A Love-Hate Relationship with Nature

Like many gardeners, I have a love-hate relationship with nature. While I enjoy observing and just “being” in the garden, I struggle with my inclination to “fool with” Mother Nature and her animals. Our garden is filled with wild creatures. The open space beyond our deer-fence is a natural habitat for varmints, and the garden is an oasis they can’t resist.

The newest addition to our backyard family is a mother fox and her two (now nearly grown) kits. I welcome this single mother in hopes she will train her younguns to hunt pests. Mole and gopher parts strewn about are evidence of adolescent appetites. I watch as they climb into the birdbath to drink. Last week I found the carcass of a dove beneath the birdbath. Could this gentle bird have been the prey of those cute little foxettes while bathing? Not a pleasant thought.

Every summer we watch pairs of quail bring their day-old hatchlings to our garden. We count as the golf-ball sized jet propelled chicks decline in number from about 12 to two (if the parents have been diligent). Last year a red-shouldered hawk swooped down among a young family. The parents tried desperately to distract the attacker. I grabbed a broom and dashed into the yard yelling for the hawk to leave the premises. He picked up a baby quail and flew to a nearby branch and proceeded to tear the tiny chick to pieces. The parent quails dove for cover along with the rest of their brood. I couldn’t get the sight out of my mind for days.

This year the red-shouldered hawk has not made a repeat appearance. Perhaps the sight of this white-haired woman, broom in hand, running down the garden path toward him was more than he could endure. He’s probably still chuckling at the pathetic sight.

Every year herds of squirrels leave their natural environs to decimate our apple and pear trees. If we’re lucky we get about 50 pounds of fruit. I’m not complaining but it’s hard to watch as they climb the trees, take a bite out of a beautiful blushing apple, and drop it on the ground to try another. Opossums and raccoons raid the trees in darkness, so to my relief, am not forced to witness the nocturnal pillage.

This year I bought a new kind of birdseed for the feeders. The package stated that it was a special mix for “western birds”. It didn’t say that “western birds” meant mostly aggressive jays (both scrub and crested), crows, and woodpeckers that bully the smaller varieties of sparrows, juncos and finch. The backyard brawlers empty the feeders, scattering it on the ground as they pick out succulent sunflower seeds. Their frenetic behavior creates chaos in my otherwise peaceful garden.

I keep a few chickens in a quaint little coop. I use the droppings for fertilizer and enjoy the fresh eggs each morning. I would like to let them loose on occasion to dine on earwigs and sow bugs. Then I remind myself that raccoons break into pens to eat succulent white meat, and foxes dig holes under fences to enjoy a good poultry feast. Mother Nature is a fearsome thing.