Archives for 2016

Santa Lucia–The Lightbringer

December 21, 2016 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

We arrived at Salem Lutheran Church before 7:00 am and took our seats in the candlelit sanctuary. The pews were filled with smiling parishioners, many of whom wore colorful Nordic print sweaters to chase away the extreme cold and to proclaim their Scandinavian pride. My 100% Scandinavian genes were feeling a little envious. After the handbell prelude, we listened while the first verse of the processional song ‘Sankta Lucia’ was sung in Swedish, then joined in for the English version: Night’s heavy footprints lie / ‘Round farm and toil / Spirits shall haunt the world / Shadows on soil / In our dark house at night / Rising with candles bright / Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia // Night’s full of black and gloom / Now hear her swing / Through all our darkened rooms / On her sweet wings / At our door clad in white / Wearing a crown of light / Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia

Santa Lucia (Saint Lucy) was a young Christian from Syracuse, Sicily who refused to marry her pagan husband and was martyred in 304 A.D. Many legends surround Santa Lucia—that she carried baskets of food to persecuted Christians in the catacombs with a wreath of candles on her head to light the way, and that she appeared after her death at the bow of a ship carrying food to the starving people of Varmland, Sweden. She was clothed in white with a crown of light circling her head. Her feast day is December 13th which coincided with the Winter Solstice during the Julian calendar. Santa Lucia’s Day, the 13th, marks the beginning of the Christmas season in Sweden.

Sweden and at least parts of Finland, Norway, and Denmark celebrate Lucia as the symbol of light and hope during the darkest time of the year. In villages and households, a chosen Santa Lucia carries coffee and pastries—often lussekatter, sweet saffron buns—to villagers and family members. Denmark’s first Lucia procession was held during Nazi occupation of the mid-1940’s to show peaceful resistance and offer a reminder of hope. **

At Salem Lutheran Church, Tomtars and Star Boys, Saint Knut, and Lucia with her Tarnors or handmaidens processed down the aisle with candles and bells and sat at the front of the church during the service. As we sang and prayed, daylight gradually revealed the amazing stained glass window above the alter. After the service, all were invited to the Great Hall for Scandinavian pastries, coffee, and lingonberry glogg!

Today, on this 21st day of December, we celebrate the Winter Solstice, the first Day of Winter. We have reached the shortest day of the year, the longest night. Santa Lucia is celebrated in Sweden and other northern countries as the Lightbringer of faith, hope, and good things to come. Her light shines through the darkness as she brings food for the hungry and needy. She heralds in the Christmas season. On this longest night, I wish for all of us the Light of generosity and compassion, the Light of warm housing and abundant food, the Light of forgiveness and peace, and most of all the Light of Love. May we all be bearers of Light. God Jul!*

*Happy/Merry Christmas in Swedish

**Santa Lucia image from Google images

‘The Breath of the Buffalo in the Wintertime’

December 18, 2016 by Denise Brake 6 Comments

It’s been a year now since my Dad moved through his final days of life, receiving hospice care on Christmas Day and for two short days after that. I still have the notes I took each time I talked to him while he was in the hospital and rehab center. I still have his phone number under Dad in my cell phone, though no one’s there to answer. I still have the picture of him in my mind of how he looked when I saw him for the last time two months before he died. His hair and beard were white and long. The sharp pain of his passing has waned, and I find myself carrying gratitude for him, his life, and his stories.

One story he told about his childhood years was riding to the nearby town of Badger in the horse-drawn sleigh. Grandpa would harness and hitch up the horses, and then the whole family would pile into the sleigh and cover themselves with a big buffalo robe—the tanned hide of a buffalo with the hair left on it. Dad said it was the warmest blanket for traveling across the snow-covered prairie in an open sleigh.

We’ve been having a bit of a cold spell here in Minnesota over the past week or so—temperatures in the teens or single digits with wind chills up to 25 below zero, with last night’s actual temperature a frigid 25 below! January weather before the Winter Solstice. During this cold weather last Saturday, we visited a Christmas tree farm that offers horse-drawn sleigh rides (or wagon, if not enough snow) to see their buffalo. The big, black Percherons stood in front of the hitching post, patiently waiting for the next group of bundled sight-seers. We were not among the bundled, but the horses, the cold, and the buffalo reminded me of Dad’s story of winter prairie life.

One buffalo was standing his ground while the others grazed or ate hay. His moisture-laden breath wreathed his big head and froze on his muzzle like a great white beard.

