Mothman Musings
(Rewilding can be a way to learn from nature’s patience ~ even for someone with little natural patience).
It is not typical to be excited by Moths. In some ways, cultivating them has taught me the value of patience. It’s something I’ve had to work on; I’m still working on it.
I like moths probably as much or even better than other more glamorous insects. You know who I am referring to. The more flamboyant insects. I do like them, but not as much as the Moth.
Moths are a little nuanced. Wings flutter gently in the summer breeze and they do somersaults in exuberant pairs; they are colorful and unashamed in periwinkle, grey and other detailed markings, and are often quite focused singly on the wildflowers. Some of them have eyes on their wings, which to the childlike part of me still seems kind of amazing.
The lawn looks ‘overgrown,’ but I figure, writing entails creating, revising and then editing. So, it’s better to have more material to work with, and then pare it down. Nature is deeply intelligent. That is clear, and so I figure, it’s much older and definitely wiser than me, and it’s not a ridiculous thing to pay close attention to it, and to listen to what it has to say. For me, it’s mostly visual ~ for other people, they learn from the sounds of nature or its mosaic of scents.
The ‘lawn’ looks like it needs some mowing; I will admit, I will not win in the ‘most impressive gardening’ or horticultural category of any sort; it’s more of an experiment. Work with the land. Rewild a bit and see where it goes. Learn from its abundance and have the respect to notice what it is doing before cutting things down like wild grasses or trampling an entire ant civilization, or bee colony. Then, prune back. Define a bit. Have a little fun. See what is there, and what it can do that might be invitational and compassionate, instead of dominating.
Grass clippings can be placed on a hill for other creatures, if you don’t like the grasses or reeds swaying gently in the middle of your yard. Then the moths might lower the blood pressure of drivers going by, serving many subtle and important purposes. I love the way the wild grasses look in the sun, swishing gently and making a calming sound.
Nature is more intelligent than me. I know this, so if I figure I’m going to improve on things, I better be quiet and watch things first. Listening is key, and observing. I may draw the wrong conclusion (gardening is great for making anyone feel minute in scale). You plant something here, and something else grows there ~ nothing that you planted that year perhaps pokes its head out of the soil, but still other beautiful things may occur. Surprising. Nourishing to itself and others.
In any event, the concentric circles in the yard look ridiculous to an outsider; maybe even to an insider. I love when the cat tails and reeds blow with the wind. And there are moths growing in there. If I do mow to keep other less beneficial insects away from the paths closer to the house, the insects jump up to remind me, they are in there, doing important things. The weeds and wild grasses and flowers feed the moths and the birds, who feed the crops along with the bees; the birds drop little seeds which make the berries for your smoothie and your blueberry pancakes.
It may look like I’m not doing much, and frankly, I’m not. But I am learning a lot about my place in the greater scheme, and it’s not a sin to let a field lie fallow to rest or just to learn from. Nature always knows what it’s doing, while I don’t always know what I am doing. Its processes are ancient.
I have a lot of wildflowers growing, some basil, and some mint a kind neighbor shared with me, which smells amazing and is doing very well. It’s nice to consult with a leaf of mint after brushing one’s teeth, and it is quite simple and effective, and more pleasant than mouthwash.
Tomatoes are hard, and I am allergic to them, but I tried to grow some from seed; they were eaten by other insects. I planted the wildflowers over the last few years, and they are just coming up now. The moths are important. They are underrated. Anise and dill grew prolifically last year, but this year, the seeds are just hanging around, loitering and letting other things grow.
The sunflowers are the superpower flowers of this season, and some I planted; others have contributed to the garden with their own family green thumbs giving plants as gifts. It’s interesting to see how the simple act of composting many things (even soup or cabbage rinds or seeds from bread) creates more abundance for a multidimensional ecosystem that one’s small yard can be.
Just by doing this, one can create healthier water, streams, and safe corridors for wildlife ~ all while learning from potted plants and a small garden. If you turn off the lights at night and shut off technology that you are not using, it’s even more supportive of existence, including your neighbor’s and your own. It’s a nice thing to think about.
There haven’t been many bats this year, though. Still, they’re out there somewhere. At least, I hope so.
The fireflies still know what life’s all about. At least, I think so.
*
This little pink flower stole my heart this year. I have learned that if I mow sparingly, and let the forest and the birds kind of take over a bit, the berries grow, and the moths create this whole lattice of life that is really unseen by me, unless they allow me to come into their space in a joyous, quiet way.
They have taught me a lot, mostly just by welcoming me in the yard and by their mere presence.
Some California Poppies are growing in the little garden, and that is cool because they were totally unexpected here in the Northeast.
