Bird photos and collage © Joy Krauthammer
Morning's Deep Delights
My heart swells, exploding with joy as I greet my garden this morning, as my garden greets me. Home after being away for the weekend, I am grateful to again be in my garden. My hillside eastern distant view is fog-filled today like an Asian landscape, and no mountains are visible. They will return.
This morning the garden Hawk is shouting noisily as it flies overhead, not even soaring, but intent on flying far.
The cute little Hummingbird with its long beak is perched on her tallest branch of the fig tree, budding with new spring, bright green leaf growth and teensy baby figs the size of peas! It's Shehecheyanu* praise time. The bright morning sun illuminates the dazzling iridescent Peacock-colored feathers of Hummers back. Her wings quickly flutter and she then continues quietly to sit doing her observant morning meditation before flying off for nectar. Hummer returns throughout each of the days to her 18 foot high look-out point. As I photograph the beautiful jewel-hued feathers I'm careful not to fall down the slope.
Nearby and within view of each other, Ms. Mockingbird, singing her continuous sweetest symphony of song sits on her favorite perch on the highest prickly branch of huge Pyracantha bush growing on the top of northern slope high above my Citrus trees and Fig tree.
Every day I am so blessed to see my friends. My smile from deep inside reaches out, spreading, stretching across my face; yes, ear to ear. No need to contain joy, I call out, "Thank you G*d, I love you."
Two new golden Daffodils, the pair side by side and amongst the growing artichoke plants, face the east near edge of slope. (The little Paper-Whites have already blossomed and are dried.) Careful not to slip down steep side, I crouch down low to see closely inside their faces facing the rising sun. Luckily this year, although we need them, rains had not pounded down, dirtying in the earth, a lone daffodil's pretty face. One Daffodil, the first, had already visited adjacent to the lengthy massive purple Hardenbergia vine along the southerly wrought-iron strong fence. Ms. Hardenbergia (looking like tiny baby purple wisterias) has been giving me the greatest blooming pleasure last couple weeks but sadly they too are finishing. I've never seen another Hardenbergia in Los Angeles.
The season's first beautiful blended red and white, delicious fragrant Double Delight rose (a favorite child) is opening her bud to majestic form. I am in love with you. I breathe You in deeply. How much can my heart accept? Toward my down slope I see the yellow Freesias, low to the ground; a dozen buds on a straight slender single stem accompany the opening of the first delicate face with millions more of the stems to come alive and then curve down with their weight. The Freesia bulbs increase while my beloved Daffodil bulbs decrease from the many dozens I'd lovingly planted in years past.
Beyond the Freezias I look over the southern facing fence and witness the welcome wild native purple Lupines. I am so blessed to have them, and I am so happy to greet them but they are too far for me to closely embrace their purple joy. My zoom lens will bring Lupines closer to me. Last spring, walking on the slope, I spread their collected seeds not to leave to chance the purple flowering on the hillside. Seeds pop out from crisp curly dried brown pods. After the winter rains, in anticipation for flowers, I search out their clover-like leaves for evidence of future joy.
For brand new birthing I am sooo excited to see under the pruned and mostly barren fig tree, my opening orange Clivias. One thick stem cluster has appeared in joy with two more tight clusters readying to slowly open. I am so grateful that the Clivia transplant from the front garden I did a few years ago has succeeded. The hiding clusters used to visit in January and now flowering is beginning of March. The garden is confused by strange weather patterns.
Standing at the high fence and looking down the southern slope admiring the purple Lupines, across the street in the distance I see a woman rummaging in the neighbor's trash as it sits on the curb waiting for Monday morning pick-up. This scene I don't like. I think she will explore my garbage next and sure enough she crosses the street... In my cozy warm purple pajamas I go outside the front door and ask what the middle-aged stranger was doing in the neighbor's trash. "Bottles to collect for cash". I open my recycle blue bin to see what I can give to her. Yalanda is walking a neighbor's dog, as she works full-time down the street, she says, for a "mean woman." I listen and share compassion. I tell Yalanda she is fortunate because while working as a day house cleaner for the couple and their teen child, she gets to be outside on a beautiful morning and walk the cute little dog.
Yalanda admires my perky blooms. I go inside to get my pruners and cut tall red flowers for her. I ask if she has a garden. Speaking a little Spanish, I tell Yalanda that I learned from my parents to share the garden that comes from G*d. I explain that my young flourishing succulent garden (good for drought areas) has also come from little cuttings gifted to me. I cut each of the flowering succulent varieties for Yolanda to also plant in her garden. Receiving her gratitude, I also pull out and give Yalanda rooted babies to grow the same amazing red strange flowers that she is admiring. Lagartijas, Lizards I think they are called, flower in the sun, not really in the house. I know as I've had them when I was a child. These flowers had come from my father's, z"l, OBM, Florida garden 35 years ago. (Hummingbirds enjoy their tubular blossoms.) Next year Yalanda will have her own new colorful garden. We share smiles and say to each other, "I love you".
* Baruch Ata Yah, Elokeinu Ruach Ha'Olam, Shehecheyanu V'chi'imanu, V'higiyanu Lazman Hazeh.
Blessed are You, G*d, Spirit of the universe, who has granted us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this season/occasion.
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