“What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of the buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.” –Crowfoot, Blackfoot warrior and orator

What is life? Would we even know without the pain and poignancy of death? Crowfoot reminds us that life is the little things that happen in our world—the flash of a firefly, the frozen breath of a buffalo, notes from a phone call, childhood stories, a sunset, and a hug good-bye. Christmas and other holidays feel different when our loved ones are no longer in our lives—through death or by choice. There are missing pieces that dampen the joy and celebration. And while the sharp pain subsides with time, the loss chills our hearts in small but real ways. So I cover myself with the buffalo robe of memories—it’s the warmest way for traversing this new path.

The Treasure of a Diamond

December 11, 2016 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

I’m not much of a ‘jewelry’ person. I wear my simple gold wedding band on my left hand and a silver, lapis, and turquoise ring I bought years ago at Mount Rushmore, on my right hand. The single diamond in my engagement ring was knocked out decades ago when I was doing laundry. My ears aren’t pierced. And most days of my life, I would look pretty silly wearing a necklace with my jeans and fleece. But, I remember when I was a kid, I loved looking at the diamonds in my Mom’s jewelry box. Rows of dangly earrings and intricate brooches sparkled with what seemed like hundreds of tiny diamonds. What a treasure! It didn’t matter to me that they weren’t ‘real’ diamonds.

Melting snow during Thanksgiving weekend created a thick fog that condensed and froze on everything. The Cedar trees were encrusted with glittering ice ‘diamonds!’

The ice-covered Hydrangea reminded me the most of the earrings I admired in the jewelry box–clusters of tiny diamonds and flower-shaped dangles. What a treasure.

The berries of the Gray Dogwood, fall food for the birds, were replaced by diamonds of ice.

Those of you who know of my non-proclivity for jewelry also probably know of my love for Emmylou Harris. I was introduced to Mark Knopfler’s voice and song-writing from their album together, All the Roadrunning. You know how at certain times in your life a certain song ‘speaks’ to you? The second song on this album spoke to me—it was on repeat and played loudly in the quiet of my car or the solitude of the house for many months.

I dug up a diamond / rare and fine / I dug up a diamond / in a deep, dark mine

If only I could cling to / my beautiful find / I dug up a diamond / in a deep, dark mine

My gem is special / beyond all worth / strong as any metal / or stone in the earth

Sharp as any razor /or blade you can buy / bright as any laser / or star in the sky

I had been to the bottom of the deep, dark mine—that spiritual journey that shakes up all the beliefs that hold your life together. When you are digging and clawing for something to make sense of all the pain. When you’re covered in the dust of disappointments and heartache, and it’s so dang hard to breathe. And then I realized I had found a rare and fine diamond, and it was me. We lose what we were and become something new. Each one of us is special, beyond all worth—what a treasure! Take your place, Bright Star, and shine.

Gleanings from November—Seeing Clearly

December 4, 2016 by Denise Brake 4 Comments

To see clearly is poetry, prophecy, and religion all in one.

John Ruskin, English art critic 1819-1900

This November was a strange month. Not only was the weather erratic and unprecedented but so was the election and the political climate. (Sigh) All of it is confusing and confounding with smokescreens of battling tweets, false news sites and hacking, entertainment-fantasy-lies versus reality, and those who say to the seers, “See not.”*

The bright-headed Pileated Woodpecker caught my attention in the gray, exposed landscape of early November. His large body of steely gray feathers could easily have been camouflaged, but the red crest of feathers and stripes of white, red and gray on his head and neck created a bull’s-eye through the circular branches of an old Oak. I’m so intrigued by this huge, shy bird. Most often I hear the distinctive, raucous call before seeing the undulating flight and clumsy landing. His strong, pickaxe bill can send chunks of wood flying as he searches for insects.

The mild weather of early November gave us glimpses of colored shrubs and perennials that usually would have lost their leaves via a killing frost by that time. Joe Pye Weed still looked beautiful in its autumn glory, surrounded by red fruit stems of Gray Dogwood and graceful branches of Oak trees.

The last of the golden-leaved trees was the Honey Locust, losing leaves from stems, then losing the yellow sprays of leaf stems from branches. A cascade of loss.

November’s super moon caught the attention of the world, something that gave me great pleasure and hope—that a celestial body could be the focus of attention for a week of time. The moon, stars, sun, and earth—all common denominators for each and every one of us on this planet. But the focus can easily be placed on other things, even when looking at our common subjects.

What is the real subject? What is the real issue? What is the truth of the situation?

Many things can obscure what we’re looking at, what we need to know. Clouds of illusion, reflections of reflections, and influences of darkness can obstruct our vision and muddy our convictions.

On the 18th, our first snow was a blizzard, closing schools and littering the highways with wrecks. Not seeing and slippery slopes have consequences.

