Garden Update

"There is a concatenation of all events in the best of possible worlds; for, in short, had you not been kicked out of a fine castle for the love of Miss Cunegund; had you not been put into the Inquisition; had you not traveled over America on foot; had you not run the Baron through the body; and had you not lost all your sheep, which you brought from the good country of El Dorado, you would not have been here to eat preserved citrons and pistachio nuts."

"Excellently observed," answered Candide; "but let us cultivate our garden."

I have transplanted my sunflower seedlings directly into the planet earth.






















One year that I saw Phish play at Alpine Valley in Winsonsin, I entered the venue after the show had started--and a good hour into a mushroom trip. As I descended the sparsely populated mounded lawn that slopes severely towards the stage and pavilion area, I was struck by the feminine curves of the hill I was walking down and the ski slopes in the distance. I thought about how wonderful it would feel if, in fact, mother nature WAS this valley, physically--her fertile, pregnant stomach was where we were celebrating. I was walking down her belly, frosty beers in hand, while thousands of people danced around like idiots and dug their feet into her fleshy midsection . THIS is where mother nature came to get the weirdest massage of her life, I laughed to myself.

I still enjoy thinking about that image, and any time I start fucking around with dirt, it's bound to enter my consciousness. It also makes phrases like, "Drill baby, drill." graphically preposterous in my mind's eye.

Sometimes it's interesting to consider the bird's eye view.

This is Napoleon














Soon after transplanting a (store-bought) tomato seedling into a pot with a cage around it, I noticed that the plant was covered with bird shit. I also noticed that a small bird with a waggly tail seemed to be making the top of the cage his main hangout. He was also perching on top of the yard chair, a dwarf pear tree, and a small garden trellis (all of which he covered with shit).

Since I'm unemployed, I began to track his movements during my extended sessions of Staring Out the Kitchen Window. I installed a pointy barrier on the top of the cage in an attempt ward him away. I noticed that he chased other birds out of our yard. The little bastard seemed remarkably territorial for a little 5" bird.

A few days after installing my first attempt at a barrier to keep him off my tomatoes, the bird shit started to pile on once again. He had learned that my deterrent was harmless.

It was at this point that I named him Napoleon. ("Why Napoleon," U had asked. "Because he's small, aggressive, territorial, he has a poofy midsection, he thinks he owns everything...and he gets off on shitting all over the place.")

I wanted to identify him. Unfortunately, I needed to get a picture to help me out. A combination of shitty eyesight and the memory of a lifelong pothead was making identification impossible. While I was out taking pictures of my plants , I caught him perching on my rocks. Once I snapped the pictures above, it was a breeze.

Turns out, Napoleon's a Black Phoebe in the Tyrant (yes, tyrant!) Flycatcher family of passerines.

They are known for perching on branches, looking for flying insects, swooping out, snatching them, and then swooping back to their perch. They subsist on a diet almost entirely of insects.

I also have effectively stopped him from shitting on my plant with the addition of loose twine. So, you know, what a wonderful little bug-eating creature.

A little creature who could only exist here, in Southern California, in our backyard, in the best of all possible...

I lost my train of thought.

Look at all these fucking seedlings, though. I've got three more trays waiting to sprout...and I'm still looking for more seeds to buy.

Multiply!