Letter from Birdland--Transition Time

In Birdland we have one foot in Autumn, the other reluctantly stepping out of Summer. The abundant rain keeps the grass green, and the corn in the fields, but the leaves are turning yellow, filtering a golden light into the yard. In the distance, the woods are more brown and red, but the Hackberry, Soft Maple, Poplar, Elm, and Hawthorne tend to lighter colors. The Walnut is bare, has already dropped its leaves into my gutters. Deep brown Walnut hulls leave inkblots all over my gravel drive. Squirrels grow fat and chase each other through the bare branches. A thick carpet of leaves covers the grass, and chickens comb through them for bugs. Everywhere I look I see Fall chores. The gutters, the chimney, the windows, the yet un-plasticized coop all compete with ungraded papers and unwritten letters. I have elaborate plans to rake leaves to pile in the garden coop, creating a rich mulch for spring. I believe I have enough leaves in the yard to fill it to the top.

I love Autumn for many reasons, but for the first time in nearly thirty years I had no child in the house to dress up for Halloween. I inherited from my parents a deep enthusiasm for the holiday. We carved pumpkins, roasting the seeds. We always made our costumes, often around a literary theme. My sisters, brother and I have been characters from Arthurian Legend (I was Guinevere, wearing a green gown), The Wizard of Oz (The Wicked Witch—green face paint and warts), and Early American History (Martha Washington with powdered hair and the hoop skirt from my mother’s wedding dress). We always went trick-or-treating, filling our pillowcases with candy. For my own kids, I was more into masks—papier-mâché is my specialty. When even Ellis outgrew storybook costumes (I’ve made Wild Things faces, Teddy bears, a giant Moon—sometimes recycling ideas from my older boys.) I started mining videogames for ideas (Link from Zelda—no mask, but a papier-mâché sword and shield). NOw I felt a little lost. I bought a few pie pumpkins at the final farmers’ market, but didn’t carve a Jack-o-Lantern. I tried to get the big boys to come home to trick-or-treat with me, but no. I was to be on my own. My youngest has not outgrown Halloween, but Ellis is helping his grandparents sail their boat south for the winter season. I told him he should dress as a pirate. After he took off with his father for the airport, I realized that for the first time in almost 30 years that I’ll be spending two weeks alone. Here’s another chance to try out the empty nest before it hits me big time. So far I’m enjoying my solitude and independence. Alone in Birdland, my dreams and plans swell to fill the space. In my mind, I am already organizing closets and drawers, planting bulbs, catching up on projects and chores. I cook up elaborate plans for a Birdland Arts Festival, various community groups, a local food buying club or co-op. It’s good to spend some alone, getting reacquainted with myself. Many years ago I thought it would be a good idea to live by myself for a year, but one thing led to another, and I never got my year. Now I have a small chance to snatch a little solitude from my life, and I’m going to take advantage of that.

As usual, my dreams and plans take me backwards and forwards. In recognition of the long Winter ahead, and in honor of the Spring, I have planted an herb garden in the sunny side of the attic. My grandmother had a plant stand full of African Violets. It was like a metal pine tree with staggered pots at the ends of metal arms that could swing around the center pole in various arrangements. It fascinated me when I was a child, and I used to arrange the pots in a spiral staircase beginning at the top, pushing the pots together so each one would touch the next. Just when I would swing the last pot around to make the base of the staircase, the stand would teeter, the new arrangement pulling the whole stand off balance, and it would crash to the floor, spilling plants and breaking pots. Nanny would run in from the kitchen and scold me. I was mystified, thinking I just hadn’t been careful enough in arranging my staircase. Next time I would be so careful that it wouldn’t fall over. Nanny probably thought I was willfully wicked. Last week I found that plant stand in pieces in the closet and put it together and planted Basil, Chives, Rosemary, Thyme, Parsley, Savory, and Marjoram. This week I am rewarded with tiny sprouts.

Dream in Beauty; Nurture Peace; Blessed Be.

Mary Lucille Hays lives in Birdland near White Heath. She is interested in Community, Culture, Social Justice, and her own back yard.