"Hang On my babies, Mama will coddle you til the first frost. But would you ripen already gosh darn it! "
Yep, that's me…talking to my tomatoes; but a similar conversation could be heard with the turkeys perched on an already creaky branch above my head, shadowing the back of the garden, "Listen guys, you've eaten too many seeds and insects this summer, and I'm not even sure it's natural for turkeys to roost in trees. You look awfully awkward up there. Come down at once!"
Or to the sunflowers…"My how you have grown…just yesterday you were toddling about my knees, playing with the tarragon and sage, and now your heads are dancing against the blue sky of autumn."
I am thankful that my garden is down the hill and beyond the crimson tipped meadow grasses. I don't have to answer to anyone here. The catbird cocks his head at me and I ask him how his day was and if migration is near.I ask him if his babies will be traveling with him.
I inquire of the bees if this trip to my still showy zinnia blossoms will be their last of the season, or if they will gather up as much pollen as they can before what promises to be a (more) harsh winter.
It doesn't feel awkward, or odd to talk to the birds and the bees (and the flowers and the trees). It feels wonderful. And liberating. And natural.
So hang on my babies! Mama is here! And I will coddle you until the first frost.