Swan Sanctuary

It is still late March – almost April – and we are still caught in the throes of winter here. I am chomping at the bit to break free from confining walls and stuffy, indoor air. My thoughts turn automatically to the garden. I strain my ears to hear the birds as they busy themselves with building nests, to bring forth their young. I dream of beautiful flowers and the insects that help to pollinate them. I long for the soothing sounds of bumblebees, which technically should not be able to fly, yet glide gracefully from flower to flower. I want to smell the petrichor rising up from the soil and feel my fingers plunging into fertile earth that has been warmed by the sun.

Our planet is running out of potable water. Our aquifers are drying up and parts of the world are experiencing drought. Gardeners understand the importance of water for growing healthy produce and beautiful flowers. The use of rain barrels, to capture rainwater during heavy rains, has long been in use; but the problem is that once the barrels are filled, no more water can be saved. Rainwater harvesting takes the idea of saving water into the garden itself. By connecting hoses to roof downspouts so that they can flow into rain barrels, and from there into soaker hoses, water is distributed slowly and spread out to where it is needed. Directing water flow through the use of berms, swales, and rain gardens, will also help to replenish underground reservoirs to preserve precious water. I am certain that every property, building, and home can be structured in a way to prevent water from being lost forever in storm drains and sewers. By keeping the water that Nature provides us, where it is needed, we eliminate the wasteful practice of overhead watering and the costly installation and maintenance of sprinkling systems.

In Question Everything, I talked about the importance of protecting our water, our air, our soil, and our sunlight – those things that are essential to life itself. It is high time that we stop taking these things for granted. Quite simply, our planet is drying up. We can begin now, to conserve. We can replace lawns with drought tolerant ground covers and native plants. We can grow food. We can plant trees to help anchor the soil, preventing erosion and the loss of topsoil in the drying winds. We can harvest the rain dripping off of our roofs. We can each do our part to care for our planet.

I can see by the calendar that time is marching forward. Here in Wyoming; however, we seem to be trapped in eternal winter. Nighttime temperatures have not climbed above freezing for months; and daytime temperatures have rarely exceeded more than ten degrees above. I am quite certain that autumn skipped us entirely, as I never had a chance to rake the few leaves we had, for adding to my compost pile throughout the winter months. In fact, I have not been able to turn the compost because it is completely frozen.

You may think, for frustrated gardeners like myself, why not just make a greenhouse? Certainly, a greenhouse has aided many gardeners who live even further north of here; but when I tell you that the weather here is brutal and inhospitable, it is no exaggeration. The winds that range between 25 MPH and over 50 MPH, on an almost continual basis, prevent one from doing even the simplest gardening tasks. Even going for a walk is far from enjoyable when you factor in the wind chill.

I would like to believe that having a greenhouse would solve my gardening dilemmas; but the wind would flatten it to the ground in no time at all. What is a gardener to do? I gaze out my window, watching the birds attempting to hang onto the birdfeeders that are hanging nearly horizontally in the wind. They are obviously struggling and I know they are grateful for the unfrozen water that I provide for them. There are very few trees here. Many of those that have managed to survive are bent over; and many that are still standing have suffered severe damage. If the weather alone is not challenging enough for them, the profuse use of herbicides and pesticides deals them still more to contend with. The drying winter winds and injury from string trimmers leaves them vulnerable to disease and insect infestations. While I lament my own frustrations, I am filled with compassion for the trees, in this land that has been seemingly forsaken. The resident flora have no choice but to endure stress on a daily basis. I, at least, have the option to leave, and never ever return.

My family, on my paternal grandmother’s side, immigrated from Wales. I learned last year, from DNA testing, that I am 95% English. (Wales became part of Great Britain in 1707, and in 1801 it was incorporated into Ireland and Great Britain.) I have always been drawn to everything English, so learning about my ancestry helped me to understand why. When I recently came across the word “hiraeth,” it gave meaning to a feeling that has haunted me for my entire life.

Hiraeth is an ancient Welsh word that describes a longing for home. It is a kind of yearning, imbued with nostalgia, or a feeling of homesickness. For me, it is a heavy heart, weighed down with melancholy and a desire to return home.

