Come walk with me in the peak Autumn beauty of the Northwoods. To say that I love this time of year is an understatement. Most everyone can appreciate the colorful falling leaves---it reveals the 'true self' of a tree when its leaves are no longer producing chlorophyll. Their true colors are revealed, and there is something simple … [Read More...]
Archives for June 2015
Shade at Night
Imagine you’ve been playing or working hard in the summer sun for hours…can you feel the heat? Then imagine sitting under the shade of a maple tree…ahhh…that feels better! The shade offers relief from the intense sunlight, and you feel cooler and more refreshed.
A year ago at the end of May, we were on vacation for nine days, traveling to South Dakota and Missouri. When we left home, the leaves were just beginning to unfold after an extremely late spring. When we returned home, it was rather shocking to see the lawn grass going to seed and the trees fully leaved out. That first night back, I remember I turned off all the lights before bed and was startled by the blackness. Why was it so dark? I thought to myself. At first I thought something was wrong–it took me a few seconds to realize the darkness was from the shade at night!
For half the year, we don’t have leaves on the trees, and for many of those months we also have the bright reflection of light off snow. Starlight, moonlight, and lights from town down the hill shine and reflect into our numerous windows during those months. When late spring and summer arrive, the three maple trees around our house and the trees in the surrounding woods block the light, creating shade at night and during the day.
Last week a darkness fell upon a young couple as their newborn baby could not be resuscitated after an emergency c-section. My heart sank when I saw the tragic news about their firstborn son. I flashed back to my own emergency c-section with our firstborn, and I sighed another prayer of thankfulness that our daughter made it through that scary time. But this young couple, who tends the land and a menagerie of animals, who dreamed of and planned for and carried this baby for nine months, came home empty-handed and broken-hearted.
There are many ways to lose a child, none of which is any easier than the other. The heartbreak is profound and deep, and it seems like nothing will ever fill the hole of despair. For all those in a dark night of the soul, sit in the cool Shade at night. Let the glaring distractions of the outside world be filtered out by the Protection overhead. Let it envelop you with everything you need. Let it bring comfort for your aching heart and hope to your weary mind. Let it refresh you, replenish you, restore you.
Listening to the Silence
My middle growing-up years were in Pennsylvania on our little acre of hilly land, out of sight from everything, but within earshot of the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Most every summer, we would pack up the Mercury wood-sided station wagon with us four kids, our little brown suitcase of ‘things to do’, and a Johnny Cash eight track tape and head west on that turnpike. Most often we would leave on Friday night after my Dad got home from working at the shop, and my parents would take turns driving, straight through, to my Grandparent’s place in South Dakota. We would arrive early Sunday morning before my Grandpa headed off to church and my Grandma put a large beef roast in the oven. It was always good to be back Home!
One evening–maybe that very first one after our long drive–my Dad was sitting on the porch stoop. I opened the door, walked out onto the porch, and asked him what he was doing. He said, “I’m listening to the Silence.” I can’t remember how old I was at the time, but I remember thinking that was a crazy thing to say! How can you listen to Silence?! He patted the cement beside him for me to sit down. He told me about hearing the crickets and frogs, the cows lowing in the paddock as they came up from the pasture to the round, wooden water tank, how the windmill squeaked as the breeze moved the blades, and how the geese chattered in the slough over the hill. We sat there together for a while, and I really started to listen for all the different sounds of the Silence on the farm.
Today is Father’s Day and the First Day of Summer! I smile when I realize it’s 10 o’clock in the evening, and there’s still a hint of light outside. I love it when I can go outside with no coat and no shoes! I laugh at our dog when we go out to get the mail, and she rolls in the warm grass and watches me walk to the mailbox. I marvel at all the bird mamas and daddys who are flying, hunting, and taking care of their babies.
Summer is…my most favorite flower–perennial Blue Flax…
blooms and birdhouses…
rain…
bumblebees…
and birds.
Summer is being outside with Nature, toes in the grass, head under the stars, fish on the line, sun on skin, and listening to the Silence.
Thinking back on those 1500 mile trips with four kids in the car, the constant buzz of turnpike traffic at our house, and the din of diesel engines working as a truck mechanic, it’s no wonder my Dad wanted the calm and quiet of an evening on the farm in South Dakota. That special memory of me and my Dad has stayed in my mind and heart for decades, and I continue to appreciate the quiet sounds of Nature. Happy Summer to all of you, and if you can’t be with your Dad today, I hope you can call to mind a special memory of him while listening to the Silence of Nature.
