�ݬ� �� A Country Mile

June 10, 1996

�ݬ� �� By Jean Hughes

��This morning, is was a dove who called before light came to reveal, again, the colorful beauty that waits in the

darkness. It is the mating season for the doves and the males who roost in the big pine tree in my neighbor's yard are

spending a lot of time trying to persuade the females that they would make fine fathers. They all come to eat under my

feeders, enjoying the fallen bits of�� seeds that the smaller birds drop.

��For the present, the fox squirrel has been stymied. It ate through one of the wires that holds up the house-shaped feeder,

and it hangs precariously, but the squirrel cannot get to it and, at least, the birds can feed at one end. I have hopes for

the plastic cover I plan to get for the feeder post, but I was told, yesterday, that sometimes the squirrels chew them down.

I'll let you know when I get mine.

��I was also told that squirrels will drop from the trees above to get to seeds, but, so far, those that come to my back yard

have not accomplished that feat.

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��Last night, we planted the vegetable garden. I almost feel that the rabbits already know and are patiently waiting to

have a feast.��

��I am planting marigolds all around the garden's edges, for they seem to keep away some pests and they are beautiful.

I am also going to put moth balls around the garden's perimeter, for the neighborhood cats present a problem and moth

balls are supposed to keep them away.

��This is my first time to have a problem with cats in the garden. When we first moved to the farm, 30 years ago, there

was one cat in the barn. We soon had 11 cats. We found homes for all of them and did not keep a cat, because they chase

birds. We had a screech owl and black snakes who kept our barn free of mice, winter and summer.

��This afternoon, I walk on a trail beside the Wabash River. Many of the bushes are in bloom. White and pink flowers

peak-out from everywhere. Stars of Bethlehem and fleabane daises abound. Soon the multi-flora blossoms will blow in

the breeze.

��Gritting my teeth, I walk onto a suspension bridge that hangs across the river. It is an ideal place to see the birds, but

I usually cannot stand in such a place and look through my binoculars, because I have an equilibrium problem.��

��However, this bridge is sturdy and its sides are covered with heavy wire fencing. I am always grateful to those who

put up sturdy hanging bridges and guard rails for those of us who are not comfortable under what others consider normal

circumstances.��

��I have been told, all my life, that I could conquer this " fear." But after 70 years of trying, I am resigned to it and accept

it as a minor handicap.

��The river is high and fast flowing. Above the water, rough-winged swallows dip and dive, catching gnats and bugs.

Cedar waxwings travel from one side of the river to the other, stopping to land and flash their yellow tail feathers after

each trip. I can hear a chipping sparrow and the pounding of woodpeckers. There is a clear bird song that I will have to

listen for on my recordings, as I cannot identify it, but I do get to enjoy its melody.

��It is fun to identify birds and plants, but if I cannot, I put them into the category of a woman who lived in the southern

hills. I call them "pretties" and enjoy them anyway.

�ݬ� �� * * *

��This last week of spring, I go to find the niches of natural beauty that abound. It is never easy to say good-bye to life's

sweet beginnings and to realize that in about 50 days, we will be over the crest of summer and headed toward fall.��

��Think of what nature has to accomplish in that time. How fortunate we are to have a creator who has worked it all out

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