Playing with the hummies

I keep thinking I'm going to begin writing about things more profound and earth-shattering, but then I get on deck and something fascinates me about my friends in nature. It's been ghastly hot for over a week (as anyone in the eastern three-quarters of the United States would surely know!) and bird activity has been minimal. The hummies have been feeding but it seems that they feed and quickly retreat to the shade of the century old lilac alongside my secret garden deck. They live there, you see. So no matter how large and out-of-c0ntrol the lilac becomes, it will always stay as is, where is. It finally (!!!!!) rained last night and the bird activity overall has increased exponentially - robins are gleaning in the grass - birds of every size, shape, and color are zipping through what I call the fly-way, landing under the feeders and on them to get their fill while it's reasonably comfortable outdoors. The humidity and temperature are rising, so this may be short-lived.

I noticed about six hummies challenging one another for the three active portals of their feeder. Obviously my pairs have had offspring! Not wanting to miss out on the fun, I ambled over to within three feet of the feeder and just stood, wondering if they would approach with me so near. They whizzed by, they dive-bombed, they squawked and twittered into my face but I held my ground. One even settled in front of my nose, wings furiously flapping, no more than 8 inches away, studying me as I studied him. I thought I'd go cross-eyed if he didn't move on soon! Finally a young male landed on a port nearest to me, and a mature male did likewise. Before I knew it, they were all taking turns, flying over my head and shoulder, and fanning my cheek to get to the feeder. When it was vacant, I moved closer and continued to do so until I was within an open-hand's width away from the closest port. And they still kept coming, regarding me as another garden fixture or maybe knowing I am their benefactor?

Summer Ayem

Summer Ayem

Or is it Amen?  It’s 9ayem – the fresh morning breeze is gently flapping our spanking new, mega sized, American flag on its 35 foot pole, five feet to the right of the deck, as I sit facing our rural road.  Having what I call “boney soil” I lack the strength and energy to “put in” an in-the-ground garden so I’ve done the next-best thing.  Taking a lesson from my dear friend, Shirley, who left us for a more adventurous heavenly home, I’ve created a rather public “secret garden” on my deck.

While chasing parts for a project, I discovered happy red and white petunias on sale at our local home improvement store – a buck a pop, for five inch pots!  I scooped up as many of those babies as I could put into a cart with visions of a red and white paradise to surround me on my summer morning sit-ins on deck.    I already started my deck garden by digging out buried perennials that got lost in the backyard hostas.  I stuck them into pots along with my granddaughter’s long forgotten pinwheels, and  added herbs and trailing vines that I brought home from my girlfriend, Diane’s, house.  Although her Kentucky weather is kinder to them than mine seems to be, we’re hanging in to see if they revive.

I’ve arranged a dozen petunia plants in two long planters to complement the nicely aged (meaning rusted, which I was told that was how it was to be displayed - worked for me!) rolling cart I bought several years ago at an antique/flea market in Franklin, TN, where my daughter and her family live (yes, that means grandchildren are too far away – another story).  The cart sits to my right, under Shirley's flowered straw hat which is under the porch light.  Said cart is resplendent in delicious, smile-faced purple pansies, yellow/gold daisies, a hanging basket of snapdragons, my favorite lavender, and a fledgling spider plant in a hand striped, red, white, and blue pot, quite possibly created by one of my children many, many years ago (yes, I save all kinds of treasures – yet another story).  I've hung an oriental bell chime on the handle, and my blue deck chairs pick up the blues in the flowers of the hat.  Perfect!

To my left on the other side of the French doors, I resurrected an old wooden deck chair and a heavy – wire, small ice cream seat. I added a Shasta daisy ($4 from $13 – another get 'er now special)  and a white metal plant stand holding a Mother’s Day azalea in a large green pot. On the lower shelf, I placed a purple and green vine-y thing, also in a green pot, that my girlfriend Kathy shared from her plantings and gave me for Christmas.  These indoor plants seem to smile at me every day when I sit out here to visit with them, grateful, as I am, for the warming summer sun, gentle breezes, and birdsong.