The Shimmering Line of Light
Have you ever walked a path that you walk every day and felt the lightest touch of something on your face? And even if you bring your hand up to brush it away, it seems like nothing is there? Tiny filaments of webs are spun from tree branch to tree branch–a suspended bridge connecting home and food sources for some little spider.
One bright morning at breakfast I was looking out the window and noticed a shimmering line of light by the front yard trees.
The light moved in the breeze and sometimes disappeared.
The sunlight was reflecting off a strand of dew-kissed web–a happy combination of water, filament, light, and wind. The sunlight danced along the spider’s road, moving one way, then the other…
until the sun moved higher in the sky, and I could no longer see the reflection. But the web was still there.
What if we are all connected by some unseen web? We feel light touches of this attachment when we pick up the phone to call someone and they were just thinking of doing the same. Do we brush it off as coincidence? We see the connection illuminated by the shiny glare of tragedy that brings people together to rescue, support, and fight for one another. We sense the shimmer of connection when meeting the eyes of a stranger and some spark ignites a smile. We hear that association when one person’s story sounds strangely familiar to ours, and our heart knows the ache they feel.
Perhaps the shimmering line of light that dances between us is God’s Love. It connects us in ways that are unseen for the most part–until a happy combination illuminates the bond. How fleeting is that illumination! Our positions change, outside forces exert pressure on the connection, and at times it feels torn and broken. Harsh words and strained silence tear at the bridge that was once a lifeline of Home and Sustenance.
The persistent spider rebuilds the web–even as we walk the path each day. Some things are worth it. As we toil, we must remember that the shimmering line of light is always there, whether we see it or not.
The Prairie, the Ash Tree, and the Anthill
In late April when we drove to Rockville County Park to check on the eagles, we discovered the restored prairie had been burned. Annual burning of the prairie promotes growth and dominance of grasses while discouraging growth of woody shrubs and some trees, especially Eastern Red Cedar. Fire clears away the previous year’s plant debris, allowing sunlight to warm the ash-blackened soil. The roots and rhizomes (where new shoots are formed) of the grasses and other prairie plants are below the ground and not affected by the fire. New growth takes place shortly after the burn, and soon the black prairie is green once again.
Forty days after the burn, the ‘sea of grass’ was growing, and a number of early season wildflowers were blooming.
Wispy, rose-colored seedheads of Prairie Smoke drifted in the breeze.
Lavender flowers on purplish-pink stems of Large Beardtongue or Shell-leaf Penstemon stood like royalty among the common grasses.
Wild Lupine is the only host plant for the Karner Blue butterfly caterpillar. Loss of prairie habitat has put the Karner Blue on the endangered species list. While I don’t know if there are Karner Blues around here, this bumblebee is enjoying the sweet Lupine nectar.
The large ash tree that houses the eagle’s nest was fully leaved out, making it more difficult to spot the nest. Luckily, there was a ‘hole’ in the foliage that allowed me to see the young eagles–and allowed them to keep an eye on me and everything else. The last time we were at the nest, the parents were there with the two eaglets, so I was surprised when I looked through the camera lens and saw three young ones!
As we walked closer to the nest, one eaglet hid behind the other. Perhaps his shyness was the reason we didn’t see him the last time we visited the nest.
One eagle, perhaps appointed by the parents to be in charge while they hunted for their large family or maybe a self-appointed firstborn, stood guard of the nest. He perched on the edge of the nest, a sentry for his siblings, as they relaxed behind him.
We left the eagle’s nest, walked along the trail, and found a huge anthill of Thatching ants! Their home is made up of plant material from the area–in the close-up picture you can see how some of the ‘thatch’ is black from the burned plants. Each colony of these social animals is headed by a queen ant or queens who lays thousands of eggs. The worker ants are wingless, non-reproducing females who forage for food, care for the offspring, work on the nest, and protect the community. The male ants basically mate and die. Each colony may have up to 40,000 ants, depending on the size and age of the nest.
These ants are beneficial insects. They eat nectar, seeds, fungus, and insect pests. They also scavenge on larger dead animals and are important soil builders. They do bite, so don’t get too close! The eggs and larvae of Thatching ants are a favorite food of bears who will rip apart the nest to get to the tasty morsels.
