Our Reclusive Gardens, Part 4
The online daydream is continued from Part 3, where you can read a nice, long description of what it’s about.
Date: April 15, 2011
Categories: Random craziness, Things We like
Sunday, 28 April 2024
Life, the universe, pies, hot-pink bunnies, world domination, and everything
The online daydream is continued from Part 3, where you can read a nice, long description of what it’s about.
Date: April 15, 2011
Categories: Random craziness, Things We like
Thank you, GAPAs!
silver clouds on silver mornings,
along the crackling sea,
gliding past the day’s harsh warnings,
breathe a breath of me.
Thanks, GAPAs! I feel as though I should apologize for my excessive posting/strange portal additions on the last thread. Sorry…
I REMEMBER THIS! *EXCITED*
Ne, ne, let’s go let’s go!
…it’s morning.
I hate mornings.
Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes I sit up, dragging my pillow back to rest my head on. I consider just falling back asleep and blowing off all productivity I might achieve today.
I should work. I really should. The addition won’t build itself, you know. And the dinghy. And the tunnel.
But I’m rather warm.
And I should be planting. The soil is good and moist.
And the library needs some help with their copious books.
And I was sketching yesterday before I got distracted by the trees.
And I could get some nice shots of the budding trees.
…but it’s warm under my comforter…
Moral dilemmas. How I hate them.
I’ll sleep a little longer. I’ll wake up eventually and accomplish something then. Hopefully the mail will come late and no one will climb through my window like they have been wont to do.
Thank you GAPAs! The commune is back.
Wow, it’s been a while.
((May I join? This sounds like fun.))
My house looks like Chambord, but without quite so many chimneys and not as massive. The stone walls keep it quite cool in the summer, which is nice, and provide excellent acoustics in the house. I set the chocolate croissants to bake and put a record on the Victrola.
Chocolate croissants at my house everyone!
In the gardens, I have ambled through nothingness. The open trees that make my home have offered solace in a day meant for peaceful sorrow. I have tended to my orchard and I will sleep listening to the life all around me.
I wander home, back to my hollow trees,
where sleep awaits and likewise do my dreams.
I ponder now to sleep, as they advise;
for surely, spring’s fair sun will goad me rise.
Tonight, I choose to let subconscious through,
’til morning’s flowers stir my heart anew.
I mumble something incoherent, pulling the blankets further over my head. The morning sun has risen just enough to send a beam of sunshine through my window and right onto my face. One of my cats yawns, stretches, then jumps off the bed to go hunting.
Eventually, the sun becomes too bright and I throw off the covers, disturbing the rest of my cats. Ione, my pterodactyl, is nowhere in sight. I cross to my mirror. “That’s odd…” I mumbled, examining my bedhead and dark circles under my eyes. “I don’t remember hanging a modern art painting…why am I only this funny when no one else is around?”
I yank a brush through my tangled hair until it’s deemed “presentable”, then put on my lazy shoes and a bathrobe and am accompanied by several cats outside. Faint music comes to my ears, and I spot a new fancy -looking house. Intrigued, I walk to the house, clutching a cup of coffee, and ring the doorbell.
Er… I hope this doesn’t come across the wrong way, but it isn’t generally a good idea to let your cats go off and hunt on their own, though most people don’t know it. To quote and summarize a page on a website that I won’t name but know is very credible, “The average life expectancy of a cat outdoors is 2 to 5 years, as compared to an average of 17 years if the cat lives indoors. The lives of hundreds of millions of birds and small mammals are lost annually due to cats. Wildlife in the US has not evolved with natural, abundant predators (such as feral cats), and these animals have not adapted to be able to avoid cats. If you want your cat to enjoy the outdoors, some suggestions for alternatives include building a screened in porch, placing shelves in your windows for the cat to be able to view the outdoors, play with your cat daily, or plant some “kitty grass†in pots for your cat to graze and enjoy.”
I really don’t want to sound like I’m trying to take over how you run things or anything, but it would really be best for the cat and the other animals if you didn’t let your cat out like that, so I thought I should let you know, so that you can be informed in making your choice.
Well, here’s the thing (and I hope this doesn’t come across the wrong way either): Cats usually get cooped up if they have to stay inside the house. We all need sunlight and fresh air. Especially if cats aren’t very sociable (I know mine aren’t) they need to get out. Also, if you adopt cats from a shelter and they grew up outside–they might have some trouble adjusting. Imagine if you had to stay in the house and no-one would let you out. Basically, what I’m saying is that not all cats are comfortable inside; it’s a bit cruel to keep them inside if this is the case. There are “indoor” cats, but, well, it’s definitely not in “outdoor” cats best interests to keep them inside.
