Remembering MizLa

Greetings From Domelandia,

It's a mild mid-winter morning here in Southern Colorado. Just enough warmth to tease me into thinking about Spring and gardening. I walk over the long hill and back most days. This morning - I am not making this up - I saw a black caterpillar on the road. He was cold, but alive. I tell him, "It's JANUARY, for Pete's sake! Where did you come from?"

On windy days I keep to the forest where the trees protect me from the wind. It is quiet there. A couple of days ago I passed one of our favorite picnic spots, and memories of a gorgeous summer day came back to me. Our daughters and I are in the box canyon south of the house. Strawberry blonde daughter isn't walking yet--she's riding in the baby carrier on my back. The Redhead is holding my hand, and I'm helping her negotiate rocks, cactus, and other obstacles that can trip up a three-year-old. We sit down in the shade and take sandwiches and drinks from our picnic bag. A lizard scurries by and takes refuge under a nearby rock. His small body shines iridescent green and blue, and his sides move in and out as he breathes. The girls have a good long look at this mysterious creature in the deliberate fashion of the very young. I don't hurry them. We have plenty of time.

When I was a child, my friend MizLa gave me the gift of time. I think of her a lot when I'm outside in the garden, or feeding my birds, or walking in the woods. She's one of the reasons I am a nature freak.

Dad worked in an office all day, and Mom spent most of her time cooking, cleaning, and doing laundry for our family of seven. Her afternoon hours were spent preparing the large evening meal in her one-woman kitchen, so we kids made ourselves scarce until dinnertime.

Marjorie LaMartine (MizLa) lived three houses down from our home on Rosebud Drive. From the time I was five or six years old, her house provided the perfect after-school destination. I'd find her outside, performing the daily rituals of tending bird feeders, scrubbing birdbaths, and watering her yard as well as an amazing variety of plants. Her yard, shaded by huge trees, was an oasis in the hot Texas afternoon. Exotic flowers and plants, streaked and spotted with improbable colors, unfurled graceful leaves. The soft fragrance of poppies and bluebonnets drifted through the air as we moved inside the cool green canopy.

I had so many questions, and she knew so much! She told me what species of birds liked which kind of seeds, and that some ate insects instead. The birds added their musical opinions, and she knew every voice. Cardinals, mockingbirds, sparrows, titmice, starlings, and wrens were easy to identify, but if we saw a visitor to her sanctuary whose name we didn't know, we'd find it in her bird book. She had other books, too--books about rocks and minerals, stars and planets, fish, flowers, trees, mammals, and reptiles. (After she explained why toads and lizards and snakes were good for gardens, I no longer thought they were icky). An hour at MizLa's was more educational than science class, and a zillion times more fun.

MizLa wasn't like other ladies I knew. She had a cosmopolitan presence, from her slim, stylish clothes to the way she arranged her pale hair. She wore tailored blouses, slacks (not jeans!), and canvas shoes to work in her yard, but she always 'dressed' for dinner. Her husband, Francis, arrived home at six from his job as an engineer, and expected dinner to be on the table and his wife to look presentable. The dinner hour was their time to reconnect, and I respected the boundaries of our friendship. I went home when she started dinner.

She and Francis had no children. (She often laughingly introduced my folks as 'the parents of her children'). Her house was immaculate, and the shelves in the living room of her tiny home held books with mysterious titles. She had an amazing collection of knickknacks. My favorite was a green ceramic lady on tiptoe, arms stretched up and out, captured forever in a moment of ecstasy. MizLa's home furnishings were eclectic. Lace doilies accompanied Navajo rugs in the bedroom. Placed in front of an ordinary chair in the living room was an ottoman constructed from the legs and feet of a former moose. My sister and I loved to pet those strange and wonderful legs.

One afternoon, I received a phone call from MizLa. "Can you and Madeline come over and bring your doll baby bottles?" The excitement in her voice told me something was up. "Yes, we have..MOM!! Can we take our baby bottles to MizLa's?...No, we don't know what for...MizLa, what for?" MizLa: "I have something to show you-you'll see." "MOM! MizLa says WE'LL SEE!"

Sister and I hurriedly gathered our doll bottles and raced to MizLa's. We found her in the living room, kneeling beside a small cardboard box lined with an old sweater. We sat down and peeked into the box. Nestled inside were five baby cottontail rabbits.

MizLa said, "Well, let me just TELL you what happened today! I saw Chessie (her cat) attack a rabbit. I tried to get the poor thing away from her, but it was too late. Then I saw a baby rabbit just lying on the ground. I picked it up and saw a hole underneath it. I realized I'd found the mama rabbit's nest. I kept reaching inside and pulling bunnies out until I had five of them in my pocket!"

Sister and I sat by the box, listening to MizLa's story and feeling sad at the tragedy of the murdered mother rabbit and her orphans. Poor babies! They were little snips of soft brown velvet. "They're so sweet!" I was barely able to contain myself. "Can we hold them?"

