It's Memorial Day weekend, so I suppose it's strange to still think of this as spring, but it's an absolutely beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky, no humidity, and a healthy breeze. I'm typing this on the back porch, listening to the sounds of the birds, occasionally punctuated by the roar of a motorcycle or a truck from the road.
Usually the rustling in the undergrowth beneath the pine trees that separates us from our neighbors to the side is a bird foraging for snacks, but right now I'm also looking at the fluffy little butt of a rabbit, one of two who earlier today inexplicably chased each other up from the pond, around the yard, and under the deck - kind of a bold move in full sunlight with hawks about. These both appear to be full-size rabbits, but last year our yard was occupied by one adult and one small rabbit I called Baby Bun, whose demise I sadly witnessed later in the summer. The one I'm watching now just seems to be hanging out in there - napping, possibly.
Without a real garden to defend (we have just three pots on the deck this year, two basil varieties and an oregano, classic Italian), the rabbits and other local fauna, like the under-shed groundhog, are mostly welcome. The chipmunks are still assholes. I picked up a downspout extender to empty it of any sitting water this morning and - to my surprise - ejected an equally surprised member of Rodentia! Even though I closed their "subway stop" in the middle of the driveway when we had it resealed, I still periodically consider annihilating them.
But nay, there is only one creature for whom I reserve my truly murderous rage, and that is the Canada goose. In February of this year, when we had a weirdly warm period and the ground had softened, I built The Fence: more than 650 feet of 3-foot poultry fencing, supported by posts hammered into the ground by yours truly. I even sucked it up and made first contact with our neighbors behind, who we call Todd and Margo, to get permission for the tiny sliver of the pond they own on the far side. In March, the first "scouts" began arriving periodically. I chased them off with my laser, but it seemed like some of them had "noticed" the fencing, and I hoped they'd be deterred.
Now, fences mean nothing to an adult goose, but to a flightless gosling they're an impenetrable barrier. Without the ability to jump into the water for safety, they'd be easy prey come nightfall. In early May, I saw a family of geese with four goslings over at the lake on Snake Hill Road, less than a mile from us as the crow flies. There's not a huge amount of grass there, and I had a suspicion that these were "our" geese, who had always shown up with goslings. I was right. At the beginning of May, I came home one day to find them hanging out by the shallow end as if they owned the joint. I might have lost it a little - I chased them into the street with a rake, and held them at bay while a line of cars formed in both directions. Someone in a car asked me "oh, why don't you like them?" which is basically a line designed to raise my blood pressure. One pound of shit per day, per bird is the answer! Last year we had 11, in two families! Gahhh.
Chasing them into the road, as satisfying as it was in the short term, was ultimately not going to accomplish anything. They came over the ridge behind Todd and Margo's house, and that was the direction I ultimately was able to harass them into going later that day. Just from a few hours of their presence, though, there was poop everywhere. Now, I could have done nothing, and waited to see if the fence did its trick overnight, but I just really can't deal with their presence here, full stop. The amount of psychic damage the sight of a Canada goose does to me is just unreal. So when they came back - because of course they did - I called Geese Relief, a company that uses border collies for geese control in parks and golf courses. Someone from the company lives in our neighborhood. I met Kate, and her dog Flyer, and learned that his services came at the rate of $50 per visit. Steep, but can you put a price on your sanity?
Kate has only been here a half-dozen times, but it's always been...an experience. Canada geese are loud, which means the entire fucking neighborhood - including all the do-gooder looky-loos who just wuv the widdle baby gooses - is aware that something is going down at our pond. Twice, one of the adults (I choose to believe it's the male) has abandoned his family at the threat of Flyer and sailed himself to safety in the pond, only to spend the next hour like the metronome from hell: "HONK...HONK...HONK..." Eventually he leaves, once he figures out the others are gone and not coming back, but the first time this happened, I saw a car drive slowly down the hill in front of our property...turn into Joe's driveway and turn around...and drive slowly back up the hill. I knew exactly what this was, so I move up to the road, and sure enough, this middle-aged woman has parked her car and is peering through the brush at the pond. "Is everything alright? Is she taking the babies?" I was not as diplomatic as I could have been, but I was very clear that this is a professional (whose branded vehicle was in my driveway), and that the geese are merely being made to feel unsafe. Ughhhh.
