Looking out my Backdoor: Iguanas and other sentient life

That iguana spit on me today. I stood below him, next to the wall in my front-patio courtyard, watching him soak up the sun. He turned his head, looked me in the eye, and spit. Well, that’s a fine howdy-do.

No manners. But, maybe, like many a youngster, he had a valid complaint: “She looked at me.”

There’s a pair of what I call teen iguanas, middle-sized, who sun at the top of that particular section of wall.

You should see them skitter up — or down — a vertical wall. Yet, despite Velcro feet, often I see, or hear, the iguanas fall from the top of the bricks down to the ground. Maybe they jump.

I spend an inordinate amount of time watching iguanas, contemplating behavior. Theirs, my friends, my own.

Julie came by this morning. She is leaving tomorrow for her Minnesota home. We sat for an hour observing tanagers, warblers, hummingbirds and bees in my bottlebrush tree. Today is the first day for the bees in such great number. They must have a nearby hive. It was a peaceful way to say good-bye. Julie will be gone several months, back in the fall.

Jim left last week for Missouri. I lost my Qi Gong partner but shifted my pattern and began morning walks with John and Carol. They’ll be here another month.

There is constant coming and going on the Rancho. Three winters ago, Lani and Ariel were the only full-time residents. Within a few weeks of one another, Pat and Nancie, Carol and John, Jim, Kathy and Richard, Crin and I purchased homes. Another several months and we were joined by Tom and JRae and Julie and Francisco. All but Lani and I have homes elsewhere. Thus, the constant coming and going.

My first two years, I pretty much had April to October to myself. I’m used to solitude. I lived the same pattern during my years in Mazatlan so I was used to being alone. This year the pattern is broken. A strange tantrum is being pitched inside me.

I love my friends. I do. I’m sad when they leave. I am delighted that I will have my neighbors back, one or two at a time, in April, May, and June and July. August is unknown. September I’m gone. October and November most of my friends return for the winter.

My strange little temper tantrum within is because I also want my solitude. Well, that’s me. I want it all. Given a choice between cake and pie, both with ice cream, my answer is “Yes.”

So, there. Now that I’ve said it, it all sounds rather silly. Truth is, we don’t live in one another’s pockets. We each have our own lives, our own interests. When we get together, we do so because we want to be together.

I like my friends and neighbors. And they like me. When they are gone, I console myself that I have my iguanas. I’m not sure the iguanas like me. Not one of my friends has ever spit in my eye.

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Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com. Email [email protected].