January Garden Visit with TC

Heading out to the back yard for an armful of stove wood I noticed TC nearby looking exactly like the last time I saw her. No expression, no hint of any gossip or news; just “there”. I thought, with a little cartoon bubble over my head, “Is TC lonely, maybe a bit bored? Possibly a bit chilly in this 20-degree weather?” In my case, I take a few chunks of wood left over on the ground from Joe’s and my wood- cutting-and-stacking event of a few days ago, haul them inside and load a few pieces into our little cast iron stove in the kitchen, and life is cheery and warm.

What could TC’s life as year-round garden resident be like? After all, I had covered the soil with a three- inch blanket of pine needles, being sure to include an extra layer around the feet of TC, my constant garden monitor, as a way of saying thanks for all her good work during the growing season. Surely a kind, but useless, gesture on my part since TC, when all is said and done, is a Tin Chicken. That is to say, unlike her flesh and blood cousins, she is 100% sheet metal and paint.

Just then my cartoon-bubble daydreaming was rudely interrupted. “Lonely??? did I hear you say Lonely? bored?!!”. “You actually think nothing is going on out here with the winter solstice in the rear-view mirror??!! And you’re actually feeling sorry for me?

“Well, er, I just thought you might be feeling a bit neglected or chilly”.

“You would! “she laughed with a tone somewhere between disgust and impatience. “Just shows the limited range of the warm-blooded thought process; nothing you can do about it”.  “Honestly, it’s just very tiresome to have to put up with this kind of thinking, like, all the time”. “And sadly, there’s nothing I can do about it either”.

“Now look here, TC, just what, exactly, is going on out here that I’m missing out on? And, by the way, I hoped you might have noticed the blanket of pine needles I spread over the garden, and, and, included a few extra inches around the base of your feet. Yes??”

“OMG!! Maaaan, give me strength!” TC does a well-practiced act of Tin-Chicken-rolling-her-eyes. “Well, yes, I admit,” she continues, “I did notice, and might as well say a proper thanks right here and now. But you’re thinking that I, as in me, moi, was the beneficiary?”

“Well, sort of…”

“Okay, Pleeeeze pull up that log over there and sit for a few while I give you my basic Les Jardin, 101, lecture.” Muttering to herself, I heard, “Good god, will these creatures ever get beyond the freshman class?

“ So, wha…….?” TC snapped back in before I could finish my thought.

“Just sit and shut up for a minute. Let’s get one thing settled first. About the blanket of pine needles; it’s not for me that I’m saying thanks. My range of tolerance is far greater than yours. Cold or hot, rain or snow, I’m fine out here. It’s what’s in the soil around my feet that matter. With my feet planted in the ground, I can detect what is going on. You think the blanket is like putting the garden to bed for a long winter’s nap, yes? And, rightly so, I’ll have to admit, but the winter is a time for renewal as well as rest. The blanket of mulch keeps weather extremes from hindering all the work going on under my feet. And you want to see all the activity!”

TC continues, “The earthworms, for example, are anything but idle. They move through the soil digesting bits of organic matter and leaving behind the richest sort of castings which is essential to new growth come planting season. And also, there are all kinds of grubs and micro-organisms storing up energy just getting ready for spring.” She continues without any need to take a human-ish breath. “All of this activity aerates the soil and makes it possible for moisture to remain in the ground and not run off from the top.”

“Ok, Professor, so what else is new, and what about the world above ground?”

“It’s anything but tedious out here. First, there’s you and Joe working on the woodpile, carrying on as though I didn’t exist. Throwing your cut logs around with no concern for me…nearly crowned me with a big piece of oak coming off the end of your sawbuck.”

“And then there was the hawk!” She exclaimed as though she could move her head up toward the sky; which she can’t. “Just beautiful, that guy. Made me proud of the race, he did”. “Sat there in the Lilac bush - didn‘t move a muscle, eye keen and clear… till that nasty old jay came into view flopping around thinking he could grab a few grubs away from those sparrows.” TC was re-living the moment like it was happening as she spoke.  “Jay flew past, Hawk took to the air, came down from above, pulled jay to the ground right there in from of me. Few minutes later hawk gone and there was nothing but a pile of feathers left to see.”  “Quite a show!”

“Other than these few items,” I sensed she realized that I’m the one who was feeling a bit chilly, “it actually can be quiet out here…

and I like it that way”