On The Porch (To Sit or Not to Sit)…

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The last part of September and first week of October, I worked hard to get things done around Sugarberry Slope to prepare for a period of recuperation from my upcoming heart procedure. The condition of my mitral heart valve had gotten worse and the decline accelerated as the hospitalization date got closer. Trips from the beehives required two or three stops to catch my breath, one stop between the house and the chicken coop, and the breaks required to get up the Slope to my garden depended on how hard the wind was blowing. I kept thinking, October 14 better get here quickly or I may not make it. The exhaustion was overwhelming, the pressure on my chest was painful as my poor little heart beat harder and harder to keep up with my oxygen requirement.

One particularly hot Saturday afternoon, I was forced back into the house to cool down. It wasn’t too long before I heard the cardinals making a racket and realized they were letting me know the feeder was bare. I went out the front door to subsidize their food source and the timing could not have been more perfect. I had been so busy getting my chores done that I had almost let the most important autumn event in nature pass by without notice; the Monarch southern migration. I gasped at the thousands of Monarch butterflies dancing in my field of cowpen daisies (verbesina encelioides). While most people think of these yellow wildflowers as just weeds, it seems they have made the Slope a waystation for the celebrated royal beauties to rest and fuel up as they make their way to Mexico. I had no choice but to pour a glass of iced tea and sit for a while.

With the sun behind the house, it was cool on the porch. Although I had not sat out there since late spring, I felt a tiny twinge of guilt that, instead of hacking away at my endless chore list, I was doing nothing. I pushed the thought aside. We paid extra for this lovely porch, I thought. What a waste not to use it for its intended purpose. I didn’t insist on the porch to improve the curbside appeal (we have no curbside), I had envisioned a place to relax and observe God’s beautiful work.

“Y’all wait right here,” I said to the Monarchs, and went inside to refill my glass and get my good camera.

Through my zoom lens, I could see not only the flashy Monarchs, but also the intricately patterned Gulf Fritillaries, the butter-colored Cloudless Sulphurs, and the muted earth-toned Common Buckeye. Once in a while a variety of Swallowtail drifted by. Skippers of every color and size bounced so quickly from stem to stem that my shutter speed could not capture them. Like me, the largely unnoticed tiny critical pollinators are more concerned with getting their chores done than to enjoy the view. Alongside the native bumbles, cellophanes, longhorns and masked bees, our honeybees collected their winter stores. Meadowlarks balanced on the long stems and finches dove in from the trees above, plucking seeds or an unlucky bug from the ground.

As busy as it was in there, I can’t remember the last time I had felt so relaxed. I needed this break, I admitted to myself. In fact, I needed it so much that the next day my camera and I were out there again. The following weekend, when the afternoon heat made it too uncomfortable to dig my sweet potatoes, I was out there again. I could get used to this, I thought.

Now, here I am, five days post surgery. The Monarchs have all gone, probably relaxing on giant hibiscus blooms with tiny umbrella’d drinks. The night time temperatures are dropping and the days are sunny and warm but not hot. I feel great. I spent yesterday morning planting peony roots, spreading wildflower seeds and picking sun-ripened cherry tomatoes. I planted two tiny evergreen trees. My doctor’s orders were to take it easy; no running, no climbing, no lifting anything over 10 pounds. I’ve adhered to that protocol (mostly), although Charles would argue that walking the Slope would qualify as climbing and dragging the water hose is probably breaking the 10 pound rule. But I feel great. I still get a little winded, but it only takes a few seconds’ break to recover and I don’t feel like I’m going to faint or die. It is not a hopeless kind of winded. It gets better every day.

This morning, I realized I was dancing while brushing my teeth with the Bacon Brother’s “So-Cal Smooth” playing in my head.

The good news is, although I had anticipated only being able enough to sit on the porch and not much else for the next week to ten days, that is not the case at all.

Or is that the bad news?

Dilemma.