I love receiving shared plants from others.  Every time I look at them, I imagine their garden or deck, and I enjoy the memories of those individuals.  When my phlox and lilies of the valley go into full glory, I fondly imagine my straw-hatted mom, in her ubiquitous “pedal-pusher” pants lovingly tending the grandparents of those plants fifty years ago in my childhood garden.  Now, how’s that for warm, fuzzy memories?  My daughter and I each bought a Gary Cooper rose in Franklin and had a rose face-off for one year (mine produced wildly : ).  Little did I know that was its swan song – it must have decided that WNY winters were no climate for California raised, imported-to-TN roses.   Since I think of my roses as beautiful ladies, I guess she was just a fragile southern belle who couldn’t take the frigid wintry stuff that gets dished out up north.  Ahhh, guess I'll move the lovely potted knockout rose I received from my son and his girlfriend for Mother's Day to the deck garden to have my daily rose fix.

But, alas, this little bit of paradise is not perfect.  The sun keeps hiding behind grey clouds, and when it does, it’s a signal for the gnats to emerge from their hiding places.  They have discovered that they can burrow into my long red hair and, much to my dismay, have begun feasting on my scalp and neck as well as dive bombing the inside of my glasses, making the further creation of this missive a bit too challenging for me.

So, for today, I bid you adieu, ta ta, pip pip, cheerio, and amen!

Lafayette Lady

The other day I told you about a woman I watched from across busy Washington Street in Buffalo NY.  I stood in the warmth of a vestibule in a classy downtown office building, and she stood outside, unprotected  from the brutal, icy, Buffalo winds except for the roof over the entrance way of a once proud hotel.   Not frequenting Buffalo on a regular basis any more, it had been years since I really paid attention to the hotel which was once considered one of the 15 finest hotels in the United States.  It was sad to notice the shabby, run-down exterior, drapes askew in the huge, tall windows, and the abject overall look of pure neglect of both the hotel and its inhabitants.  I did some Googling when I got home and found that the hotel served at that time as one-room temporary housing for some of Buffalo's citizens who survive under the wing of social services.

That bit of information explained the people who wandered through those doors.  What I found interesting is that my Lafayette Lady did a lot of walking in and out of the hotel doors.  Was she getting warm?  Was she calling for a ride?  Was she re-checking a bus schedule?  I'll never know, but she must have gone back inside at least ten times during the time I watched her.  While outside, she would constantly rummage through that giant "purse" of hers - moving things into her hands, foraging, looking, checking.  She had a smile and greeting for everyone who walked by or entered the hotel.  I marveled at the joy and the happiness she exuded when she had human contact with another of her hotel-mates.  Apparently she didn't need to be warm to be happy, or dressed in the current style, or even have matching socks.  What seemed to make her happy was the number of friends she appeared to have and the pleasant exchanges she had with each of them.  No matter that she didn't have hat, scarf, gloves or warm duds - her warmth obviously was carried inside and was refueled with each greeting.

Interestingly, I started my wait at the door with the situation that took me to that building weighing heavily on my shoulders. By the time my ride came, I had a much different and lighter perspective about the outcome of that issue.  I believe there is nothing by chance and that this Lafayette Lady was sent for me to observe and, more importantly, to learn from.

The Hotel has been closed to these people now, sold to a contractor who placed it on the Register of Historic Places and is renovating--bringing her back to her old glory.  I can only hope that in the process, some residual memory of my Lafayette Lady will remain in the marble walls and spectacular floors of this grand building and that others will, certainly not by chance, be afforded an opportunity to learn some of life's valuable lessons by Angels Unaware who may appear before them, just as she did for me.

Bird Lady

I recently watched the movie, Home Alone 2. The Bird Lady in Central Park (Brenda Fricker) reminded me of a woman I observed at length in downtown Buffalo while waiting for my guy to pick me up outside the Ellicott Square Building this past winter. She walked in and out of the side doors of the Lafayette Hotel as if also waiting for someone. Here we stood, in opposite doorways. I suppose she could have watched me as easily as I watched her, except I was indoors, cozy and warm, looking at her through the glass doors. She stood in the famous, frigid downtown Buffalo wind in what looked like a flimsy cotton house-dress, a light coat that she clutched in an effort to keep it closed, mismatched white sports sox with red and blue Buffalo Bills stripes on the left one, and sneakers. She wore no hat, no scarf, no gloves, but she tightly grasped a shabby, worn, tapestry bag that, for all I knew, may have held all of her earthly belongings. She looked my age or younger which brought me up short -- a kind of "there, but for the grace of God, go I" moment.

