Thinking of Nature

I grew up in a neighborhood where people were fond of planting fruit trees in their back yards. The plumb tree and the apricot tree in our yard did what they were supposed to do; they produced fruit.   Not that it did us any good. The only thing we got out of it was the sight of some very colorful bird shit. It is unlikely that the birds even noticed the color of the guano they randomly dispersed throughout our neighborhood or the mangled portions of fruit they left uselessly hanging on the branches of our trees. Birds do not care about such things. Nor do they care about the expectations of the people who planted the trees or why the trees are growing where they are growing. Birds focus on consumption rather than production. Given their ability to deprive us of the fruits for our labor we are inclined to view them as being destructive, but this does not mean they are unproductive as far as nature is concerned. Nature’s more favorable view of this matter is based on the fact that what we have in birds is the vehicle for a random distribution of flora. That this method of distribution might seem wasteful to us or might conflict with our best interests at times does not matter. It is not about us. I am tempted to say the birds do not give a shit but that is obviously not the case.

The role that birds play in planting vegetation is automatic and requires absolutely no thought on the part of the birds. What is digested nourishes a bird. What is not digested is dropped wherever and whenever a bird feels the all too frequent urge to lighten its load. In undeveloped areas where a large amount of the soil is exposed to the birds those feathered dispensers of undigested seeds are an important part of a reasonably efficient planting process. In developed areas where far less soil is exposed to the birds this method of planting is a hit or miss proposition at best. It does not matter that the seeds are well fertilized by the guano in which they are encased, the seeds that land on my car are wasted. I will admit I do not wash my car as frequently as I should, but it is never covered with enough dirt to allow the seeds to take root. The seeds that land on buildings, sidewalks, streets and other surfaces covering the soil are not going to take root either. I might add that, in spite of the coloring provided by the fruit, guano has never caught on as a fashion accessory or a decoration. This last comment is my way of reminding my self to wash my car and to avoid parking it under tree branches where birds are inclined to roost.

One thing that quickly becomes apparent is the conflict that often arises between what we want to grow and what nature randomly plants. We may be able to manage our environment but we cannot control it. If we could control it subscribers to gardening magazines would not send nearly as many letters and pictures of strange plants to the editors of those magazines.

“What the hell is this plant I discovered growing in my garden?” is a question frequently asked in those letters.

To which the editors are tempted to endear themselves by saying: “Oh that? That is plant son of a bitch, and you better get it out of your garden before it takes over your entire yard!”

“Why can’t the damn gophers eat plant son of a bitch rather than my daisies?” is another question frequently asked.

“Because the only creature that eats plant son of a bitch is the one that blew that plant’s seeds out of his ass in your garden, and boy was he glad to get rid of them!”

Occasionally nature’s random plantings will provide a pleasant surprise. Wild strawberries suddenly appeared on my property one day, much to the delight of the gophers, ground squirrels, and birds that devoured the fruit before it was ripe enough to appeal to me. The first creatures to arrive at the banquet frequently eat all the food. Nature was never known for its manners or sense of fair play.

In all likelihood the plants that will make an airborne invasion of your property are the most prodigious ones growing near your property. There are not many birds that can fly with their legs crossed. The uninvited plants that settle down on my property are usually the most undesirable ones. Ragweed, cockleburs, and foxtails are not my idea of a garden. Gardens should contain plants with vibrant, fragrant blossoms. This is why my neighbors and I are often prone to fits of optimism that cause us to plant flowers that are not indigenous to the mountain. Doing this is not a good idea. The few flowers that are not eaten by gophers and ground squirrels are usually fooled by the weather and bloom too soon. You can almost hear the native plants laughing at them.

“Hey, fool! This warm day is just a teaser. It ain’t the end of winter, and the next storm is going to freeze your stamen off!”

The human equivalent of that is too unpleasant to contemplate. Fortunately plants can re-grow reproductive organs. Unfortunately they cannot do it fast enough to reproduce in the same year that their blooms were frozen off. Much to the annoyance of gardeners, the plants do not learn from this. So they continue to bloom too early until they are too old to bloom at all. And we, being of superior intellect, make the mistake of planting new flowers that repeat this behavior. I guess we just want to get our hands dirty and amuse the indigenous vegetation. This should serve as a reminder not to plant any flowers that may or may not survive the gophers and ground squirrels long enough to have their blooms frozen off next spring. I am using this reminder as my justification for not planting anything at all this year. Parking my butt in the shade with a cold beer in my hand might not be a better idea than planting new flowers, but it is a lot less frustrating.

First published in macsbackporch.fictionforall.com on Apr. 19, 2011