MizLa smiled. "We're going to try to save these babies, and when they're grown, we're going to set them free. They're not pets--they're wild animals, so it's best if we don't handle them too much. It's not good for them when they're so tiny, and we don't want them to get too used to people."

I'm sure my sister and I would've protested if this announcement had been delivered by anyone other than MizLa, but we believed her. Instantly, we wanted what was best for the bunnies. We were content to hold them only to feed them or to move them out of the way when we changed their litter. Every day after school, we'd race to MizLa's house to take care of the rabbits, and each day they grew bigger and more active. Soon they were moved to a cage outdoors and started eating rabbit food and grass. We loved them, but we didn't give them names.

The day before they were released into the woods near our house, I said goodbye. It was a lovely late-spring afternoon and I sat beside their cage one last time. The afternoon sun slanted through the trees and shone through their long transparent ears. I saw the veins lit there; they were tiny blue rivers. I stroked their soft fur, and knew that tomorrow they would be free. I was happy for them.

It was hard for MizLa when my sisters and I grew up and moved too far away for daily visits. We stayed in touch, though, and brought our own children to meet her. It's been a long time since we heard the news that she was gone, but I remember feeling that the world had lost a very special woman.

She is still with us. I felt her presence this morning while I was looking at that caterpillar and wondering how it came to be here. Thank you, MizLa, for all the wonderful memories you gave us, and for the gifts that we don't remember. For nurturing us with your love of nature, and for loving us.

Psychedelic Parrots and Confessions of a Nature Freak

Greetings from Domelandia,

The Viking and I were sitting in the airport recently reading a NY Times article about how many people, especially city dwellers, have no connection to the natural world. They don't really know (or care) where their food comes from, for example, or what gets sprayed on it while it's growing or right before they sink their teeth into it.

The extent of this disconnection amazes me. Strawberry Blonde daughter has a big garden and chickens. She is a generous woman and shares produce and eggs with people she knows. Her chickens lay green, blue, and tan-colored eggs. They eat table scraps and bugs and scratch around in the dirt. They live the way chickens were meant to live. The shells of the eggs are hard to crack, and the yolks are a deep yellow-orange with a rich, delicious flavor. She was dismayed to learn that one friend had thrown the eggs away because they weren't white and because they were hard to crack.

Besides trying to grow some clean food, I think the main reason we're here is because we need to feel connected to the wild world. I feel odd and out of sorts if I can't spend some time outside every day. Being outside makes me feel peaceful and centered. Maybe because the sky is huge. Trees, not buildings, crowd the landscape. The noises we hear come mostly from birds in the daytime and coyotes at night. There are millions of small lives being lived in each moment of every day. We're surrounded by Beauty. We are tuned in to the music of the spheres.

Before we came to the land, the Viking and I were frustrated city kids. Both of us had fathers whose lives had taken them far away from their farms. They talked to us about how wonderful life is in the country, how satisfying it is to provide food for one's family, how peaceful life can be away from the city. We dreamed of this life separately as children and then the stars aligned themselves so we could dream our life together. This was good, because neither of us would have been satisfied with suburbia. I think God has his quota of normal people, and then there's us.

We've learned how to live in relative harmony with Nature. I quit being afraid of bugs and spiders. It doesn't scare me when hummingbirds fly right up to my face to get a closer look at me. I enjoy getting to see them up close. From the beginning, we decided not to kill beneficial snakes (they eat rats and mice), though one bullsnake did a thoroughly believable imitation of a rattlesnake, and the Viking bought the act and killed it. (We had little kids, for gosh sakes)! We were both chagrined to find that we'd killed a 'good' snake. I sat down and cried. A few years back, the Viking decided that even rattlesnakes deserve to live. They get relocated far away from the house, because now we have grandkids, for gosh sakes.

Best of all, sometimes we get to catch glimpses of the Mystery. There is a pond on our place that holds runoff water, but for many months there is no water in it. Before the monsoons start in summer, the pond is baked dry. After the first pounding thunderstorm, the water seeps down into the dirt and the Spadefoot toads wake up. They start singing and swimming around in the muddy water and begin the happy job of making tadpoles. As the pond shrinks away in Autumn, the toads bury themselves and wait until it's time to start it all over again.

One of my favorite things is bird watching. I recognize most of the birds that come to our feeders, and look in the bird book to identify the ones I don't. I can identify some birds by their songs alone. I missed seeing the Evening Grosbeaks for a couple of years until my friend and fellow nature freak reminded me that some birds prefer to eat from perches and some like to eat their seeds on a flat spot. These Grosbeaks are one of my favorites and I nicknamed them The Psychedelic Parrots because they have large, fluorescent yellow-green bodies. You wouldn't believe a bird could look like that unless you could see it for yourself.

In true nature freak fashion, when they came back, it made my day.