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Opinion Gopher Gulch: A predator crashes the party
Gopher Gulch: A predator crashes the party
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My back yard is lovely — to me. It’s a private, peaceful sanctuary for all who dwell here. Life is like a game of tag and this is home base. If it gets here, it’s safe. The guys from GH Outreach even mow around milkweed so the butterflies will have habitat. Last week, on a sunny afternoon, the usual gang was gathered. Shadow cat was virtually invisible at the base of the cottonwood. I was whittling on a walking stick I found at the beach. Whittling is an activity that few indulge in these days. It entails a pocket knife, a stick and time to apply one to the other. My mother whittled chains out of kindling sticks. I use the same knife, but never learned the chain trick. I am, however, very good at getting bark off a stick. A few feet away, the deer with velvet antler spikes was chowing down on the primroses. I was laughing at Mama deer, who flickered huge ears and gazed at me through limpid pools while a rose petal dribbled out of her mouth.
She’s either fat or pregnant. It’s obvious that she’s been gardening
with humans on a regular basis, because she has no fear. I think
they’ve come to Gopher Gulch because it’s the only place nearby that
doesn’t have dogs.
I watch what they eat — and what they don’t. They eat roses and evening primroses, peas, carnations, fava beans and the fresh tips off nearly everything. They don’t eat poppies, daffodils, foxgloves, columbine, bleeding hearts, jasmine or most of the herbs. The bluejays were practicing their vocabulary lessons in the cedar tree and the starlings were noisily being responsible parents. A hummingbird was making the steep, whistling dive that is intended to attract a mate. There were bees buzzing in the borage, a woodpecker working a snag, swallows swooping for food and sparrows squabbling over ownership of a prime nest site. Got the picture of bucolic peace? Bird songs and sweet breezes? All that’s missing are angels with harps, right? But let one mature bald eagle float low and slow over the scene and all hell breaks loose. The deer crashed into the woods and an unearthly silence fell over the entire scene as instantly and finally as if someone had hit the mute button. It was like a scene from Rachel Carson’s “Silent Spring.” Unlike that terrifying book, this is a good thing, and I confess to being covered with Truthbumps. I’ve never seen a bald eagle so close, and it felt like a blessing on the morning’s harvest of wormwood for healing salve. This year’s batch will be especially soothing to arthritic joints. Nevertheless, a predator that big can definitely put a damper on the party. He was nearly as long as me, with a much greater wingspan and a terrifying shadow. It was a couple hours before the yard got back to normal, but I’ll always remember the honor of his visit. |
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