View from the Cottage

Bringing the outdoors inside

June 7, 2018

Even though the temperature hovers in the upper nineties, I live with my French doors to the patio wide open. (With the air conditioner working, it stays comfortable for me, too hot for many; and no, I’m not breaking the budget. With my wall-mounted self-contained HVAC unit, cooling does not cost astronomically as it does with traditional unites.)

Sophie spent this morning running from one end of the yard to the other, happily and busily going about her primary job of keeping squirrels off the property. She leapt to the top of the driveway fence, ran back and forth to the rear of the yard, then momentarily collapsed on the ground, tongue lolling out of her mouth like a great red fly-catcher. Periodically she ran into the cottage to have a cool drink of water, and then she was back out.

I thought how wonderful it was she was having such a good time—until I looked at my hardwood floors. The sprinkler system went off early this morning, so the ground was muddy, and she brought mud and tree worms in by the bucketful. I had to sweep and mop, not chores on my usual list.

I love having the door open, not just for Sophie but because it feels like I’m bringing the outdoors inside. I can smell the honeysuckle that hides the ugly back hurricane fence, and the pecan tree seems to spread its sheltering boughs over my desk. The simple act of opening that glass door makes everything more immediate, as though I could reach out and touch the trees, flowers, ground cover.

From my bathroom window I can see the four chickens behind me. Never thought I was a chicken lover, but I am growing quite fond of them, and I admit I sometimes linger too long just watching them peck at the ground or huddle together on a crossbar. Who know that chickens were so group minded that they huddle in the hottest weather? And those good-sized birds like to perch on that tiny piece of wood.

The other day, Amy, my neighbor, opened the pen so they could have a bit of free ranging. Then she strode across the lawn—literally, a very purposeful, deliberate, and brisk pace, and the chickens, as though one unit, scurried along behind her. They know who feeds them. Two are gray, one a striking black and white, and the last a lovely gold.

Yesterday I happened to glimpse a different bit of nature. I saw something move across a branch in one of the trees that towers over the chicken pen. I decided it was a baby squirrel, but then it flopped, and a large head with two piercing eyes appeared behind it. Those two eyes stared directly at me (my imagination, I’m sure) until I broke the connection. I’m afraid a cat had killed a baby squirrel. When I went back minutes later, it was gone. But this morning I saw a tiny squirrel jumping in the branches of that tree, so I think there’s a family there.

And this afternoon I saw the predator again. I decided it was a large cat, a small bobcat, or an owl. Went back again and decided it’s a large cat. Gold in color. It may be the neighbors’ cat.

Nature seems so calm and safe but in truth it’s no more a peaceable kingdom than the world of man. Meantime, I’ve been enjoying the best of the citified world too, eating out three nights this week. Tonight, I had dinner with friends at the Sanford House in Arlington, a B&B, spa, events center, and restaurant. The main building looks like an elegant older home but is really 1990s construction. Inside though you’d swear you were back in the late 1800s. Wonderful menu, elegant surrounding, pleasant service—a truly special evening. I had crab cakes and white cheddar/jalopeno grits, plus a lovely chardonnay. I’m a happy camper.