Rescue in the garden

 This year Hal and I became part of the garden group in our retirement community. We were assigned a 15 by 15 ft. lot in the community garden, part of a pattern of other lots held by some 40 individuals or couples. The lot is ours to do with as we wish, within the boundaries of the group’s by-laws.

(This is a well-organized group, complete with members and meetings. And by-laws. Or rather “garden guidelines,” guidelines such as keep your plot well-groomed, don’t put up a permanent structure without permission, avoid tall plants that block your neighbor’s plot from the sun, shut the garden gate when you leave (deer!), keep your garden shed bin in good order, and don’t pick your neighbor’s roses or sample their raspberries.)

And what do we wish to do with our plot? This is partly dictated by the generosity of the man who “owned” the plot before us. He was reluctantly giving it up because of health reasons, glad to have found someone (us) who seemed willing to cherish and care for it as he had. He offered, if we wanted, to leave behind his four rose bushes, three blueberry bushes, and two other flowering bushes: one peony and the other calla lilies. We wanted.

We’ve added several kinds of Oregon wildflowers. And, of course, vegetables: snap peas, green onions, carrots (always carrots!), cucumbers, three kinds of tomatoes, two kinds of squash, and beets. (I’ve never liked beets, but I might be persuaded to eats ones I planted myself.)

We began mulching the soil and planting the starts and seeds mid-spring. Now it’s mid-summer and we’re enjoying the results, results which, I admit, surprised me. (Things really do grow from seeds!) The blueberries are abundant and sweet and the roses spectacular (“Quaker Star,” pinkish orange and long-lasting after picked). While the snap pea vines appear to be withering (a bug, someone suggested), we have hopes for the maturing cukes and beets.

My surprise is evidence of my scant experience with gardening. My parents were both teachers with little time to tend a garden. They watered the fruit trees on our Southern California acre of land (fig, orange, lemon, English walnut, plum and some others I can’t bring to mind). And once my mom had us three kids plant sweet-peas and experience the thrill (and surprise) of seeing them sprout and bloom. But vegetable gardens were not part of my experience. The fruit trees were apparently enough.

I’m learning at least two things from this community garden experience. 1.) It’s work. If we don’t put in the hours mulching, planting, weeding, spraying (when necessary), and deadheading (interesting word, “deadhead;” it’s likely to find its dead head sticking out of a poem in the near future), if we don’t do all of this, our garden won’t be happy and we won’t enjoy the fruits of our labor (none of which are fruit except the tomatoes which, honestly, behave more like vegetables than fruit). Work and continual vigilance. Are we up to it? The answer to that question is pending.

The other thing we’ve learned is 2.) the joy of community. All the gardeners in this group have become like family. We know we have the same values—love of the outdoors and of living, growing, green things—and the same willingness to do the work. We meet up with people every day in the garden and the camaraderie makes the work fun. Most of the plots are beautifully laid out and neatly kept up. But there doesn’t seem to be much competition, the sense of my-plot’s-better-than-your-plot. Many of our more-experienced neighbors continue to offer us good advice.

But now on to the story of our “Garden Rescue.” Last week we were coming home from dinner at our son’s place and we decided to take a quick look at our garden before we went indoors. We noticed motion at the bottom of our blueberry net and discovered that a bird had gotten trapped and was fighting to escape. A closer look revealed him to be intricately tangled with no way to get free. He looked large and had a long pointed beak.

Hal carefully picked him up, avoiding beak and claws, and began to unwind the strands of the net. I ran to the garden shed for scissors and we then began snipping, careful not to cut feathers. We prayed for the bird and I told it in a soft voice, “Be calm. We won’t hurt you.”

It took about 15 minutes, working slowly, and at last Hal held him close in both hands. We walked to an open area, near a friendly garden plot, and set him on the grass. He immediately took off hobbling to the garden and managed to hide. We were hoping he would fly away, but he was obviously traumatized.

A friend nearby (it was her garden plot he hid in) told us it was a young flicker, a type of woodpecker (thus the long pointed beak), a bird that grows to be quite large. Looking up flicker, we learned that they commonly forage for ants on the ground. So maybe that’s what he was doing. Maybe he wasn’t after our blueberries at all.

At any rate we wish him (or her) well. I hope he lived, and flew away.

Now, back to the garden. I’ve work to do.