As for the deaths of small creatures: Bird deaths are extremely saddening, but it’s the way things work. Cats have instincts to kill. Death, most unfortunately is a huge part of life. Getting a collar with a bell can do a lot about that, too. On the other hand, mice and voles are small creatures who’s deaths I do not especially regret, for reasons that have a lot to do with the enjoyment of rodent-free homes.
It doesn’t come across the wrong way, at least to me; I think you make a good point. Personally, I don’t agree with you, but I certainly see where you’re coming from.
I suppose an outdoor cat would certainly be less happy inside, hence the term, and I know what you mean. Personally, I think that, to quote the same website, “The life of a wild animal is more important than a few hours of sunshine and exercise,” but you do have a right to decide for yourself. The thing is that many people don’t have any idea what dangers their putting their cat (see what I said about life expectancy) and the other animals into, and I think everyone should definitely know.
I know that cats have an instict to kill, and that certainly isn’t their fault. I love them. It’s just that, as I said, the wild animals don’t have an instinct to fear cats. “Cats with bells on their collars can learn to stalk their prey silently. Even if they don’t, wild animals do not necessarily associate the ringing of a bell with danger.”
Also, to quote Laura Erikson’s 101 Ways to Help Birds, “People often romanticize about the wild nature of cats, but I’ve taken in four cats that I rescued as strays, and all four seemed perfectly content to stay indoors. Animal welfare groups and the American Veterinary Medical Association recommend keeping cats indoors.
Cats that toy with or feed on wild birds and mice are most likely to carry toxiplasmosis, a protozoal infection that is extremely dangerous for unborn babies and newborns. Cats prefer to defecate in loose, sandy soil, so they often use sandboxes or cultivated gardens, exposing small children and gardeners to their droppings, whuch harbor the infectious organisms.
Some outside cats are so set in their ways that they really do become distressed when confined indoors. If you choose to let your cat outdoors, [I strongly recommend that you please] keep it harnessed or leashed. There are also enclosed kitty pens with complex pathways that allow cats to feel that they’re on the prowl outdoors without giving them access to birds. And designers of”invisible fences” are now creating models specifically for cats.”
It also mentions that if you still fel the need to take your cat outdoors without those accommodations, you could at least try to keep en inside “during baby bird season and major migration events or that it only be let out at nighttime. Cats usually hunt visually and kill mostly rodents at night.”
I can see it both ways; however, I personally would feel exceedingly cruel to keep my cat locked up inside. I suppose it is really up to the owners to choose whether or not to let their cats outdoors. The fact that birds kill hundreds of millions of cats each year and you can still see billions of millions (this is a completely guesstimated (Oh my god that passed through a spell check…) amount; I have no idea how many birds are currently alive and thriving–but it’s a loooooot.) of birds each year proves that birds are indeed still a thriving race. The damage that cats are doing, in terms of hunting, etc., is clearly not a huge threat to birdkind. Cats were originally domesticated and valued for their skills of killing small mammals. It’s rather sad. Anyway, where you and your cat live also has a huge part to play in the matter, I suppose; I don’t think it’s very much in the interest of your cat to let en out if you live by a busy highway, for example. And though it doesn’t solve everything, it has a much bigger impact that you would think: not having or taking down a birdfeeder or suet. Those are good for cats, bad for birds.
That was a bad sentence and a confusing paragraph. Goodnight.
One other thing: Have you ever tried to walk a leashed cat?
(I’m sorry, I didn’t see your posts; sorry for the late reply!)
No, I haven’t. I don’t imagine it would usually work, but there might be a few exceptions. Anyway, I was just quoting.
If you think of birds as a whole, than maybe cats aren’t a major threat (though I think a wildlife rehabber told me that that was how the majority got there–but I could be entirely wrong; he might have just said it was a lot; I really don’t remember!), but it doesn’t really work that way. Different species have different nichhes. Some species–and niches–are extremely common, but some are endangered, and each individual counts. I agree with you that area makes a huge difference, for birds as well as cats; different areas have different birds.
I think your idea about bird feeding is a good one, though. Even people without cats should probably keep their bird feeders in their backyard (if it’s fenced; otherwise, they just shouldn’t feed birds), so that thet only way a cat could attack a bird would be on the bird’s way there–which could happen anyway on the bird’s trip anywhere, so it doesn’t make much of a difference, unless you know there’s a cat very close to you.
Well, that’s very true–but how many of those endangered birds do cats actually kill? I’m completely clueless about this, but it seems to me that the species of birds that cats primarily kill songbirds, and such–rather, species that aren’t in any danger of being diminished soon. (Or I could be completely wrong, in which case I bow to you and birds.)