Where is home? I have owned my own homes in Colorado and also in Virginia. I have rented homes. I have always had a natural ability to bring forth a “homey” feeling into every place that I have lived. Each house; however, was lacking some intangible something. There has been within me, a vague loneliness that I could not put into words, even when I was married. This longing for something that I cannot quite convey, accompanies me to every new place that shelters me.

I often think of Earth as my home, for indeed, it is home to all of us. And yet, I have never felt that it is truly my home. I suspect I may have come from somewhere else – perhaps the Pleiades – which is why even as a child, I never felt like I belonged here. At other times, I have felt that this hiraeth that surrounds me is actually a longing to return to my Source. I believe that as long as I occupy this physical body, I will continue to be haunted by hiraeth. Perhaps, in being born into this physical existence, we must separate from our creator. It is only when we establish that spiritual connection with it that we can ease the pain of separation. Most try to fill the void of that separation through relationship, through finding true love or a “soul mate;” but it is only in deepening that relationship with our higher self that we can truly go home – to that place from which we came.

There seems to be many people leaving the planet in recent years. It began with the pandemic. There have been suicides, murders, drug overdoses, and natural disasters. People that are my own age are dying now. We were the baby boomers, the ones who perpetuated what is now a seriously overloaded planet. The last world war ended technically, in 1945; but not formally, until the peace treaty with Japan was signed in 1952 – the same year in which I was born. War, it seems, had kept our population in check up until that time.

The current human population is 8 billion. This number is not sustainable. Human beings have made many advancements in the last century; but we have deluded ourselves into believing that we are in control. We have exploited other species that we share the planet with. We continue to eradicate many others – those that we feel do not have a right to be here. We “cull” them, confine them, imprison them, and “domesticate” them to suit our own needs. We have even “created” new species to satisfy our whims – domesticated animals that breed even more prolifically than we ourselves do.

There is much talk these days about slowing down global warming as though this too, is all up to us. Clearly, we need to be talking – and doing all that we can about this growing problem; but if we succeed, will we pat ourselves on the back as though we have saved the day? Will we continue to erroneously believe that we are superior to our fellow species? Mother Nature has maintained balance on this planet since it came into being – long before human beings arrived on the scene. Every plant, animal, and fungi has been designed to serve and to sustain one another in symbiosis. Humans have drastically upset the balance that once existed. We need to heed what Emerson advised: to “take our bloated nothingness out of the way…” It is only then that we can hear what is being communicated through the Divine Circuits, from Nature herself. Whether it is our individual egos, or our collective ego, we must concede to Nature’s ultimate power, for it is she who will decide in the end, if we are worthy to remain here.

I await springtime with the same fervor that a child waits for Christmas morning. Turn me loose in a garden center and I am like a kid in a candy store. Give me the opportunity to talk about swans and I light up like a Christmas tree. I used to think gardening was my passion. I moved to the country in early 2000 so that I could garden and write – and have swans. When I was led to the swans at Airlie, in Virginia, they took precedence over my gardening. Working with the swans; however, opened up an even larger world for me, where I learned about other species, their habitats (and the disappearance of those habitats) and climate change. This elevated my gardening to a new level – one in which gardening for wildlife became my primary focus. My love for gardening had led me to swans – and the swans led me back to gardening. Both gave me a whole new perspective for my writing. From there, I was guided to permaculture, which I am just as passionate about. My passions have grown, merged, and expanded to encompass this entire planet.

It is the time of year when young swans, of about four years of age, are pairing up to nest for the first time; and older, seasoned couples begin to refurbish their nests from the previous year, to prepare for raising another brood of cygnets. Their mating calls fill the air, joined by that of other species preparing to reproduce as well. This is an exciting time of year. Soon, I will be privy to migrating bird species dropping in at my bird feeders to refuel, on their way to their breeding grounds. Occasionally, I can look up into the sky to see and hear flocks of birds on migration. This is the anticipation of spring. This can also be a busy time of starting seeds indoors and waiting anxiously for them to germinate.

It has been a long, cold, and relentless winter which shows no signs of moving out of the way of spring. But, as a gardener and a lover of wildlife, the anticipation is in my DNA. I have not only the hopes, but the knowing, that spring will come.