I looked down and said a prayer of thanks for the warm, clean, expensive clothing I was wearing, and I said another prayer requesting comfort and peace for this woman. I stood and watched longer and realized this was no lonely, sad soul after all. Every person who walked into the Hotel door greeted her warmly with a smile, a momentary chat, and even a hug. As one person, dressed even shabbier than she came through, she stopped, dug into her purse and handed him something. A coin perhaps? He looked at it in his open palm and stood in front of her with a smile, gave her shoulder a gentle touch, and hastily departed through the glass doors. I was entranced with the dynamics and was grateful that my ride was late.

Let me tell you more about my Lafayette Lady next time.

Meanwhile, here's a little history lesson about the Ellicott Square Building. It was named after Joseph Ellicott, as was the town south of Buffalo in which I reside, Ellicottville. The 10-story building was built in one year (1896) and was considered the largest office building in the world until 1908. It was the earliest known dedicated motion picture theater in the world, according to Wikipedia. Hey, Buffalo wasn't known as the Queen City without good reason!

Buffalo Gal

I am reading Laura Pedersen's book by that title which is serving to bring back similar memories of growing up in the Buffalo NY area.  I was actually born and raised in Sloan, just a hair east of Buffalo toward what is now the Boulevard Mall.  My memories stretch back further in time to the Broadway Market and Sattlers across the street at 998 Broadway - a 10 minute bus ride from Sloan (or trolley ride when I was really young), or an hour's walk.  Sattlers had some of the best bargains around, it you had the muscle, stamina, and courage to go after them.  I always got my Italian leather dress shoes from the loaded sale table in the middle of the first floor.  You literally had to elbow your way into the fray, grab anything that looked like your size, and manage to hold your own place at the table (three and four shoppers deep!) while trying on the shoes that were wired together through holes right in the back of them.   If you were lucky and more resilient than some, you walked away with a super deal on awesome shoes, or handbags, or whatever was on those special piled-high sale tables.  I'd have to leave the store early enough to run across the street to the market for fresh kielbasa, eye watering freshly ground horseradish, killer rye bread, and farm fresh tub butter for the weekend breakfast the next day.   The farmers had to close up shop early so they could get ready for another day that started at the crack of dawn.  We definitely appreciated having that bustling market available year round - lucky for the good folk in Buffalo, it still exists, and still bustles during the traditional holiday seasons.  Try it some time.  It's quite an experience.

For the birds...

It's hard to imagine it is already the fourth of July - Independence Day in America.  Summer has finally come to Western New York with 80 degree days and 60 degree nights.  What excites me is that the Northern bluebirds I have been courting for years have finally decided that my yard is worthy to play and dine in.  I'm not sure where they are living and raising their babies since they are not using the houses I have readied for them for the past ten seasons, but that's okay.  What a thrill it is to watch them dive off of the high maple branches and scoop up insects --- brilliant blue colors bouncing off their wings and backs.  They have plenty of company in my front yard.  The gold and purple finches, tree sparrows, chickadees, and nuthatches obligingly drop seeds under the caged-in feeders so they get plenty to eat by gleaning through the blades of grass beneath them.  I tried buying them their own feeder, filling it with the dog food pellet looking food that they are advertised to like, to no avail.  Finally I just let nature take her course and they appeared.  They enjoy perching on the shepherd's hooks that hold the hummingbird and thistle feeders so it's a double treat when all parties are in attendance.  Wish you could see them, but I'll be happy to keep you in the loop with their antics.    Speaking of antics, probably one of the funniest things I've seen at the feeders was a very determined indigo bunting who finally got tired of waiting for his turn at the feeder and started pulling at the tail feathers of a bright yellow goldfinch who firmly placed himself on one of the perches and wouldn't give it up.  The tug-o-war continued for a few moments with a lot of backward pecking at the pesky bird.  But, he hung in there and the goldfinch finally let him have his way.  The contest made my day!