Friday, June 12, 2009

Coming of age

I think I'm officially an adult now. Doesn't that magical transitional moment happen the first time you are faced with a rigormoris-stricken squirrel* in your backyard and you realize you're the one who has to figure out what to do with it? That's what I am assuming.

According to my friends at the local NPR station, the greater Seattle area is currently experiencing its 24th straight day without rainfall. We even had a heat advisory for a couple of days. I know I'm jinxing it by mentioning it at all but the weather has just been so wonderful I've kind of been beside myself.

I'm obsessed with our garden. Every day I give Mr. A. reports on its progress. "The Yellow Pear tomato plant has blossoms!" "The fourth basil plant has three new leaves!" To his credit he always pretends to be extremely interested in these news items. So great is my obsession that this morning I had some extra time before work and I actually pulled up a chair and sat down in front of our raised bed as though it were a theatrical production, instead of plants growing at a rate that cannot be detected by the human eye. (I guess I'm skipping regular adulthood and going staight for retirement.)

The other great love in my life right now is our woodpecker family. As you may recall, a Northern Flicker couple has built a home in the tree right next to our back deck, and their babies are big enough now that I can see their funny little gray heads poking up whenever they get fed. Both parents feed them, and from what I can tell it's a job that takes up most of their time. Sometimes if I'm rudely hanging out too close to their nest, the two woodpeckers will sit together on the big Douglas fir in the backyard and say, "Excuse me? Excuse me? Could you move?" until I get hint and let them get back to business.

*I am enough of a sicko that I took pictures of it, which I will post here once I get them uploaded. I've also taken pictures of the woodpeckers and the garden, but let's face it, dead squirrel photography is pure journalistic gold.