What I Am Not

Just so you know. I am not a gardener.

I read blogs, so I know that many many people are.

And, this is the time of year it pays off.

I don't get to play.

I do have potted plants on my front porch, but they came that way.

I used to pot my own, but not this year.

The backyard, which a few years back was at least charming with it's corner of purple coneflowers, has a broken down picnic table that we haven't eaten at in years. And, a potting table. Just to mock me.

We used to eat at the picnic table everyday. Back before one of the boards on the seat rotted away.

Now I paint on it.

But, if tall thorny thistles ever come into vogue, I'm your girl. I can make those things grow, just by doing nothing!

Yesterday I heard a different sort of warbling in my backyard.

My usual birds are nothing fancy. Blue Jays. Robins. Cardinals. Sparrows. Starlings. Mourning Doves. (actually, i could more readily identify them by the poop on my laundry than by their songs - somewhere close by there are purple berries, of this i am sure!)

But this wasn't a sound that any of those ever make.

So, I ran out to see what it was.

I even grabbed my camera.

It was tiny and brown, with an orange chest. It wasn't a robin, as there was a big one of those sitting on the fence watching this intruder very closely.

The new bird hopped from tree to tree to roof and back, singing his new bird song.

I'm working on identifying it. I'm sure its nothing exotic, but I haven't ever seen one here before.

Last weekend, while sitting on the porch with Son-in-law, he saw a heron fly overhead.

I missed it.

I am not a gardener.

Nor am I a birdwatcher.

But occasionally, I take the time to enjoy a wee bit of what I am not.