Hibiscus Flower

Today marks the fifth anniversary of my mother’s death. I know people prefer “passing” which, in my opinion, is just to lessen the harshness and finality of “death”.  She “passed on” contrives images she just went somewhere else. But she died, and death is harsh, painful, and rip-your-guts-out hard. Oh, we try to dress death up in pretty clothes to make us feel better, but it’s just a façade.

Since I am a “plant person” (which I got through my mother’s genes I am sure), I find solace in planting flowers and plants and watching them grow. Seeing a tiny sunflower seed turn into a 12 foot giant over the summer, is nothing short of a miracle of nature. After all, it took 18 years for my son to grow to 6’7”. (Yes, he really is that tall.) Watching perennials return even bigger and better after winter knocks them out gives me hope I can get through life’s “winters” and come out on the other side too.

After my mother died, I wanted to memorialize her in some way. My mother did not have an easy life, nor a healthy one. If I can be half as strong as her, I will have done myself proud. She always said, “I hope I make it to 75.” She was a New Year’s Eve baby, and celebrated her 75^th birthday and the new year with all of us. It was to be her last.

Shortly after she died, I tore out a large strip grass in front of our walkway and feverishly planted 75 pansies. Under ¼” of topsoil it was pure fill dirt, yet they grew beautifully into a curving swath of watercolors that looked like butterflies when the breeze kicked up. I went out every day and picked off the dead blooms as some sort of therapy.  Yes, I talked to her, and I still do. Just not out loud anymore.

To mark the first anniversary, we planted a pear tree. I also began giving away plants as a way to memorialize her-to keep her love of plants and flowers spreading.  I have had lovely experiences in sharing my plants with others. They’ve told me they have planted them in her memory; said prayers when they planted them; call them “Lori’s mom’s plant”. They send/give me updates on how they are doing. Mom would be smiling, or maybe she is…

Because tonight, after my husband went to bed and I was working on some paperwork, I was sitting here alone. I became so sad, missing my mom-turned-best-friend in our grown lives, my eyes started filling with tears. I knew it would come before the night was out. I went on Facebook to distract myself, and immediately recognized a plant with a large red hibiscus flower on it posted by a friend I had given a plant to. Almost shining in the bright sun, her caption read, “The last hibiscus bloom of the summer.” If a flower could, it would have been smiling. How fitting that today would be the last bloom of the summer.

The Flight-or Fight-of the Hummingbird

Hummingbirds-Nature’s tiny wonders. Whizzing around with flights of fancy and stalling out in midair like little helicopters. Whether ruby-throated or not, they are all beautiful mini specimens of nature’s handiwork. Who cannot absolutely adore hummingbirds?  From what I have witnessed, other hummingbirds, that’s who.

We have several feeders around our house. They’re dangling off the eaves, our front porch and back deck, one in our maze garden.  As if all of our tubular shaped flowers aren't enough to attract them, I am dedicated to scrubbing out feeders and boiling water to dissolve sugar about twice a week, or it wouldn't be summer.  I've spoiled them and it seems the hummers don’t like to share-the dominants staking claim on them. Many times as an innocent makes his approach, another intercepts him and circles around him until the little one retreats, at which time the aggressor returns to the same spot in a tree and lays in wait. Like a dog protecting a bone.

I love to watch them at the feeders so close to the house. I can be right at the window and they hover up and take pause as if looking directly at me, hopefully saying thanks. So how can such a tiny and possibly grateful little creature scare me? That sounds ridiculous. But you come over here and start taking one of the feeders down in the midst of a hummer duel on who gets the last drop and one comes zipping out of nowhere right up to your face and see what you do. Without a window as a shield, you will find yourself eye to beak, and I wager your heart may skip a beat too. Tell me you wouldn't cringe or at least flinch thinking they are going to take that toothpick spike of a beak and make a move to stab you right in the eye! With wings beating faster than a good camera’s shutter speed can capture, my reflexes would never win against a dart toward me. On more than one occasion, I just close my eyes tightly until I am brave enough to open one eye hoping it has gone. I pray the eye I open is not the one he’s poised to pierce!

The hummer dance sometimes includes as many as five whirling around. Is that endearing chirpy sound they make actually them swearing at each other in hummer-speak when one has claimed dibs and the others try to stake a claim to it too? It’s fascinating to watch. We float quietly in our pool watching them like an outdoor movie. “Stop and smell the roses” has nothing on stop and watch the hummingbirds.

These little mini bundles of energy seem so tough during this continuous fight and flight. But we see another, weaker side of our hummers. A few times a month one will fly into our open garage, and having a minuscule brain, can’t figure out how to get back out. They bash their heads repeatedly into the high ceiling or the window. I’m sure they can’t understand why they are stuck, feeling like they are in Stephen King’s Dome. We fashioned a butterfly net on a long pole to catch them and lower them out the door.

On occasion, by the time we go out there and see them, they are so exhausted from battling our ceiling they've actually dropped to the floor and collapsed, wings splayed out. The three of us have each had the opportunity to pick up these exhausted and depleted hummers. Holding them, we stick their potential eye piercing dagger beak into some sugar water to replenish them while walking out to the driveway.  I figure I am safe with them in this state, gently holding them until they recoup.

Once they revive and collect themselves, they tighten up their wings and off from our hands they’ll fly. Like our hands are their helipads. They return to their lives of fight in flight.

And they never bother to look back.