You know those whirly-gig helicopter seedlings that soft maple trees shed in the spring by the gazillions, clogging gutters and sprouting little trees in all the places you don’t want trees, like your flower bed, cracks in the sidewalk and your manicured fire bush hedge that you’re so proud of? Those seedlings are called samaras. As a kid we used to bite off the seed, and put the blade on our tongue, blow and make a buzzing sound, like locusts in the fall.

We have a huge soft maple tree at the back of our house. In fact, Ginnie and I were married under that tree ten years ago. In the spring it’s a mess with those samaras, like it’s trying to populate the world. It plugs up our gutters and tries to start saplings all over Kingdom Come.

So, last fall I thought I’d get smart and have gutter guards installed. It wasn’t cheap either. But at least I wouldn’t have to be climbing up a wobbly ladder to clean that mess out. I’m getting shaky in the legs, what with neuropathy and dizziness. No gutter cleaning is worth a broken hip or shoulder.

Wouldn’t you know, after all the expense of putting up gutter guards, the maple tree had nary a seedling on it this spring. What in tarnation? Every year we’ve lived here that tree has been a mess with samaras. I called around to a couple of people I know who have soft maples, and they reported the same phenomenon. They had no explanation for the absence of samaras either. Our spring wasn’t anything unusual. There were no killing frosts at critical times that we could remember. Last year’s hot and dry spells weren’t anything severe.

I even consulted AI and Google. Their answers for why there were no samaras were less informative than my friends. It appears that I spent $1,500 on gutter guards so the maple tree wouldn’t produce seedlings! Who got the best of whom? The tree is still laughing.

Two years ago, our apple tree that produces such nice Macintosh Apples, didn’t produce a single apple. We weren’t aware of any frosts at critical times that year either. We like to make applesauce, and apple pie filling, but it didn’t happen that year. It’s like everything has to lie fallow once in a while, including people.

At least that’s my excuse for the amount of time I spend in my recliner looking out the window. I love watching the finches, the sunshine reflecting off their golden bodies. They’re on constant alert while feeding, looking around for predators. That would ruin a good meal for me if I had to worry about being eaten!

One finch seems to have an injured leg and can only stand on one. But he seems to be getting along okay, pecking away at the feed hole, trying to maintain balance in a stiff wind. Even the turkey vulture that likes to hang out on the roof of our barn, looks pretty. And they do a great service in cleaning up carrion. A red-breasted grosbeak is an occasional visitor to our finch feeder also. The finches don’t seem to mind, and share equally, although they fight among themselves.

Across the yard I see Mr. Rooster Pheasant, out for a stroll, maybe looking for a lady. Ginnie and I feel so fortunate to live in the country where we have a view of wildlife and both sunrise and sunset. I’m an early riser and have a spectacular view of the sunrise. The colors–red, pink, blue, white, violet, and shades of each–change almost by the second.

A lone crow likes our feeding area. I saw it swoop up to the birdbath the other day. It had a chunk of something in its beak, perhaps a hand-tossed gift from the nearby highway construction workers eating lunch. Anywho, the crow proceeded to soak its morsel in the water, before flying off to eat it, or perhaps feed it to a nest of babies. I interpreted the pheasant, grosbeak, turkey vulture, crow and soaking of food as a good omen.

Ginnie has been a nervous wreck watching all the road construction going on. They’re resurfacing Hwy. 34 by our house. I tell her she needs to get out there and tell them how to do it. They’ve shut access off to our gravel road a couple of times, which necessitates us going two miles north out of our way. No biggie. When the front door closes, use the back.

BTW: We were in Rock Island, IL the other day, where I was given an angiogram. We took the Hwy. 34-67 route to enjoy the scenery. In coming home, I couldn’t help but notice that the grass is greener in Illinois than in Iowa. Why? I dunno. Ginnie agrees. I’m well aware of the old saw that the grass always looks greener on the other side of the fence. In this case, it is!

The view of a double rainbow from our window was a reminder of how good we have it here on the Empty Nest Farm, and how blessed we are.

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Have a good story? Call or text Curt Swarm in Mt. Pleasant at 319-217-0526 or email him at curtswarm@yahoo.com. Curt is available for public speaking.