The downside of the "exit" back toward their original lake being on Todd and Margo's property was that I needed to get their permission for Flyer and Kate to cross onto it. So I did that, armed with a bottle of wine as an apology, and got permission from Todd. Except, a few days later, when Kate (who drives by our property regularly since she lives nearby) let me know they were back, she was promptly informed by Margo that she can't go on their property. Really annoying, and I'd like my damned bottle of wine back, Todd.
Anyway, our most recent encounter revealed that their goslings now numbered only two (huzzah). Kate and Flyer drove off one adult and gosling and the male took to the pond again. This left one gosling outside the fencing and unable to get in, running at it headlong and falling over. The male wouldn't come out of the safety of the pond, but sat there honking at us, as Flyer menaced the gosling, trying to get it to run away. Now, thank God this happened on a Wednesday around lunchtime, with fewer neighborhood busybodies, because this was right by the road, and Flyer - who is still in training - was a little rough with the gosling. At one point Kate said she thought it might be dead, so I ran for the garage, returning with a contractor bag and gloves, fully ready to conceal the evidence of what is - technically - a federal crime in my front yard.
But it wasn't dead. In fact, in a shocking turn of events, the gosling began to attack the dog. We're talking about a two-pound ball of gray fluff, wings spread and hissing, squaring up on a border collie. It bit the dog on the nose and Kate screamed - because guess what? Goslings are never aggressive. She had no idea what was going on. It kept going for Flyer - all while its parent is honking up a storm! - and I got to the point where I suggested to Kate that if she could herd it down the "alley," which is shielded from street view, maybe we could just let Flyer finish it off, since he had already taken a small nip out of its breast at some point in the tussle. Not super proud of this, but I honestly didn't know how this was going to end! Kate was mad about her dog, and madder still when it attacked again in the alley- she tripped over the poultry fence in protecting Flyer. I had a rock from the edge of the pond, and if I had better aim...well. I thought about it but didn't do it, and Kate wasn't going to have Flyer contradict his training. Ultimately, Kate and Flyer chased the gosling around the pond, and it headed over the ridge on its own. The male stuck around honking for 45 minutes and then left.
This story has two codas. The first was around 5:30 that evening. I was relating this story to Joe, when we heard the awful honking and saw two geese circling overhead. I hoped - I prayed! But no, they landed in the pond. We suspect these were two of the six geese that our neighborhood hippie Justine is feeding down the road. Back I go to call Kate, she's there in five minutes, and 15 minutes later the geese decide they do not like it here and leave. Before she arrived I was yelling at them "you assholes are costing me $50!!"
This "$100-dollar-day" was on Wednesday of this week. We haven't seen any geese since, but I passed the lake yesterday and confirmed that they're there...and down to just one gosling. The vicious one that toddled off on its own got its just rewards. Now, these geese are around for another 6 weeks or so, so every victory is a "battle-and-not-the-war" situation. And it's not cheap, either. But every time I walk around my property without needing to stare at the ground to avoid shit, it's worth it. So fucking worth it. (But oh, if we just lived somewhere without so many adoring eyes on the geese...I would kill those fuckers and save myself the money).
And now for some happier content! Sara said to me last year, when I musing about not having any rue "hobbies," that it seemed like taking care of our property is a hobby and honestly it kind of is. This property requires so much work, lots of it of a kind of work I was definitely not anticipating when I thought vaguely about "owning a home," but the payoff is also awesome.
Even though the necessary consequence of having a pond is battling the geese, I love that fucking pond. I love watching the goldfish in the pond (there are dozens and dozens), I love seeing the turtles (who are very shy, and plop into the water if you get anywhere close), I love the seeing the herons show up for a meal (blue heron in the early morning, the little green heron in the afternoon). Like an idiot, I kind of love getting into my hip waders and removing unwelcome muck and aqueous plants from the shallow end.
