An owl called from outside my window this morning. You should understand that I am, by no means, an early riser and this was several hours after sunrise. I know that not all owls are nocturnal, but that sound should have been: she sounded so plaintive and lonely.

It is not unusual for me to hear owls from my apartment although I live close to the center of a very large city. If you were an owl, you could fly over the house behind mine, cross a street and be in an area of trees on either side of a creek that connects to a larger creek about a mile away; that creek is in a very large park that is connected to a string of other parks This green belt lunges from the distant country side into the very middle of the metropolis. Not only owls, but hawks, raccoons, opossums, even foxes (I've seen one.) and, some tell me, eagles call this urban (not even suburban) neighborhood home. The biggest problem in all this is the deer; there existence bothers my cats who seem to think they are giant mice, and they make the use of hostas, tulips and many other plants in our flowerbeds futile; they are so acclimated to the cityscape they seem to even know how to cross streets at the intersections (except in the fall when they go insane and cause many wrecks.).

I'm not enough of an ornithologist to know if this owl was the kind that preys on other birds, but apparently the robins, orioles, and those little 'twi-twi-tweeeet' guys that I have heard every mourning for the last couple of weeks think it was; none of them were anywhere close today. I'm sure the owl hooting over and over again was not hunting right then, but if I were a small song bird I would not have chanced hanging around either.

When I was on my way to my car an older woman (please note, I'm still young enough that older doesn't mean elderly.), who lives in the building next door was on her porch. I stopped to talk to her and we discussed the weather and looked for the owl, but never spotted it. Then I mentioned the buds on a near by cherry tree and my hope that it would be a good year for the cherry blossoms (one of my favorite things about this city) We talked about the cherries that were fooled by a mild early winter and actually budded at Christmas time and she assured me it wouldn't be a problem because the daffodils and paperwhites were glorious and their premature buds had been hit by a very hard freeze. (Anyone know why deer completely ignore narcissuses? They won't even touch the leaves.) She also pointed to two other trees across the street that were already in bloom as evidence for the cherries doing well. I agreed with her statement about the narcissuses, but I'm going to wait a few more weeks to judge this year's cherry blossoms, especially since the two trees she pointed to were a red plum and a forty foot pear tree.

She then assured me that the saucer magnolia in her yard was a much better tree than a cherry. She called her tree a tulip tree, but because I'm afflicted with this strange allergy that makes me like to garden for about six to ten weeks every year, I know a tiny bit more about trees and shrubs then I do about birds, and know the name of that tree. Lots of people make that mistake, its flowers look a lot like tulips and it blooms at the same time as tulips, and it does not look at all like the waxy leafed evergreen people think of as a magnolia (but botanists insist they're related.). The problem is that there is a poplar that is officially named Tulip Tree that is native to this area. It also has tulip shaped flowers but, since it is over a hundred feet tall and the blooms are at the top and appear after the canopy is filled in, few ever see them. I didn't bother to correct her; I knew what she was talking about. It is true saucer magnolia tree blooms earlier (and sometimes twice) and the flowers are larger and last much longer, but it really can't compare with a long row of cherries in full bloom; a streak or sometimes an horizon of vibrant pastels (An oxymoron? This is the only thing I would describe that way.). No wonder some people see a god present there (but, of course, Shinto see a god present almost everywhere.). For single trees I do like plum better, the blossoms are more varied but still rich in color, and the red leaves of some varieties are a nice touch in summer if there aren't too many. I am sure my taste can't be wrong, and that her preference is an acceptable one too.

She also told me of the problem with all fruit trees is they feed squirrels and rodents and attracted birds which just made a mess on the grass. Maybe I should have, but I didn't tell her that the ornamental trees were almost all fruitless. If she asks for advice on such matters then I will. She has lived in this area for only a couple of years, if it becomes important to her, she will learn. In the mean time she as an admirable knack with annuals; mine are always either to close together or to far apart.

After I met her new garden gnome and she extolled its virtues (Not being a gnome person, I just nodded. I would have put a laurel in that spot, but it's her garden; she didn't try to attach it to something I created.), I got on my way (only a little bit later than I usually am in the morning.). As I drove I wondered about fruitless fruit trees. Do you think they feel cheated by their horticulturalist creators? They put out all this effort to make a beautiful display with the sole purpose of bearing a few seeds, a very few of which might then grow into a new tree. But they are halted; stymied; solely for the ease of those around them and the goal is never reached. We (I) can enjoy them more; the bees don't mind at all, they get what they are after; the birds never know anything is missing. But how do the trees feel? Then I thought that perhaps, just perhaps, they were satisfied. In truth they make a better display and have more flowers then their fruited relatives. They have more energy, stored starches, to produce more leaves and branches. Perhaps that is satisfying; what is so wrong with being admired for one's self?

Then I thought about that owl (Anyone remember the owl? When I started I thought this was going to be all about the owl.) and my other wild neighbors. I wonder what they feel, being locked in an oasis, surrounded by a hostile world that does not want them. The truth is they seem to manage. The robins gave the owl room to make her (his? How would I know?) mating call today, but they will return tomorrow. The raccoons seem pleased to live out of garbage cans for the most part, and since most people now have very deep and heavy lidded cans, they don't strew stuff around so much now. I guess the fox and the owl and some others eat other animals, but that happens in the best of woodlands.

None of them really know of life in a real forest, but if they could be told, I think, they might be aware of there unsuitability and unpreparedness for such a life. As it is, they seem to exist well in their urban trap, and let each other get along in their own way. I sometimes fantasize of a reclusive life on a wooded hill top, but I know I want to be twenty minutes from an all night grocery and from a Starbuck's which will over charge me to feed my favorite addiction. These animals may feel the same. In this small accepting place they remain because they have nowhere else to go. The deer don't jump down the opossums' throats. The fox might eat a raccoon if he can (he's a fox.) but he does not complain of the raccoons' garbage collection or frog catching.

Even the more 'cultured' denizens seem accepting. There are a few, but only a few, delusional tom cats and terriers that are arrogant enough to try to prove their superiority over these ownerless creatures, who try to enforce their own behaviors on the others, but for the most part the wildlife is left alone by the pets and the people.

The only fly in the ointment is the dear. I don't feel that grazing animals should have epicurean ambitions, and they should leave my hostas alone. But I admit they are just doing what deer do, and when I plant a holly hedge (normal fences don't work.), they well accept it. We each must tend our garden (at least until it gets too hot.).

I thought these musing might be apropos events in the friendly, well lighted place within the box on my desk. Maybe.

Happy Spring to all (except the Aussies and Kiwis and other real southerners; Happy Autumn to you. But I think few of you have real seasons; sometimes I envy you that, but not for the next few weeks.)

Seek Joy;
Jan