(The leashed cat question was rhetorical, but–speaking from experience–it never ends well. )
I’m actually also completely clueless. I do know that many songbirds aren’t nearly as common as people think, but I also don’t know how many ‘many’ is.
Scientists have conducted studies, but people disagree about what they mean. Basically, wildlife-advocacy groups cite evidence that domestic cats kill millions of birds every year; meanwhile, cat-advocacy groups say that, except in isolated places like islands, their impact on bird populations isn’t significant. A Google search on “cat predation studies” will give you more conflicting evidence on both sides than you could read in a month. You’ll be confused but no longer clueless.
The impact of cats has been fairly well-documented with certain species, although usually there’s other factors leading to their demise also (usually human-related). There’s also the issue of cats displacing wild predators.
An important indoor-vs-outdoor issue that no one seems to have brought up, though, is the safety of the cat itself. If you keep a cat inside, it can’t get mauled in fights with other cats or with dogs or other animals, it can’t get run over by a car, it can’t disappear for days at a time. It’s also less likely to pick up parasites like ticks.
And making a kitty-run is always a possibility.
Actually, I did mention it, but I didn’t emphasize it. Anyway, yes, I agree.
Evnetually my body deemed itself rested enough and I woke again, this time to music and talking and food.
I rush downstairs, sling my coat loosely on my shoulders and clutch my bag in my hand, and bolt out the door.
Cause, you know, if someone’s making food and you can smell it it’s basically an invitation to come and mooch.
I watch bemusedly as Zinc skids past. “Hey, Zinc! Long time no see!” I call out after her, calmly walking along the path towards the source of the food smells. Zinc glances backwards at me, pausing. “Hurry up! I’m huuuuungry!”
“Who said you had to wait for me?”
“Good point.”
I watch as she sets off running again, my grim turning into a full-blown laugh as a cloud of dust envelopes me.
“What is it with Zinc and other people’s food?” I wonder to myself out loud, then shrug and continue following Zinc at a more reasonable pace.
I really, really hate these shoes, I think to myself as I cough. They kick up so much dust.
And eh, Fireh. I should’ve waited for her, but I hadn’t eaten anything since last night and those foodthings smelled ni-
TRIPtriPtumbletumbletumbleSLAM.
“Eunh,” I groan as I pick myself up to sit against the diabolical fence I rolled into. Examining my path and memory, I deduce I had first tripped over my shoes, then a small rock, and had made my unwilling way over to this fence, which had rather rudely stopped my movement.
I pout. I have a torn knee and hand. It hurts, but not so much I couldn’t tear off my shoes and tie the laces together in a knot. Moving into a crouch, then a stand, I continue my journey to the fodthings, talkpeople, and musicmaker, albeit slower.
With my decline in acceleration, Fireh catches up to me at her own pace. We walk in silence for a while beofre she asks simply, “Whst brought that on?”
“I get awfully hyperactive when I’m hungry. Let’s just keep walking toward the smell of breakfast.” She nods placatingly, and we continue.
I wake up to sunlight streaming through the window of my room/studio. It looks like it’ll be a beautiful day. Since I clearly won’t be able to sleep any longer, I head out the door and am immediately assailed with a wonderful smell. Chocolate?
I see Zinc run past me, followed by Fireh at a more reasonable speed. “Hey!”, I call, and she turns to look at me.
“Hey. There’s a new house down the way a bit. Vanillabean3.141 invited everyone over.”
“Cool. Mind if I walk with you?”
I look out the window to see a mob approaching. The last of the chocolate croissants have just finished. It’s a good thing I have other food too–butter croissants with cherry jelly, demi baguettes, éclairs, petit fours, chocolate muffins, blueberry muffins, cinnamon rolls, strawberries, whipped cream, hot chocolate, tea…I shoo the kitty away from the table and go to open the door. Zinc, fireh, shadowfire, and LBK pile in.
I make a beeline for the chocolate croissants, pausing only with one in each hand to say. “Hello, vanillabean. I didn’t know you lived so close.” Then I took a huge bite out of one of the croissants. “These are really good,” I say., trying not to spray crumbs everywhere.
I wake up, and the sun is shining through my glass windows. Coco jumps up on my bed and drops a mouse next to me.
“Thank you, Coco…” I mumble. After I’ve disposed of the mouse, I make sure to give her extra pats. I feed and water all of my animals and go out to water my plants.
My daffodils are coming up. As I water them, I notice the smell of chocolate wafting down the path. I put away the watering can and skip down the path. There is a new, beautiful house on the path. I knock on the door, and someone opens it. She introduces herself as Vanillabean3.141.