But there was this flower blooming outside our window the day before the storm. One stem of this Hollyhock represented all the stages of our lives: a closed green bud full of potential; an unfolding bud showing rich, young, lively color; a lovely, open blossom in its prime; an older, more experienced, slightly faded bloom; a wilted, wiser, wrinkled version of its former self; and finally, a withered, spent flower that was being ‘cared for’ by the rest of the plant. All of them valuable and worthy to be seen.

“I can see clearly now, the rain is gone. I can see all obstacles in my way. Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind. It’s gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright) Sun-Shiny day.” (Gamble & Huff) So, where do we begin? We begin right where we are. We begin by seeing and being aware. There is great value in seeing the environment around us, in being aware of the people around us, but most importantly, I believe, in seeing ourselves. What path are we on?

On our paths, we attempt to see our lives clearly. We want the sweet poetry of joy and love. We look forward to a good and meaningful life. We long to be in the presence of the Holy One. In that spirit, with that Spirit, we have the amazing ability to look at our lives, our thoughts, our feelings and have insight—what a gift! Novelist Jonathan Franzen wrote about insight: “And when the event, the big change in your life, is simply an insight—isn’t that a strange thing? That absolutely nothing changes except that you see things differently and you’re less fearful and less anxious and generally stronger as a result: isn’t it amazing that a completely invisible thing in your head can feel realer than anything you’ve experienced before? You see things more clearly and you know that you’re seeing more clearly. And it comes to you that this is what it means to love life, this is all anybody who talks seriously about God is ever talking about. Moments like this.” I say to the seers, “See.”

*Isaiah 30:10

Pregnant With Blessings

November 27, 2016 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

I was struck with envy on Thanksgiving Day, on this day when family, food, blessings, and laughter were supposed to be overflowing and when gratitude should have been flowing from my lips. Instead I was feeling sorry for myself. We were home—just the three of us—when we should have been at the relaxed Andersen gathering in South Dakota or at the exuberant Brake family get-together in Kansas City. I wanted to be with all my kids; I’m not sure that longing will ever go away. For they are the ones who give me joy, who I love to love, who I find to be the most beautiful and courageous of all creations. We had no Thanksgiving turkey in the house, as our last-day decision not to travel west left us with a nearly empty refrigerator. And then, a reckoning: a walk with Chris and our Tamba dog. Nature to the rescue once again. The snow was beautiful, the air fresh and good to breathe, and there was a shift inside me. Aaron, with his kind and humorous spirit, went with me to the little grocery store down the hill where we bought a few things to make our Thanksgiving meal—simple and spare compared to most, but gratifying nonetheless. We listened to Christmas music, and I reverently rolled out a crust for a pecan pie. I talked to the girls, to my Mom and sister, missing them all with a heart that aches and rejoices at the same time. I was thankful to be with Chris and Aaron in our warm home with Nature all around us.

Prayer for Nature
by Walter Rauschenbusch (1861–1918)

O God, we thank you for this universe, our home; and for its vastness and richness, the exuberance of life which fills it and of which we are part. We praise you for the vault of heaven and for the winds, pregnant with blessings, for the clouds which navigate and for the constellations, there so high. We praise you for the oceans and for the fresh streams, for the endless mountains, the trees, the grass under our feet. We praise you for our senses, to be able to see the moving splendour, to hear the songs of lovers, to smell the beautiful fragrance of the spring flowers.

Give us, we pray you, a heart that is open to all this joy and all this beauty, and free our souls of the blindness that comes from preoccupation with the things of life, and of the shadows of passions, to the point that we no longer see nor hear, not even when the bush at the roadside is afire with the glory of God. Give us a broader sense of communion with all living things, our sisters, to whom you gave this world as a home along with us.

We remember with shame that in the past we took advantage of our greater power and used it with unlimited cruelty, so much so that the voice of the earth, which should have arisen to you as a song was turned into a moan of suffering.

May we learn that living things do not live just for us, that they live for themselves and for you, and that they love the sweetness of life as much as we do, and serve you, in their place, better than we do in ours. When our end arrives and we can no longer make use of this world, and when we have to give way to others, may we leave nothing destroyed by our ambition or deformed by our ignorance, but may we pass along our common heritage more beautiful and more sweet, without having removed from it any of its fertility and joy, and so may our bodies return in peace to the womb of the great mother who nourished us and our spirits enjoy perfect life in you.

