A Magnolia Tree, Blue Heron & Bald Eagle

Print this entry

I was on my own the weekend before Thanksgiving, as my Beautiful Mystery Companion paid a visit to daughter Abbie in Denton. I was entrusted with critter care and used the time to tackle some outdoor tasks. The weather was almost fall-like, though as I dug a large hole it was time to quickly shed my hoodie. Sweating in November is just part of living Behind the Pine Curtain.

The hole, dug in soil made soft thanks to the constant invasion of moles burrowing beneath its surface, was dug to plant a tree purchased once I left work at the library at noon Friday. Autumn is a fine time to plant trees that I will never climb, to cadge a song line. I picked out a magnolia tree, not-quite 5 feet high, on sale at a Big Box Store. I planted it near where an aged water oak in our front yard died earlier this year and had to be cut down, its stump ground down. The Bahia grass didn’t quite spread to cover the circle of chips still bare where that tree once stood.

The magnolia tree was planted in memory of our dear friend Glenn McCutchen, who would have turned 81 earlier this month. For more than 30 years, Glenn was my newspaper mentor and friend. He became close to my BMC as well when they met in 2008. He died of cancer in April, leaving a void in the hearts of his family and friends. I decided a magnolia was a fitting tribute to a man raised in Georgia. Glenn retained his distinguished Southern baritone long after leaving that state first for Texas, then Portland, Oregon.

I doubt we will live on Three Geese Farm long enough to see that magnolia tree grow to anywhere near maturity, but we will know it is there, providing shade and pleasure to whoever comes after us. I just want to sniff a sweet magnolia blossom by late next spring. That’s not too much to ask, I figure.

|———|

I bought a small bag of ryegrass to plant on bare spots where I had filled some deep holes in the front pasture with a mixture of fill dirt and gravel, tamped down by the weight of the tractor wheels. The holes are caused in some cases by erosion. When it rains hard the water flows downhill from our only neighbor, on the west side of our property. In other cases, armadillos and other burrowing creatures dig holes that will set one’s teeth clacking together if the zero-turn mower finds them while you’re astride it. I threw ryegrass seed down on top of those stump chips as well. Those seeds seem to be primarily providing meals for little blue-and-orange buntings skittering about in the morning dew. I don’t begrudge the birds a free meal.

I looked up to see a Great Blue Heron — a frequent visitor — standing motionless in the front pasture, intently watching the ground. The heron is looking for moles, I figured, which beats that fellow hanging out at Pancho’s Pond looking for fish. I once captured a photo of him flying off with one of “our” fish in his mouth. I don’t know if he ever actually catches one of those annoying rodents in the pasture but appreciate the effort. Once he caught me staring at him, he flew off. That heron is a shy one.

|———|

On Saturday morning, I went for my usual 3-mile walk down the one-street subdivision across Mackey Road from Three Geese Farm. I called my middle daughter, Mere, to check on her. She is grieving the recent loss of Zelda, her constant companion for 16 years. We are mourning as well. Zelda was a great dog, constantly smiling and always up for a walk. One of my favorite recent memories is from two years ago, of walking in Hurth in northern Germany with Mere, Zelda and Miri, a husky who sadly passed a year ago. Losing two dogs in a year is heartbreaking. I know from experience.

Mere and husband Matt now live in Bavaria, near the Austrian border, so it is mid-afternoon there when I called. As we talked and I walked, I looked up when I heard a screech. A bald eagle flew over just above the power poles. “I just saw a bald eagle!” I practically shouted. I watched as it flew to a tree across the lake from the subdivision and roosted in a tree. That sighting made my day. I hope it made Mere feel a bit better as well.

|———|

Feeling thankful can be challenging these days for some of us, living in a place where politically we are a decided minority – and being one of those genuinely worried for the future of this country’s democracy. I am working on being thankful, taking pleasure (or at least solace) in our critters, enjoying crisp autumn days given over to using the tractor for sundry tasks, like filling in all those pasture holes and picking up fallen tree limbs while listening to music through the earbuds. No more political podcasts for me.

I certainly have much to be thankful for: my BMC, family, friends, good health, and a stack of books to read when the work is done, or the weather is foul. I wish all of you a Happy Thanksgiving and am grateful you still take the time to read these ramblings. I plan to keep pecking away as long as I can, or until it is not fun anymore. I don’t see that happening anytime soon, something else for which to be thankful.

Take care, my friends.

Print this entry