“Welcome to the neighborhood!” I greet her. “Can I come in?”
My day starts off pretty well. That is, until I get up. I bump my head on the ceiling, stumble over a piece of mechanical whatnot, and nearly run into the doorframe on my way out.
Of course, I don’t really mind, as now I know that I have to raise the ceiling, pick up the technological thingamajigs strewn about, and get new glasses. Cheered somewhat by this, I walk to the kitchen-slash-computer room and begin to make an English muffin for myself.
Noticing that it’s getting a bit warm, I open up the window. I’ve never liked summer, really–winter’s much more fun. There’s snow, for one thing. But at least I can cool it down in here, while the hot weather still lingers.
The first thing I notice when I open thew window is the sound of somebody playing music. That’s odd, I think, rubbing my eyes. Then I smell something–sort of like chocolate? What?
Shrugging, I put on some clothes and walk out the door. Following my ears and nose, I attempt to locate the source of the distractions.
“Ooh, these look awesome, vanillabean,” I say, grabbing a cinnamon roll off the table. I bite into it and try not to make a mess. They’re delicious. “Thanks for making these. “
Diddly-dum, di-diddly dum,
I hum a little tune tonight.
To flutter a fuddleful feeling, in the fiddleful, fate-lful flume of night.
I dilly through the daffodils
and tarry through the trees,
for hurryers are worriers,
and there’s no diem left to seize.
Diddly-dum, di-diddly dum,
I hum a little tune tonight.
To flutter a fuddleful feeling, in the fiddleful, fate-lful flume of night.
After a lovely breakfast and everyone had left, I blasted Carmen a little louder and sing along to the Habanera with Grace Bumbry. Then, an idea occured to me. It would be nice to escape planet Earth for a little while. Just for a few moments…
I ran upstairs, up the highest tower. Next to the huge telescope at the very top, there’s a narrow door with a little moon charm hanging off of the handle. I turned the handle, and step onto the moon.
Being on the moon was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. It was cool, and the air was thin and dry. I could breathe just fine. What awed me, though, was the silence. It was a silence so deep I could almost hear it vibrating and pulsing through space. You know how in a cathedral or other holy place you can feel the quiet? It was a thousand times that. And there was the all-encompassing blackness of outer space, all around me and barely held back by little stars. It was the perfect place to sit quietly. My door was built into the edge of a crater, so I climbed up the dusty grey slope to look out onto the surface. It was pockmarked with craters, and the thin dust swirled around my feet as I walked. I sat down at the edge and looked up. I don’t know if there is an up in space, but I looked above my head anyway. Stars. There were stars all around, and darkness. For a moment I almost understood the vastness of the universe, but it was too big for my mind. I could only sit there, gaping stupidly, on the moon. I almost didn’t want to leave, but then I remembered that I could come back whenever I wanted to. I got up and brushed some dust from my skirt, then walked back into my house. Returning to the soft golden light was like waking up. The sun was setting, and the moon was rising outside the window.
I run up the path to the little cottage I know so well, The door facing east, Maple playing in the yard, the woods behind the house that seemed to hold it. The door opens at the touch of my hand, and I’m surprised to see it’s changed. It’s become like a studio apartment, one cohesive structure. My bed is aligned with the door, across the room, so I can see the rising sun, and the rest of the furniture is arranged around it. Only a few small additions have been made–a CD player and my favorite CDs, a ukulele, and enough art supplies to make as many paintings and sketches as I want.
I hear a small tinkling outside, and see an wind chime and a dream catcher hanging in the window above my bed. The sun is setting, and it looks beautiful, as always. It’s good to be home, I think, and smile.
((SFTDP, but I just wanted to say that I posted the above because I felt like I needed to.))
I’ve never described my reclusive garden, but you’re right: it is good to go there once in a while.
I wake to the sun shining through my window. Humming a tuneless little song, I attempt to make cinnamon buns, though they end up more like cinnamon crumples. They still taste good, I think as I cram one into my mouth, eager to get outside. I take my sketchbook and a pen, eager of scout out some inspiration.
Maple appears next to me as I amble down the path that leads to the trail around the lake. It’s beautiful outside, the birds are chirping, and the sky is a brilliant blue. After meandering about for a while, I sit down on a rock to think. I lean over my paper to concentrate on the drawing of a ringmaster-like person which I am trying to complete, paying special attention to the delicate features of her face. The sun feels warm on my back, like a blanket, or a comforting hand. It makes me think about friends.
