War is Hell...

... and the fact that the skirmishes take place in the back yard over sugar water make it no less a pitched battle.

Some 14' from my kitchen window stands an Asian pergola. From the end of the cross frame closest to the window is suspended a hummingbird feeder. Beneath the feeder is a row of mature azaleas taller than my head; above it, suspended from the pergola, is a thick covering of Japanese wisteria. Still higher up is an oak tree, the tippy-branches of which serve as lookout posts, offering 360-degree vantage points for hyper-vigilant Ruby-throated hummingbirds who defend the red plastic feeder with tireless vengeance.

The airborne skirmishes over the endless and ever-fresh supply of nectar are fierce; the fussing, threatening chirps, and dive-bombing constant. If I happen to have the audacity to sit in the chairs in the vicinity of the feeder, I, too, am cursed vehemently. While reading the other afternoon, a bossy little flying ace whizzed past my head, fussing as she flew, and dropped a tiny bomb directly on my book! If Baron von Richthofen had been half as determined, WWI might have had a whole different outcome!

This afternoon, standing at the kitchen window, I watched a battle won not with brawn, but brains. One of the smaller females was being bullied away from the feeder, chased relentlessly by a larger one. They circled each other mid-air, lunging and chirping, until the littler girl darted into the azaleas for cover and respite. Her pursuer hovered just outside the foliage, head cocking side-to-side, searching for her target. Unable to spot her prey, she flew upward to the oak branches to keep angry watch over the approaches to the feeder.

Moments passed and then, from the far end of the row of azaleas where the branches are thickest, emerged the little girl. Stealthily, cautiously, she skirted up the edge of the shrubs to the feeder, keeping under the cover of the wisteria as she flew. As Frau Dominatrix glared confidently about the yard, Little Girl sipped lunch peacefully undetected directly beneath her tormentor.

War is hell, but the victory does not always go to the most swift and strong. Sometimes you gotta run away so you can return to fight another day. And being sneaky doesn't hurt, either!

In the beginning....

I first thought about writing this blog several weeks ago. I was gardening at the time - filthy, sweaty, and bug-bitten – thinking happy thoughts about what was doubtless a profound and brilliant topic, the subject matter of which I can no longer recall (I knew I’d forget it if I didn’t write it down).

I don't think it's any coincidence that cognitive life began in a Garden...nor that, for those of us who seek joy and peace in the simple things in life, we've been trying to get back to it ever since. No matter how haywire (to put it nicely) my day, if I can just get outside and look up through the trees, piddle among the flowers, listen to the wind rustle the bamboo, or just sit outside and hear the birds carry on about the things important to birds...the cares just seem to melt away. They get replaced with a "garden state of mind" which, for me, is respite and peace and which seems to put everything into perspective.

I do some of my best thinking while getting dirt under my fingernails and mosquito bites behind my knees. And while many of the things I hope to share are directly related to working in the garden, the posts won't always be about gardening in particular; nor certainly will they always be introspective. As much as anything they will be about maintaining that state of mind - the Pollyanna outlook, if you will - in a world which is increasingly haywire ("Where are we going and what am I doing in this handbasket!?"). Maybe sharing some happy thoughts, and some practical stuff, too, will brighten someone else's day. And maybe I'll be lucky enough to make a few friends along the way.

So what’s a blog about a Garden State of Mind got to do with New Jersey? Nothing at all.