Thunderheads were building as we walked the prairie and oak savanna trail back to the car. It had been a perfect way to spend a couple hours of my birthday!
The prairie, the ash tree, and the anthill–all homes to the particular flora and fauna we saw, but also to so many more. The ‘Web of Life’ is illustrated in great beauty on this relatively small tract of land. While the fire on the prairie was a controlled burn and not one started by lightning, it demonstrates Nature’s capacity for regeneration and renewal. The anthill of Thatching ants shows how a community of workers takes care of one another and their home. The young eagles who have yet to fledge from the nest know their parents are working hard to provide for them and have begun to show their own personalities and traits. The Wild Lupine is growing and ready to provide a home for the Karner Blue if it passes this way.
What kind of homes and communities are we providing? Where do each one of us fit in the ‘Web of Life?’ How are we sustaining and extending the Beauty and Wisdom of Nature to all the living creations around us?
Gleanings from May 2015
Our back door is almost like a door to Nowhere. To be fair, it does have a sturdy cement stoop and a granite-covered sidewalk that leads twelve feet to the left to the screened-in porch door. But you can’t get to the garage or driveway or shed without walking through grass and around corners. It is a thick wooden door with ten panels, two of which are carved on the outside. One carving is a vine design, and the other is a dogwood-looking flower and leaves. I’m sure it is the original door of this sixty-year-old house, and it shows the weathering of time and sun. It faces WSW, and when I open the door, light floods into the rather dark corner of our living room through a full-glass storm door. The door that leads to Nowhere is really a doorway to Nature’s incredible, changeable Beauty. In Winter, I can see the River, silhouettes of old oak trees, and glorious sunsets. In Spring, I can see my square of prairie garden, my raised herb garden outside the porch door, the shallow clay birdbath on a stump, hostas, ferns, oaks, cedars, viburnums, and other extraordinary plants that make up the woods and yard outside our door.
The month of May is the doorway to Summer. School is coming to a close, changing the landscape of family life for the next three months–or in our case, for the rest of our lives, as our youngest graduated from college. The external landscape changes drastically in the weeks of May, from tiny buds and leftovers of winter to the deep, rich lushness of Summer. By the end of May, we are looking at the possibilities, plans, and potentials of Summer!
One of the delights right outside our back door has been the bright anemones or wind flowers. This perennial herb and popular wedding flower symbolizes anticipation and unfaded love.
Close to the anemones is the pretty Nannyberry Viburnum with its clusters of white flowers.
Honeysuckle shrubs of every size and shape are scattered throughout the woods. White, pink, and dark pink blossoms cover the shrubs in a coat of color.
Jack-in-the-Pulpits are hidden treasures in the woods–hard to find, but ever so lovely and unique. Umbrella shaped Mayapples shade insects scuttling through leaf litter underneath them.
Fragrant Lily of the Valley flowers peek out from among the crowd of green leaves. Their stems of pure white bells make the most beautiful tiny bouquet to bring inside.
Leopard’s Bane and Dandelion roar into bloom with sunshine yellow in this month of May.
Along with May flowers that have adorned our yard, we have also had creature visitors. The first heavy rain of the month chased Leopard frogs into our deep egress window well.
A Pileated Woodpecker checked out each one of the mature spruce trees in our front yard. Their food of preference is carpenter ants.
These two young bucks, probably last year’s fawns who were very familiar with our yard, walked up the driveway one evening. They watched our Black Lab dog wander around the outside of the house oblivious to the visitors we sent her out to chase away! (Interesting fact: Their antlers grow up to 1/2 inch each day from April to September!)
A Cooper’s Hawk is back in the neighborhood, darting through the tree branches, perching, watching, and flying again. He was likely the hunter of the pigeon carcass I found.
May holds promise for a new season, a new chapter in Life, and renewed hope and adventure.
The month of May prepares us for Summer. It is a time to celebrate the end of school–for the year or for life–with parties and graduations. It is a time to celebrate anniversaries of unfaded love. It’s a time of anticipation for the warmth and fun of the Summer months that always go by too quickly. May is the doorway to a productive growing season of garden goodies and farm-raised crops and animals. As we open our doors to Somewhere–a place where the light illuminates the dark, where we find our niche among the crowd, where we carve our initials in our Tree of Life, and where we find our hidden treasures–let us step out in Beauty, Courage, and Love.