“If you don’t want to burn out, stop living like you’re on fire.” ~ Unknown
I’m walking along the alley when I see them dog-eared above the fence. It’s not that banana trees don’t grow in Kentucky, it’s that they don’t naturally grow in Kentucky. And for the few hearty souls who transplant the poor things year after year, because one has to or they’ll up and die the first winter, it must be a labour of love. It would have to be to go through the routine year after year. But hey, it just goes to show ya that you can grow a banana tree this far north if you’re willing to do the work. Although, there’s a cold variety called a Musa Basjoo Banana Tree that can grow even further north than Kentucky. Maybe this is one of them. I’d love to know if it bears fruit.
“Scientists warn that constant fear and anger are bad for our health, while being compassionate and warm-hearted contributes to our physical and mental well-being. Therefore, just as we observe physical hygiene to stay well, we need to cultivate a kind of emotional hygiene too.” ~ Dalai Lama
I understand that, by 11 last night, South Lexington, where I live, had accumulated nearly two inches of rain with the heaviest to come. I drove through pouring rain all the way home from West Liberty. Wally and I immediately checked on Edgar. We found him soaked to the bone, slow, and shaking. I considered wrapping him in a towel and bringing him inside, but I figured Edgar’s plight was not uncommon in the wild. Sure, that much rain at once is a lot, but it’s not necessarily uncommon. Who am I to know better than Mother Nature? But I did want to help knowing that more rain was on the way. I found the top of a cat litter box with a doorway. I put it on his stick mound, then placed him inside. I was feeling very guilty for not doing it sooner because he was distressed. In fact, I can’t say that I’ve ever seen a bird that wet that was also alive. The forecast I’d heard before leaving for West Liberty did not call for a deluge, only scattered showers, and Edgar was in the yard practicing. I couldn’t interfere with that, and he would have just come out of the shelter anyway. But perhaps I was wrong to not bring him inside because he did not survive the night. Wally and I found him this morning right where I left him; still soaked to the bone. I was, I am, heartbroken. I buried him beside my sweet cat, Jack, under the pine tree where I first saw him, placing a stone riddled with coral fossils that look like crows feet as a monument atop his grave. I trust he’s now warm and flying. Godspeed, Edgar, and thank you for your magic.