Here Comes the Sun, and I say it's alright!

“In the spring at the end of the day you should smell like dirt”, said one of my favorite writers of all time. Although my garden patch has been neglected (or should I say, returned to the wild) I did manage to smell like dirt, mainly by composting. Forays into gardening have not been going well. Plants (like kids) demand so much love and attention, that I am sad to report I haven't been able to provide. So, amen to the woman who said that we can't have it all. I never seem to be able to manage a good garden. That doesn't mean I didn't welcome spring.

My daughter and I have been participating in Cornell’s Feederwatch since last winter and it has been fascinating to see the change in visitors to our backyard.So far we've been mainly spotting Mourning  Doves, a solitary Red Winged Blackbird, a few Finches, the White Crowned Sparrows, the California Towhees and the occasional Cooper's Hawk. But Mar 21st was special. A Spotted Towhee and a Say’s Phoebe (who I think is nesting at our home) appeared on cue the first day of spring. A baby bunny has also taken over our backyard nibbling on whatever patches of grass it can still find (In Southern California, I don’t plan to have a watered lawn in my backyard, thank you very much!).

Our backyard birding was fully rewarded when a dozen or so cedar waxwings came out of nowhere and alighted on the tree right behind our home! They were probably leaving So Cal having wintered here this season and decided to stop on their way back. Suddenly our daughter found a solitary hooded oriole. All this was in the span of an hour since we woke up on spring day. What a fantastic start!

One of my wise friends who got me started on birding once remarked that the moment you start truly seeing birds, the world will never look the same again. How true! Here we were looking at the waxwings and oriole with wide-eyed wonderment, and a bunch of early morning joggers were going by at the exact same time under the very tree unaware that they were in the midst of such beauty just above them. In a day and age when an experience that is not captured digitally and instagrammed right away is considered not an experience at all, we remained rooted to our spot and didn’t try to grab a phone/camera lest we disturb the birds.

The past three years we have always celebrated the arrival of spring at the San Elijo Lagoon, so off we went egg hunting at the lagoon in true pagan style basking in the glory of Venus and Ishtar. The lagoon captures everything that is amazing about So.Cal in one spot. At the distance you see the Pacific, the railroad, the beach goers and the surfers, and of course our cars. The sun is out and the sky is a picture perfect blue almost cloudless, and you have the lagoon with its coastal sage scrub and its flock of shore birds and visitors both the winged and the legged kind. I knew the spring was off to a great start as we once again caught a glimpse of the elusive Clapper, a Bufflehead and a bunch of Willets and Godwits. A big shout out to all the docents and volunteers who had such amazing exhibits and taught both the kids and adults a thing or two about the biological forms that call the lagoon their home, their summer retreat, or their spring nursery.

The exhibit that showed the different kinds of nests was my favorite. Sure does put all our homes to shame. While we need a thermostat named Nest to keep us comfortable, they make do with few bits and bobs of lichens, spider webs, mud, and straw providing maximum comfort to their little ones.

So that's how we welcomed spring, walking in nature as the poet and prophet Muir informed us receiving far more than we sought. Now the mountains are calling and I must go!

The charm of history + fiction

Historical fiction has always held a special place in my heart and my book shelf. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that both my parents were History majors, although neither pursued a career in History. Growing up in India, we were never taught to love history in school. It was one of those dreary subjects that you had to get through by committing to memory dates of battles one never cared to remember. It never really served a purpose I thought. At home though, there were countless books on American History and Literature (one of my dad's interest) that it came in very handy during my Naturalization exam. After all not many immigrants had a 3 volume Carl Sandburg biography of Lincoln or an Atlas of the US Presidents or a collection of Walt Whitman poems for childhood reading material!

Fiction on the other hand was something I have always enjoyed and reading “The Three Musketeers” was probably one of my earliest forays into the genre of Historical fiction. This category has taught me more history than the combined 12 years of schooling did, not because they portrayed history accurately (far from it), but they told the story in a way that made me want to learn more and sure enough when one’s interest is piqued one ends up learning more. Ponniyin Selvan is another classic example. It was probably the first novel in Tamil literature that I read out of my own free will, and reading it made me go out and get Neelakanta Sastry’s History of South India. 

So this month when I read “Wolf Hall” by Hilary Mantel I should say I have learned so much more about the Tudors than I care to admit. I knew very little about the Tudors when I visited Hampton Court Palace 20 years back other than the famous phrase “Divorced, Beheaded, Died, Divorced, Beheaded, Survived” that reminded us of the fate of Henry VIII’s 6 wives.  Oh, the things people do for a male heir! For a person who doesn’t care for palaces, Hampton Court was the only one I really wanted to see (actually I really only wanted to see the maze in which I gloriously got lost), thanks to another book – “Three Men in a Boat” by Jerome.K.Jerome. 

Back to Mantel’s book, I simply loved every word that was written. Having Cromwell as the protagonist and narrating the story from his point of view was plain brilliant! Very often history is told from the winner's point of view. Historical fiction on the other hand has the advantage of being able to retell history (within limits) from another point of view. 

A well written historical fiction is not very different from a Hitchcock movie. You know who the murderer is going in, but you still sit through the whole movie as the story is told from a different viewpoint. In Wolf Hall you know going in Anne Boleyn is going to be Queen, and no she won't be able to produce a male heir, and she is going to be beheaded eventually but you are still engrossed  as the viewpoint is that of Cromwell's. I can’t wait to read the sequel “Bring up the Bodies” and the third part of the trilogy when it comes out. I am also eagerly awaiting the series on PBS this April.

History itself has now become a favorite category of mine. “People’s History” by Howard Zinn ranks as one of my favorite books of all time. Recently Ramachandra Guha’s works on India have also brought a new perspective of Indian history to me.

This month I read two other historical books. “In the Heart of the Sea” by Nathaniel Philbrick which tells the story of the Whaleship Essex was a fascinating read. The story of this ship inspired another famous historical fiction “Moby Dick”. “Heart of the Sea” recounts the fate of the crew men of the Essex after their boat was attacked by a sperm whale. The book does more than tell the story of survival on the open ocean.It does a wonderful job capturing the frenzy associated with whaling, the effect of the industry on Nantucket and has some amazing insights on leadership. As a whale lover  I found it very hard to stomach the industry and its practices and found myself cheering for the sperm whale, that I had to constantly remind myself that this was the 1820s. As much as I love Japan and the Japanese people, it is very difficult for me to accept their whaling practices and I hope John Oliver will do a bit on “How is whaling still a thing?”. I will await Ron Howard’s version of the book on the big screen end of the year.

“Path between the seas” by David McCullough was my pick for OBOC-Panama.It is the account of the building of the Panama Canal, and all the intrigue associated with it. The story of the French failure and Ferdinand De Lesseps' fall from grace constituted the first half the book. Those who lived by a canal (Suez) died by a canal (Panama). The second half of the book was about the American role in the

canal. Although a very long book, i absolutely enjoyed it. At the end of the day the story was about human beings and their inflated egos, and their colossal achievements and failures. Inability to accept defeat, to see beyond party/country lines, to be open to new ideas - these are all human traits that can have serious consequences especially when undertaking a project of the size of the canal. The story of trying to control and eradicate yellow fever/malaria in Panama is by itself worth reading. The whole theory that mosquitoes were behind the illnesses was laughed at, that it took many many years, and claimed many thousand lives before it got accepted.

History repeats itself they say. That ought to make history a valuable lesson for us. Unfortunately its importance is not communicated well and/or is completely lost on us. Maybe historical fiction is one way to kindle some of the interest back into our lives. Now all we need is more re-telling of history from her point of view!