I’ve been out riding my bike for the whole day, just exploring the trails, and the darkening sky is beginning to hint at rain. As I attempt to make one last circle around the lake, a raindrop hits the top of my head and trails down my hair. Soon, the rain begins to fall harder, and I can almost feel any worries or troubles I have washing away. The rain sounds wonderful on the trees and I can almost hear tiny things stirring under the ground. By the time I get home, I’m soaked to the skin, but exhilarated from riding in the rain.
I stop to catch my breath and stretch my shoulders. I knew that building a cabin by hand would be hard work, but I didn’t expect each swing of the ax to rattle through my arms like this. I squint up at the sky. The air is chilly, but between the afternoon sun and the physical labor, my shirt is soaked with sweat. Still, I’m making good progress. I lean the ax against a tree and walk back to my tent to grab a snack. I finished digging out the foundation for the cabin about a month ago, and I’ve got the walls a little more than halfway done. I’ll still have to insulate and windproof them, but that’ll be easy. The roof, not so much. I grab an apple from inside the tent and bite into it as I walk back to where I left the ax. A bit of juice dribbles down my chin which I wipe away with my arm. There’s no shortage of tree stumps here now, so I choose one and sit down. I was lucky to find this little space between the mountains–looking at it from outside, you’d never guess there was anything here, but hiding in the valley is a little lake and some flat ground. When you climb up higher, you can smell the salty winds blowing in from the ocean, but down by the lake it’s completely isolated. The lack of anything resembling a path told me as soon as I found this valley that it wasn’t exactly a well-known piece of land, and so I figured it was as good a place as any to settle down for a while. As I finish the apple I pick out the seeds with my fingernails and slip them in my pocket, and then toss the core aside for the animals to nibble on. Stretching my arms and back one last time, I pick up the ax again and get back to work.
It rained all day, so I stayed inside, working on the white canvas Converse high tops I was decorating. I thought I’d done an especially good job on the TARDIS on my left shoe, as well as a herd of sparkly rainbow unicorns galloping from the heel of my right shoe. Now, I was fixing up the eye that was on the top of the tongue of the left shoe.
I picked up the glass of apple cider I’d poured myself earlier and contemplated the rain outside the window, streaming down the panes of glass. I felt separate, insulated in my own little world, seeing life through a veil. Safe, just this once.
I pedal hard as the bicycle struggles to crest the hill, and suddenly I’m at the top. I’m a bit out-of-breath, but the sight before my eyes still makes me exhale in awe. The path runs ahead below me, down the hill and through patches of meadow and coastal forest that wind along the coastline. Beyond the path and between the trees, I can make out the flat land of the sandy shore and the white of the crashing waves. Beyond, the sea stretches out, brilliant and blue, sparkling in the afternoon sunlight.
It reminds me of the view out towards Piraeus from the Acropolis or the top of Mount Lykavitos, but the sun here is gentler and I don’t feel any danger of heatstroke. And while the Mediterranean was dotted with the colored specks of tankers, cruise liners, and container ships, here the blue is unbroken– I wouldn’t expect many outsiders to come near, but it seems that none of the residents of the Gardens who own boats are out, either.
On the far headland, I can make out the tower of the old lighthouse, striped in black and white, above the rocks. I trace the coastline back around the shore of the bay, until the spot where it stops being rocky and the sand starts. And there it is, a white stucco structure nestled at the intersection of the change in terrain. From this distance, it looks intact, perfectly pristine despite the many storm seasons that have passed since I last saw it.
Seeing my objective gives me a second wind and I start off down the hill, coasting (hehe) along on the momentum as the trees begin again. A deer lifts its head up from the long grass to watch me pass, but doesn’t run– the animals here have no reason to fear people. The trees are bare for winter and cast long shadows as I pedal underneath. A gull swoops overhead as I emerge from the forest. Now that the path is parallel to the coast, I can hear the waves breaking, although I admit my heart is pretty hard to drown out, beating fast not because of the exercise but because of my excitement.
Finally, I reach the turn-off for my house and dismount, walking up to the garden fence. The purple of the mailbox has faded a bit, but the hinges still work fine as I pull it open and remove some very stiff envelopes. I reach over the gate and pull up the tongue of the latch, walking my bike through the gate into the overgrown garden. Even though they’re now seasonally dormant, my sunflowers appear to have survived just fine in the wild, and the avocado trees are nearly as tall as I am. There may be some pruning to do, but my plants seem to be doing fine.
The forecast is for clear weather, so I leave the bicycle leaning against the front porch and lift my duffel bag out of the back basket. I breathe in the salty air as I shoulder it and step up onto the small porch. My other arm feels for the key in my jacket pocket.
It’s good to come home.