Pollen
Blessings To You
“Well,
you could potentially plant a lower allergy garden, but while you're
out there planting it, you will be bombarded by oak pollen, maples,
grasses...”
Keith
Phillips
I
always know what is pollinating by what Liza wears on her coat. At
the moment, it's oak—her long, silky fur is a virtual vacuum for
oak flowers. Just a few days ago when I looked out my study window,
only bare limbs; now the oak trees are full blown and the hickories
are leafing out. The air is a filmy green. My car is green. My porch
furniture is green. You get the picture. It is officially pollen
season.
No
one escapes the ravages of pollen season in the deep South. You don't
have to be “allergic” to it; it's just an irritating, gritty mess
that scratches your eyeballs and tickles your nose like a thousand
tiny feathers. For the next few weeks, every human in Alabama will
suffer from the red eyed, sneezing sickness.
It is difficult to appreciate pollen for what it is—sperm. Without
it nothing would grow or produce fruit. I'll be honest, I could do
without the six-billion acorns that litter my driveway every year, but
the squirrels would then be bereft. My yard would not be areated by
the thousands of holes they dig to bury their hords. They would be
marching up and down my front walk with picket little signs,
demanding cat food for the starving masses. And the chipmunks...think
of the chipmunks!
Oh, well, to every thing there is a season, right?
This is the season for human suffering and squirrel delight. Let me
go take some Zyrtec and get on with the day.
In
the Spirit,
Jane
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