The Dragon's Head

 

One of my favorite books from years ago was The Hero and the Crown, by Robin McKinley. The plot of the book involves a quest by a young female misfit, who had to save her father’s kingdom by retrieving the lost crown.  By the time she returned from her adventures with the crown, her father’s army was losing the battle with the evil enemy.  She delivers the crown to her childhood friend and her father’s chosen heir in the nick of time, but not soon enough to save her father from his mortal wounds.

The scene that follows involves discovering why the kingdom’s fortunes had gone so wrong in her absence.  Why the mysterious miasma that permeated the kingdom and caused the hopelessness?  They trace the tendrils of darkness to a storage room in the castle, where the head of Maur, the defeated evil dragon, had been stored.  Even in defeat, the evil dragon had continued to infect the kingdom and its people with an aura of dark hopelessness. 

This was, of course, a fantasy book.  There are no dragons, at least in our world.  Not flesh and blood dragons.  But I think we all sense a fog of darkness over our world today.  Our modern dragons are more subtle and speak to us with deceptive voices.  “See that guy over there,” they say.  “He’s different.  He’s trying to take your stuff.”  Or, “She doesn’t believe like you do.”  As if practicing her belief somehow diminishes your belief.  “Those people,” they say, “are poor.  It’s their own fault.  They are coming to take what’s yours.  They don’t deserve what you have.”  Their voices are loud.  “Your rights are more important than their rights – it’s all someone’s else’s fault.”  And maybe even more insidious, “The end justifies the means.”

In the story, the hero and heroine roll Maur’s head out of the castle and down the road away from the castle gate, where it explodes into a fireball and changes the landscape into a vast desert.  Getting rid of our dragon head is not so easy.

Who will track down the source of the fog of fear and anger and hopelessness that infects so many of us today?  And how will they remove it?  A few brave souls try to shine their light brightly enough to overcome the darkness.  Musicians still write and sing songs, artists still paint, writers still write stories of hope and healing.  And some people just forge doggedly ahead, feeding the hungry, visiting the lonely, growing a garden, volunteering in the community, teaching the children - despite the forces that seem determined to undermine every source of light.

We don’t have a magical crown or a supernatural hero to rescue us.  All we can do is strike our small sparks of light and take a step or two forward into the darkness.  The flame may sputter, but we can cup a hand around it to protect it from the winds of hate and fear and greed. We have to remember that light will always be stronger than darkness.  We have to believe that love will always win.

 

Scout's Redemption

 

Not that he really needs it, but Scout has been busy lately redeeming himself.  For all his mischief and misconduct, his personality shines, especially when children are around.  Both he and Sophie love kids.  Sophie is very maternal and gentle, even with the smallest ones. 

Scout is a little more rambunctious, much to the delight of my young cousins, who are just the right age to enjoy his favorite games and to tolerate tumbles and dog kisses.

Their grandmother and I had a ring-side seat from the porch for the Olympics of Children and Dogs for several days this week.  The main event was tug-o-war.  The equipment was simple – a remnant of an old braided rug Scout had demolished last week.  The rope-like piece looked for all the world like a snake and had already given me several scares lying on the front porch, or in the grass in front of the porch.  It’s sort of a brownish/goldish color, just about the color of a rattlesnake and just about that size.  Just yesterday it almost gave a visiting friend a heart attack.  But it makes a grand toy for the dogs and their children.

Between rounds of games, both Sophie and Scout spent time begging to share the kids’ oreos, which are off limits because chocolate is bad for dogs.  The dogs believe that to be fake news, made up by their enemies.  I distracted them with their own treats, which are kept in a cabinet by the swing.  The kids think it’s funny that they know where the treat jar is and that they have to sit to be rewarded with a crunchy treat.  The funniest part is when I return the jar to the cabinet and say, “All gone.”  Both dogs know perfectly well that the treats are not all gone and both of them stare fixedly at the door then back at me.  I give Scout just about another week before he figures out he can open the door and get the treat jar out.  He’s been inspecting the handle carefully.  And he has great deductive reasoning skills.  I think he would make a great detective.

