Date: Thu, 28 May 2009 13:49:34 -0700 (PDT)
From: tim keim
Subject: In Praise of Chatham
Previously published in the Chapel Hill Herald Sun
In Praise of Chatham
May 19, 2009
Readers of this column often find pointed critiques of matters that I think need attention in Chatham County. Doubtless you will read such writings again, soon. But Spring time has been so intoxicating that I must take this diversion to also mention the solid core of wild goodness that is Chatham County.
Regardless of calendar time, for me, Spring begins when the Forsythia and Bradford Pear burst their buds. Cardinals become my alarm clock, unless I get lucky enough to have a Chuck Wills Widow perch in my backyard. I did strike it lucky some weeks ago when that very bird chose our lot to light and sing loud enough to raise the sun over the horizon.
The Dogwoods appear like white butterflies in the forest. Being a small tree, the limbs are so thin as to be nearly invisible at a distance. The flowers seem suspended, floating almost, without any support the eye can detect. This sleight of bloom lends an air of magic to the wooded hill barren through winter’s cold.
Praise as well to the Tulips, Irises and Lilies’; exotic shapes dandled on a breeze, lightly sweet.
The Daffodils among the early bulbs in varied sizes this year through the snow did push. Such tenacity and strength.
The Pansy starts planted by my neighbor withstood the frozen days and will now brave the day long sun beating down on petals that appear so frail. No human could take such extremes, yet we equate Pansies with the weak among us. Ha!
And again I’ll praise the birds whose morning chorus swells each day with promise, contentment, wooing, and the hope of chicks to feed. Bluebirds nest in the boxes I bought from the credit union years ago. To and fro they go gathering scraps for their nest. Before long both mom and dad are flying sorties all day to feed the young who screech upon their every arrival. Fiercely standing guard, alas, the bluebird is no match for a black snake who senses an easy meal. One year Michele had to peel a three footer off the tree and send it packing so the blue brood could live to fledge.
The cry of the Red Shouldered Hawk above the house is a frequent sound. Soaring, at times harassed by crows or jays to be steered off their nests.
My favorites, the Vultures, not comely I know, but nobler in sustained flight than their local avian cousins. Surfing Spring breezes with not so much as a flap of a wing, grace on the ethers searching out corruption to devour. The ancient Egyptians held them in high esteem for that very reason.
Each year a Meadowlark makes its nest in the field on the community college campus.
Spring-of-the-year he calls thither a mate to pursue. Great accompaniment to yoga practice in the sunny vernal morn.
Gentle showers and soft breezes are also to be exalted. So ordinary, perhaps; yet so splendid carrying coolness before Summer’s furnace. Not coolness only but the scent of the Honeysuckle and her confederates Privet and Wisteria. Through a cool Ante Meridian walk these wafting winds exhilarate the brain with perfumed laced greetings.
I mustn’t forget the the Peepers and toads, symphonic serenades soothing. They sing another irrepressible vocal harmony in the ode to yearly renewal.
Not only the wild, but the cultivated wonders of Chatham as well I must herald. The coming of the farmer’s markets around. Tender lettuce, asparagus and strawberries a bumper year we’ve had. Friends and neighbors greeting and meeting at the focal point of local food grown by local people; the common denominator of goodness, health and social cohesion.
Limited as I am by both space and descriptive powers this praise of Chatham’s Spring must now close. Until then allow me to encourage you to dawdle, tarry and otherwise slow your days in what ever way you can to imitate the bee and suckle the nectar from the Spring. Defy the tyrants who manage your time, dirty your hands to plant a tomato, a bean, perhaps a fig tree. Invest in life’s soil a harvest of bounty to take in the
Autumn.