The live Hummingbird Wing Alarm Clock sounded yesterday morning at about daybreak (AKA morning goat, duck and chicken feeding time — if I’m a prisoner, I’ve always thought, let it be a prisoner in paradise). I stumbled into the Funky Butte Ranch house’s main room to churn my solar-powered health shake concoction and whoa, once again, I was stopped in my tracks and in mid-thought by this ethereal cacophony as a dozen dueling hummingbirds (Rufus, Berylline and Broad-tailed so far this day) battled for the sugar water hanging in four Chinese plastic and glass containers outside my sliding glass door and around the house. Their wings are their instruments. They appear to need Air Traffic Controllers.
I’ve planted actual live and regional flowers from which hummingbirds, sugar addicts like myself, are said to derive a fix, but they’re just staring to flower, so we won’t see the full benefit until next year. Until then, it’s human-induced nectar for these birds half the size of my fist, some of whom travel from Costa Rica to Alaska. Imagine the amount of jet fuel that would be required to get a human that distance – these miracles of nature do it on a few sips of pollen (or, for now, sucrose). They are hyper-paced but not delicate. I have caught them in my palm when they’ve danced into the Ranch house or yoga studio and they feel solid — as air-worthy as any 767.
* * * * *
Quieter than quiet, what to the protagonist in an old Western novel would be “too quiet”, something wakes me at the next morning – this morning — at 3 a.m. I could argue, based on that pre-bedtime pomegranate juice binge, that it’s my bladder exploding. But no. The universe’s tummy is rumbling – it’s monsoon season still, moisture is seeping out of the desert’s pores. The Funky Butte Ranch’s Creek, named “Stitzel,” a semi-reliable someone told me, after a Civil War officer who had been given this canyon as severance pay (Google turns up nothing), is running like it’s late. It is difficult to overstate what a blessing moving surface water is in this thirsty ecosystem, in ambient sound alone.
I stumble outside, not anything close to awake, mentally dodging presumed lightning and sleeping dogs and cats, but in fact blanketed in darkness so complete that my home, in those World Light Pollution maps, is one of the few places in North America to actually have Night, and I’m snapped awake not by the usual yucca spines in my thigh, not by a mountain lion waiting in stalk mode behind my cilantro patch, but by a smell.
It is the scent off the moon, my sweetheart has said, captured within a lavender-rimmed white cone blossom that looks like the horn of a gramophone.
It is datura.
Nightshade.
Jimson Weed.
It blooms only at night.
Only for one night per blossom.
Gone by the time the sun is over the Eastern bluff.
I am lucky enough this morning to capture one of a score of blossoms (five times the size of a hummingbird, big enough to bury my face in) visibly trembling with the energy it takes to open. I watch it unfold over perhaps fifteen minutes.
I wish this Dispatch were a scratch and sniff.
Instead I return to family and body warmth and sleep.
I’m alert for a few more moments now, not just from stumbling over dogs, but with pollen memories in my nostrils, dust on my cheek. These are about to bring my dreams to very pleasant places – real life fairy tales.
The world seeps chlorophyll and all is green, including my mind.
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12 Responses:
August 17th, 2008 at 8:26 pm
It is a beautiful flower…used by ancient shamans in the region…but I would be content with it’s scent…;)
August 17th, 2008 at 9:27 pm
I saw one of these blooms one evening in far south Texas near the Mexico border three years ago. Your description is masterful.
August 18th, 2008 at 10:27 am
goddamn man, you must not suffer the pollen allergies. This old boy would be waking up every dog, goat, child, missus and coyote within 2 miles with the explosive high-velocity retroglide sneezing…
It’s still lovely though.
August 18th, 2008 at 5:33 pm
George — Thanks for the kind words. The Dispatch wrote itself.
Will — Allergies are not fun, and luckily I appear to have made friends last spring with the only tree that gets to me — juniper. That is to say, after a couple of nightmare springs (respiratorily-speaking — they have, despite my not being able to breathe for six weeks, been some of the best springs of my life), I am cautiously-optimistic about this coming spring.
August 23rd, 2008 at 12:55 pm
Beautiful writing Doug.
Hey, I’ve been doing some reading. To support me and my family it sounds like I’m going to need 5 acres for fruits and veggies, 1 acre for hay, 1 draft horse (or a tractor), 15 - 20 chickens (since we love meat and eggs), 2 goats, and probably at least one beehive (for honey and beeswax for sealing the cheese). I’ve been looking at farms and they are currently priced a little out of my league since home prices are falling here in Michigan and I’d lose money if I sold my house right now. And, if lacking the solar and wind power, I’d need to equip the house with those too. Any advice on finances?
August 23rd, 2008 at 2:49 pm
Boy, I am no financial expert, and everyone’s situation is different. Real estate prices vary by region (and of course the market fluctuates). But once you find your spot, you can take the upgrading slow. I got my goats cheap and most of my chickens free from friends. If you’ve read “Farewell, My Subaru,” you know I built my solar hot water heater for almost free. So I’d suggest taking it one step at a time. Also, I recommend getting existing property rather than building on new land (so as not to be a contributor to sprawl). I guess the last thing I’d say on this in such a short space is that there is payback even on expensive items. Like on my vegetable oil truck, in gas savings alone I’ve already paid off the engine conversion. Same with solar electricity: forget about moral payback — you’re not paying grid electricity bills anymore.
August 24th, 2008 at 8:24 am
Hi, Doug. I have long been uncomfortable with the unsustainability of suburban life. After reading “Farewell, My Subaru” I have been thinking of adopting a lifestyle similar to yours. But I am concerned about feeling isolated and lonely living out in the country. How do you make sure that you have enough of a social network to prevent feeling cut off from the rest of the world? Thanks. -Andres
August 24th, 2008 at 9:21 am
Andres– Good question, though I feel a bit like an advice columnist in answering it (I feel like I should start my reply with something like, “Dear Concerned In Des Moines”). So if you chose to live somewhere fairly remote, which I have for much of my adult life, it’s a question of personal taste. If you don’t like being alone for an hour in a city apartment, you won’t like being alone (or with family and animals) for days in a row. However it’s important to realize that 90% of what I’ve attempted in “Farewell, My Subaru” can be achieved in a city or suburban environment with a half acre or less (provided zoning in your area allows for chicken-raising). Almost anyone can drive on a biofuel, can power his or her world by solar, can grow his or her own food and even raise livestock (as discussed in the afterward of “Farewell, My Subaru.” Good luck!
August 29th, 2008 at 9:52 pm
your writtings are so peaceful…i read myself quiet after busy days. best of luck on your life and the courage to live it your way.