Scout has also taken on morning pasture patrol, even if the other dogs are otherwise occupied.  He has found the pond, with its muddy edges, and comes back with stinky mud halfway up his pretty white legs.  And so far (everyone knock on wood) he has not dug up anything in the garden.  During the hot part of the day, he and Sophie take up residence inside the house and only leave if an interesting car, truck or 4-wheeler appears.  Scout has just recently realized that he can bark.  Up to now, he has left that to Sophie, who is an expert.  She is especially good at barking at my bedroom window in the pre-dawn hours.  I keep explaining that I don’t care what’s out there as long as it doesn’t try to get in the house.

Bear has a high-pitched bark that pierces the ears, especially when he is asking to come inside.  No one can ignore his demands unless they have earplugs.  He has spent much of the last two or three weeks barking and staring at a tall nandina bush in front of the porch, where some unfortunate finches built a nest and raised a brood.  Once he discovered that there was a nest there, Bear kept a laser focus on it.  He couldn’t reach it and he never caught a bird, but he was determined to try.  Thankfully, the brood fledged successfully and are making a new home in the crabapple tree.  Bear’s obsession with birds at least gives me confidence that I will never be successfully attacked by a crazed flock of robins.

Bear also has a running feud with a lizard who lives under the concrete planter on the porch.  When Bear gives chase, the lizard scurries under the planter and Bear scratches and whines until he is distracted by a bird in the yard.  It keeps him busy.  Sophie watches with disdain. 

Sophie has always had an endearing habit of coming to my side when I am working on my computer and laying her head on my knee for caresses.  This may be why I don’t get as much writing done as I could – I cannot successfully type with one hand.  The other night, I felt a furry presence at my side and a familiar nose on my knee.  When I glanced down, it was not Sophie.  It was Scout.  I guess I will have to give up typing when they are in the house.  Because I am going to need two hands for collie loving.  As a matter of fact, I just noticed a nose on my knee. 

 

 

 

 

Six Inches of Topsoil

 

My bedroom window overlooks the garden, so my first view every morning (other than the smiling faces of the dogs) is of the progress of the plants.

We planted just over a week ago, just before a big rain.  Four rows of beans, 2 rows of peas and 10 or 12 rows of corn, along with tomato, squash, pepper and okra plants.  We always plant more than we need.  Something happens to gardeners when they visit a nursery or open a seed catalog.  Even passing by the seed department at the Dollar General is impossible without stopping to look.  It’s as if a force field reaches out and says, “buy me, buy me, buy me.”   I’ve witnessed people in spring at the greenhouse load up a horse trailer with tomato plants and I once had a friend who planted 4 rows of squash plants.  I’m not sure, but I think that right there would be grounds for appointment of a guardian.  I’m sure people had to lock their cars when he was around.  He said he didn’t even like squash all that much; he just liked to give it away.

I wish everyone could have a garden.  Or at least work in one.  It would give a new appreciation for our food supply and for the earth and our environment.  Paul Harvey once said, “Despite all our accomplishments, we owe our existence to a six-inch layer of topsoil and the fact that it rains.”  I would add another phrase to Mr. Harvey’s profound statement and that would be the fact that bees exist.  That’s a fragile system, when you stop to think about it, especially with several billion mouths to feed.  I remember a year when we didn’t see any bees around the garden.  Usually they appear in the spring, buzzing from plant to plant, harvesting and at the same time carrying pollen from plant to plant.  The year we had few bees was the year we had very little squash and okra.  The plants bloomed, but without pollination, they didn’t develop fruit.  I always am happy and relieved to see honey bees appear.  Can you imagine if we had to hand pollinate everything? 

Gardening is all about hope, something we desperately need in these times.  The seeds that come in the colorful packages don’t look like much of anything when you open them up.  How on earth can little dried up things like tomato seeds grow up to produce a big juicy tomato?  How can tiny cabbage seeds, hardly larger than grains of sand, make a head of cabbage as big as a human head?  Don’t even get me started about walnuts producing walnut trees or apple seeds growing into something as large as a tree!

 It never ceases to amaze me, even after 60 plus years of observing gardens, how quickly seeds sprout and push through the dirt, reaching toward the sun.  So, less than a week later, tiny seedlings march down the rows, barely visible green against the darkness of the soil.  In just a few days, the plants will be more visible from my bedroom window and I won’t even need my glasses to see them.  From experience I know that, all too soon, an army of weeds will also be marching down the rows, and between the rows, eager to invade.  Soon enough, the garden will be blooming, then bearing its bounty and eventually when I look out my bedroom window in the mornings I will be thinking, “surely not more squash!”