Hacking Back
My Jungle, One Plant At A Time
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I walked around my coffee bush,
checking out the blossoms and emerging beans. Actually, although I lust after
it, the bush belongs to the neighboring property, now sitting empty. It doesn’t
sooth me that this towering bush is dead ahead in my line of vision when I sit
at my keyboard, looking out my window at my lilies and geraniums, my view
framed by the bougainvillea on my left and the grapefruit on my right, orange
trees in the distance.
About three weeks ago when branches loaded
with red beans began turning black, I got excited. What fun to roast coffee
beans in my oven. I turned to that mute coffee-bean expert, Google, and
discovered I needed green beans for that deep dark full flavor I desire. Roasting,
not nature, turns the beans the lovely dark black and brings out the flavor. And,
of course, there was not a green bean to be found. So I put my coffee bean
project on hold.
While in Mazatlan last week, I ate
breakfast at Looney Beans, my favorite coffee house at the Cerritos beach. My
delightful young server showed me a handful of the green coffee beans, ready
for the roaster. Now I know what size and color to pick.
While I don’t own the coffee bush, I have use of it for now
and plan to plant my own before the rains come. I suppose it would be unethical
when prospective buyers show up to talk to them about the infestation of
scorpions and rats, a veritable plague. Yeah, I thought so.
Meanwhile, in my own back yard, to
the consternation of Iggy, my personal iguana who lives in my drain pipe, every
day I prune back or take out a small portion of the jungle growth.
The couple who sold me my wee casita
wanted privacy. Hence, the jungle. I believe nothing was ever pruned in the
twenty-eight years they lived here. I felt like I was in jail. This Montana
girl needs open spaces.
I have twenty-to-thirty feet high night jasmine.
Bougainvillea the size of cottonwood trees. Birds of every description have
lovingly (or not) dropped seeds of amapa, also called primavera, a tree that
holds up the sky. I love the purple umbrella which amapa unfurls in the spring.
Several of these giants grow outside my brick wall perimeter. I’ve removed
dozens from the inside, young sprouts of every length; some required a saw.
With Leo’s strong-arm help, once we
removed the underbrush, dead branches from past years, unwanted trees, and a
plethora of weeds, a thousand lilies turned their heads to the sun. Tiny
flowers emerged, ready to take their place in the garden, no longer bullied
into cowering in the corners.
Ah, but revealing hidden beauty has
consequences. I’ve destroyed one habitat in order to create another.
You think I joke about scorpions. Were that only true! In the
last hour one scuttled across my kitchen floor, one challenged me on my
doorstep. Stomped them dead, I did. Grabbed the vile scorpion poison and
sprayed the perimeter.
Scorpions scare me. Scorpions, like
most things, come in several varieties. The one that stung me the first month I
lived in Mazatlan and sent me to the hospital was the size of my cupped hand
and coal black. In The dominant scorpion in Etzatlan is the size of a silver
dollar, yellow-green in color, and much less visible and more poisonous. Makes
me almost nostalgic for the black variety.
But I’m used to spotting danger.
Back on the ranch, I wasn’t the champion rattlesnake finder for nothing.
Lizards, did I mention lizards?
Green lizards, gray lizards, lizards yellowish with a red stripe, all of which
drag behind them a tail twice as long as their bodies. Two lizards scurry about
my geranium bed outside my window. A squirrel flitted through the flowers and
found the lizards of no consequence. I glanced across the yard at Iggy and he seemed
to yawn and wink. Well, that’s what it looked like to me.
Lizards and iguanas, while startling
and ugly, aren’t dangerous, at least as far as I know. Except for Iggy, they
are more afraid of me than I am of them.
Meanwhile, a bunny rabbit is climbing
a red-berried branch of “my” coffee bush. I don’t mind if the little thief is
harvesting the berries I can’t use but she better leave alone the white flowers
and tiny, tender green beans. I have plans!
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
April 21,
2016
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
No comments:
Post a Comment