach in the oak tree that shelters our trailer. Just before dark I went out to look at him, and he was gone. I guess the three feathers that were left in his tail worked for him. I sure hope so. At least he wasn't lunch for my pampered cats, and he may be able to make his  instinctive migratory trip south as we all climb together up the calendar's winter trail toward New Year's Day.