Many colors, shifting scenes in a winter orchard
In the middle of the quiet morning the birds have finished pulling breakfast out of the dark soil; feasting on the smooth elastic protein packs we know as earthworms. The earth itself looks remarkably edible, like chocolate cake mix just out of the oven. Leafless branches stand stark against a moving gray sky, and shafts of sunlight fall on bright clover between long shadows. My trees have begun their annual adolescence; there are buds on the naked branches all around. What were tiny nubs a week ago are now popcorn kernels. Soon it will be a full fairyland of white here in my little almond orchard.
We have 1,100 almond trees plus a couple dozen kinds of fruit trees that bloom and bear in succession throughout the year. There is a rushing creek in the backyard, and a big red barn at the end of the drive.
Along with songbirds there are larger birds and animals that make the orchard home. I saw the grey fox again yesterday. His ghostly silver face and body aren’t even as big as my tabby cat. Grey foxes are also known as tree foxes, because they will climb trees with their long nails to eat fruit (your fun fox fact for the day). This time of year the fox is hunting gophers, ground squirrels and moles, like his neighbor the red-shouldered hawk and her mate. We know the hawk couple because a few years ago the female was hopping through the orchard with an injured right wing. We followed her, tossed a blanket over her and got her safely in a box to Bidwell Wildlife, who rehabbed her. Every day, her mate circled the skies keening searching cries until she returned. They mate for life. I have also seen and photographed a big blue heron, still as death, staring at a gopher hole for options.
At this moment the only critters in my sight are Clover, my 14-year-old red and white border collie mix, and our two rowdy 11-month-old yellow labs. The labs are zigzagging and body slamming each other through the trees and into the creek. Clover is trotting along on her daily Sniffari, checking that everything is in order, and she corrects the labs if they cannonball too close. They weigh twice as much as she does, but though she’s slower in her golden years she is definitely still the Boss.
Everything looks pretty dead right now on this February farm, but the tiny power packs inside the trees and plants and animals are stirring. I have been hearing that weird “chirrup” raccoons make in the wee hours as they flirt down by the creek. We just got our beehives placed strategically for the bloom. What was dead will live, and what is alive will someday dwindle whether we admit it or not. Collie Clover still looks around for her pal Honey — a brindle lab foundling who came into our lives a few years back. We tried hard to find her owners but to no avail. Seems somebody dumped the gentle dog in the McIntosh orchards. She was a really great, funny girl but we had to help her cross the rainbow bridge a year ago after her health issues became insurmountable. Seasons and dogs come and go. Every time we love, we sign up for heartache, yes? Especially with the doggos, since chances are they will go before we do. And is it worth it? You tell me.
On that cheery note, if you have become inclined to go shopping for an agricultural dream of your own, please know that as I write this my pants are soaked and I am completely dirty. Our beekeeper tripped over the barn spigot with his size 14 boot, breaking a pipe and unleashing a flood. We slopped around in a 60-foot pool of mud and finally got it fixed. The yellow labs are now brown. The fox is still grey, the heron blue, and the hawk’s shoulders are red. All is right in this world, and it may still be early enough for me to leave my wet clothes outside and head back to bed.