I love sitting the chairs facing toward the pond in the afternoon, watching the reeds swaying, with the red-winged blackbirds bouncing around on them.
I love the "wild" back end of the pond. The first year we lived here, I didn't have a push mower and this area was too steep for the tractor, so I had to let it go wild. Last year I uncovered it, and discovered yellow daffodils and, blooming now, yellow irises, which must have been planted by Don and Betty, the original owners. There are more yellow flowers on the opposite back edge, at the end of the "alley," but that's been completely taken over by various invasive species.
Last year I decided to to make the area around the remains of a tree stump sort of a little mini-garden, letting whatever was growing there go wild, including the bull thistles that I painstakingly dug out of the lawn elsewhere. They wind up growing to four feet in height, with lovely purple flowers, and the bees adored them! Unfortunately I didn't know that letting them go to see was the worst thing I could have possibly done, haha. All of the downward slope and the flat area between the "island" and the pond? All thistle, all the time. Going down there to take these photos while wearing flip-flops was likely playing "the floor is lava," except instead of lava, it's spikes. The only move now is to keep it under control by mowing it - and this year, prevent the ones on the "island" from going to seed.
This slope along the side of the pond has milkweeds coming up again! Last year I only got a single monarch, but I still hold out hope. Plus, not mowing this saves me the hassle of the push mower on the grade.
I also love watching things grow, especially after the effort of spreading new mulch, plucking out weeds and grubs, etc. Our bearded irises popped yesterday, and I harvested the first peonies from our "peony corner today." Our grow in a variety of white-to-pink colors, but I think the white ones with the pink inside are the ones that smell the absolute best.
Generally my policy has been to steward what's already here, rather than adding new stuff, but in the case of our rock wall, last summer I dug out the hostas that had been buried along the long side, where they were not only getting full sun, which they hate, but were literally getting "cooked" by the warmth of the rocks. Even the ones you can still see here will be miserable-looking by midsummer, while the ones on the shadier side of the house will still be full and pretty. I transplanted three of them under the laurel tree in the front, and they're doing well, but the roots of these bastards are deep. I replaced them with these purple salvias. Originally I was going for lavender, but a guy at Van Wilgen's advised us that these are a bit easier to grow. Frankly, I doubt my abilities for new plants, and the salvia was half the price - sold!
Of course part of ye olde land management means keeping an eye on what I need to control (mugwort, Tree of Heaven) or eradicate (poison ivy). I realized that the alley was being overrun with poison ivy, which Sean is really allergic to, and it was also on the opposite side of the property underneath the pines in the front year. So, yesterday morning, I put on a disposable Tyvek suit and gloves and ripped out an entire contractor's bag full! Cleaning my boots and tools with mineral spirits, rubbing alcohol, and soapy water has - I think - done the trick, and I haven't had any reactions so far, but I'm going to use nitrile gloves to drag the bag to the curb for trash this week just in case.
So yes: the house and the land and the pond are my hobby, and this is the season when that hobby is the most rewarding. When I was visiting Sara and Zach last weekend, they shared a party-game question they'd asked other friends: if you had fuck-you money and could only own two houses anywhere in the world, where would they be? My immediate answer was that I would keep our house (adding one in Italy of course), and use the fuck-you money to do all the things. I'd buy out Todd and Margo and put an impenetrable goose fence up on that ridge. I'd hire the most eco-friendly landscapers and landscape designers to remove all of the invasives and non-natives and replace them with natives (and keep up on the management, naturally). I'd trench the electrical to the pond and put in a bomb-ass fountain. Or maybe do the solar panels. Or maybe both? I'd have fuck-you money! Obviously there's things we would do to the actual house, too, like expand the kitchen so Sean could have an actual island...but mostly I dream of what I'd do to the property, haha.
I love it here.
