By KAREN MADORIN
Our house faces west, it’s brick, and the flower bed in front is filled with river rock. If only one of these ingredients were our reality, the sun would work its magic and multiply the heat. Tripled, the thermometer can’t keep up with the increasing temperatures by 5 p.m. Though the previous owners chose plants that do well in heat and require less water than most, I wetthem down several times a week during blast furnace days that don’t remember when the last raindrop fell.
A couple of weeks ago, I was dousing those wilted lilies and salvia when a thin cottontail hopped into the hose stream. It stood under the water, getting plenty damp. As I continued down the line of plants, it stood on its hind legs, preening and polishing its fur. I thought it was odd behavior, but it was 105 in the shade that day and out front was even hotter. She wasn’t there the next time I watered on a cooler day so I put her behavior down to a weird coincidence, even though NCIS’s Gibbs has drilled into me there are no coincidences.
No more bunny for the next few waterings. That is until this morning when cottontails shrank and multiplied. I went out early to take advantage of the cool morning and early pastel light. In the smaller bed north of the porch, helianthus and the bush next to it guzzled their refreshment before I tugged the hose over to the bigger rock garden on the south side. Those lilies, roses, and salvia looked pretty dry so I gave them an extra count of ten as I watered.
While the drought and heat wilt my garden plants, weeds thrive. As I counted 40 for each plant’s drink time, I was calculating how much time I’d need to spend weeding once things dried out. At that point, I got to the salvia where I’d earlier seen the showering rodent. My plant looked even more spread out and leggy than before so I directed a head-on shot of water toward it.
Imagine my surprise when four tiny, tiny fur-covered cottontails exploded out of it! Aha, mom may have taken an inadvertent shower two weeks before but what she was really doing was guarding her nest that probably contained still naked newborns with closed eyes. I can’t believe I never thought of that, but it’s so hot out front I couldn’t imagine anything but a snake turning that into a nursery.
Naturally, I turned the water toward other plants while those babies made their escape. Once I turned off the spigot and rolled up the hose, I returned to the house and opened the living room shades. I kept peaking out the window to see if any bunnies were returning to their cozy nest. For the next few days I never saw hide nor hare!
About a week afterward, I discovered why. Mom moved her bouncing babes to our backyard and hid them in the pumpkin patch. Now that I know they are there, I’ll be more careful when and where I water.
Karen is a retired teacher, writer, photographer, outdoors lover, and sixth-generation Kansan. After a time away, she’s glad to be home.