Tag Archives: nature

Getting Ready for the Rain

For the first time in about a month,
Our weather apps are showing a non-trivial
Chance of showers tonight or tomorrow–maybe
As much as half an inch. Oh, ecstasy!

I scurry around, getting our small yard
Ready for the rain: positioning buckets to catch
Run-off from the gutter-less part of the roof,
Moistening the soil around area
Trees and shrubs to improve absorption
If/when the rains do come, clearing out roof gutters,
Sweeping away detritus from street edges, replenishing pea
Gravel on our slightly sloping garden walkway.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve
Been a weather nerd. My Maryland childhood
Included watching the approach of summer thundershowers,
Sledding during winter’s rare snowfalls, learning to swim
Just well enough to make it across a neighbor’s pool,
Keeping cool-ish during August’s soggy heat.

Here in San Diego, our heat is more apt to
Arrive in September or October, sometimes
Bringing with it the Santa Ana winds that heighten
Wildfire danger. Rain this time of year can be
A blessing, especially when it falls gently.

Weather nerdiness also exposes me to the
Increasing number of places where weather events
Are getting less gentle–friends in North Carolina
Have been displaced by Hurricane Helene,
Folks I know further north in California were burned
Out this past January, while some San Diegans are still
Recovering from our January, 2024 floods.

It’s not yet clear to me what further changes I’ll
Need to make as our rains become even more
Hit or miss. Last week, I visited Yosemite for the
First time, learning from its guides about the extremes
Of past weather in its granite-encircled, glacier-scoured valleys.
Its highest recent flood, noted at a parking area, would
Have drowned anyone not safely escaped to higher ground.

Regardless of our political outlook or economic status,
I believe we’d be wise to productively, concertedly
Get ready for the rain.

Interdependence Days

This year’s 4th of July celebrations did little for me.
Much flag waving seemed phony, some neighborhood camaraderie felt forced.
I ached as U.S. ICE raids continued, as civilian deaths mounted in too many armed conflicts.
I wanted to skulk away, to forego my allegiance to much of anything.
But I remain part of a wider whole. Whatever my pique at political or social shenanigans,
I do not have the option to resign from humanity.

So I briefly retreated to gardens that nourish me, some of whom I tend:
I admired walkway African lilies (agapanthus), most likely planted
When our 1970’s housing subdivision took shape over a decommissioned firing range.
This time of year, blue and white agapanthus blooms adorn our nearby streets,
Their starbursts quieter, more calming, less ephemeral than fireworks.

Within my own yard, I reveled in two sets of red blooms:
Along a sunny side fence, snapdragons from last year. They’d overwintered
In this mild climate where distinctions between “annual” and “perennial”
Get increasingly blurred.

overwintered snapdragons
shade-loving impatiens

Against the opposite fence, impatiens, cut-rate at the
Distressed rack of a local garden shop, now hold forth in most-of-day shade.

One day per year serves me as reminder of our nation’s independence. On other days,
I’d rather honor our interdependence with a natural world that graciously includes us.

May we continue to reconcile independence and interdependence, wherever we are.
Hurrah for the red, white, and blue, whether flags or flowers!

The Tulips Don’t Care about Pandemics…

Tulips and Pandemics –by Jinny Batterson

Doing a bit of “nature therapy” yesterday during a brief shower, and took a couple of pictures in our smallish condo complex. This morning got a link from a more media-literate friend, an opinion piece that long-term astronaut Scott Kelly had penned about coping with isolation. Very grateful that many of us have the technology to stay closer in touch via phone and internet. Glad there are parts of nature that seem little affected/afflicted by our current human pandemic. Please take care, all!

tulips in our condo complex

more tulips, oblivious to human worries

Bristlecone Pine

Bristlecone Pine —by Jinny Batterson

(This poem was written in the late 1990’s when I attended a conference in western Colorado founded by one of my data processing mentors, Jerry Weinberg, with his wife Dani. Jerry, during the time that I knew him best, was beset by physical ailments of one kind or another, also jettisoning non-essential body parts to keep going. Though he hasn’t yet reached the millennial mark, he’s past 80, still writing, still distilling wisdom and sharing it with anyone who has time to pay attention. Jerry’s website is at www.geraldmweinberg.com. Check out some of his poetry, too.)

Solitary, silhouetted
Against a desert sky,
Its trunk twisted,
Its branches out of symmetry,
A mute testament
To the
Will to survive.
In dry years or decades,
It jettisons limbs, even trunk, to keep
Remaining life
Concentrated, capable of
Regeneration. In wet years
Or decades,
It bursts forth
In luxurious lopsided
Growth.
This is how it
Endures
For
Millennia.