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Salix Viminalis
Robins have found the nest of last year. I can’t vouch for sure that they are the same pair or whatever, as I’m not certain how it works. All I know is that robins love sumac berries and that I have encouraged a large clump of sumac trees to grow. About a month ago, I witnessed how robins would gather at the berries; and then there was the mating dance where everyone got excited; next came housecleaning the nest. Nowadays, I watch as a pair of them exchange turns sitting the nest. I must admit that their radar is mighty as it seems one of them heads outbound in the split second the incoming bird is about to land in the nest.
You see, I have one of those bench swings, you know the kind where you sit facing one an- other and try not to put your drink down anywhere because, well, you know what comes next. Turns out the swing is surrounded by sumac, and nicely tucked under the roof of the swing is the robin’s nest. One thing I considered last fall was to remove the then abandoned nest be- cause what happens from my end at just about now is, out of a sense of responsibility, I stay clear of the swing so as not to upset the robin household. For the sake of the nesting business and their feeding of the newly hatched, I self impose off-limits to the swing and immediate environs, which means handily avoiding grass cutting which also means more young sumacs rising from the ground: hard to explain, but sorta like a robin, sumac, swing jive.
The thing is, the swing has a roof that makes it dandy for me to sit there when it rains; but to avoid robin pandemonium I just hope the nesting tenants appreciate the self-sacrifice that goes along with their rearing of baby robins. Instead of swing time, I’ve been planting basket willow and actually that’s a good thing.
Why I have become fascinated with basket willow over past years, I’m not quite sure. Most recently I achieved a first step in creating an outdoor living sculpture with basket willow. I admit the medium requires patience of any artist, as while it is ever-evolving it makes it interesting at the same time. After past planting attempts failed, which included choosing wrong species and also not being fully acquainted with the preferred diets of the wild hare and their love of willow bark, undaunted, I gazed out of my January window and once again the image of a living sculpture appeared. This time, by ordering early I managed to make a purchase of Saule a Vannerie (en francais, since I ordered from a Quebec tree nursery) aka Salix Viminalis aka Basket Willow. My order, resembling a six foot tall sock that incorporated bare root willow stems carefully packed in damp peat moss, arrived through the post four weeks ago. Since then, I’ve played the role of mother hen over- seeing the willow stems at every moment.
With pick and shovel I’ve been digging holes one by one in Hillier clay; ensuring each branch is carefully bedded and tamped down and watered. It was this morning when I checked in on the last ones to go in the ground and am now assured that new buds are coming on every stem.
Planting willow at the same time as planning a trek with the donkey Thunder prompted me to somehow merge the ideas of carrying-baskets (willow panniers) for Thunder, summer solstice and Father’s Day. I turned to thinking of my role as a dad and how, while it applies to anyone, the concept of the willow representing strength in flexibility came to me; the ability to bend in the so-called winds of change, in life’s challenges; resist and one is more apt to break. The most vivid willow metaphor I have has to do with hot air ballooning. Despite all of the materials available today, the balloon gondolas that carry up to four people including pilot are made in the traditional way with rattan and willow because the woven material is the most resilient and will rebound back into shape when taking the impact of landing.
As summer solstice approaches I will form my ten willow stems as they quickly grow in my garden to become a living symbol of flexibility, natural flow and patience. I’ll work hand in hand with nature and anticipate through seasons ahead, something large and mysterious that will offer shade and beauty as it rises from the hard, stony Hillier clay. Who knows, robins might even like it; build a nest in the branches and free up my swing maybe?
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