I’m so thankful for Nature. On this Thanksgiving weekend, it is fitting to pray for the Earth we call home, the Earth that provides the air we breathe, the water we drink, the soil and sun to grow our food. If God were to listen to the ‘voice of the earth’ now, one hundred years after this prayer was written, I wonder if the Creator would hear a song or a moan of suffering. As in the rest of life, it would probably be a combination of the two. I know the song is sweet and uplifting in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, but imagine the suffering song in the long-parched drought areas of the West. Theologian Rauschenbusch also asks God to ‘free our souls of blindness that comes from preoccupation with the things of life, and of the shadows of passion.’ Are we blinded by consumerism at this time of year? What does the darkness of our passions—greed, envy, fear, egotism, and bigotry—do to our souls and to the earth? Gratitude begins with the intimate experiences of our senses—thank you for this beautiful snow, thank you for the heart-warming smell and taste of fresh-baked goodies, thank you for the sound of laughter, thank you for the warm touch of hand on hand. With gratitude, our hearts open to joy, beauty, love, kindness, and courage, and we become the winds of goodness, pregnant with blessings.

Not Your Normal November

November 20, 2016 by Denise Brake 3 Comments

It’s not normal to photograph blooming flowers on November 17th in Central Minnesota. The weather has been abnormally warm the last three weeks with daily high temperatures all above normal with most of them ten to twenty degrees higher than normal. On November 5th the high was 72—27 degrees above normal. No wonder the flowers are still blooming! We had cleaned up the garden, pulled and put away the pots of annuals, and done the other fall clean-up in our usual yearly routine. But a small raised bed of spring-seeded annuals and perennials on the southwest side of the house continued to bloom in spite of a few frosts. Cosmos, coreopsis, and hollyhocks of different colors shone on in summer fashion, while most of the fall colors around them had faded to brown.

The only potted plant that was left out in the November warmth was a tropical Mandevilla vine that had produced an abundance of pink trumpet-shaped flowers all summer long. I was sure any hint of frost would have killed it, but the warmth of being beside the house must have protected it from the light frosts.

The next day—Friday morning—rain hit the windows with a strong NNE wind. Soon the rain turned to freezing rain and sleet, and the ice pellets piled up in the grass. By mid-morning, the precipitation was a heavy, wet snow.

We were in a blizzard warning, and schools, events, and college classes were cancelled.

It snowed all day, the temperature fell, and the wind blew strong and relentlessly.

The heavy, wet snow was plastered onto the north side of the tree trunks and burdened the evergreen branches. My ‘color’ pictures showed a black and white world.

Saturday dawned clear and chilly—a normal late November day in Central Minnesota.

The brilliant blue sky ushered in the clear, Canadian air. It felt good to breathe it in.

The flowers from two days ago were folded over with ice and covered with snow. A few Autumn leaves stood boldly in the winter wonderland…

and shone like amber in the morning sun.

Fall, in the guise of Summer, has passed the torch to Winter. Temperatures will stay cooler now with a blanket of snow on the ground.

The birds will come to pick the crabapples like they normally do once snow inhibits their food gathering.

And we trek on.

Flowers blooming in 60-degree temperatures is not normal November weather here in Minnesota. Not at all. This wasn’t some rogue outlier warm-couple-of-days in the pendulum swing. This was a steady, long run of much warmer than normal temperatures that stretched the growing season of Minneapolis-St. Paul to a staggering, record-smashing 220 days. The normal growing season (consecutive days without freezing or sub-freezing temperatures) is 157 days. It’s easy to overlook the facts, because who doesn’t love blooming flowers, snow-free driving, and going outside without a coat? Climate change. Extreme weather events that are becoming commonplace—floods, drought, wildfires, earthquakes, hurricanes. Pollution. Water scarcity. It affects all of us negatively in one way or another—some much more personally than others. It’s just very hard to see on a daily basis and easy to dismiss, deny, and gloss over. I’ve worn my own blinders on various occasions—I know that denial can be a loving bedfellow that gives us what we need and want. But soon the promises of the golden eggs are unrealized, and we discover that the excited, noisy chatter coming from the coop isn’t because of golden eggs, but because there’s a weasel in the henhouse.

The Greatest of These is Love

November 14, 2016 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

It’s been a confusing week. Welcome to Life, right? Luckily, every day of our lives isn’t so confusing, but looking back on my decades, there were definitely weeks, months, even some years that fall into that category. And then there’s wanting and working hard for something that means the world to you….and not getting it. That’s when things get personal. After about two and a half years into my graduate schooling, my adviser decided to build his business and not have students anymore. In order to finish my PhD, I was forced to change departments and get a new adviser. I moved into a department in chaos–the offices, labs and classrooms had been moved out of their building in order for repairs to be done. When I met with the new professors, I asked if I should shadow their lab manager and other graduate student to learn the ropes of the new lab. They laughed and said of each woman, “She doesn’t know anything.” As uncomfortable as I felt at the time, I didn’t know how foreshadowing that statement was to be. I should have turned around and run the other way. We make choices, to the best of our abilities, and then feel obligated, committed, stuck, maybe, like we don’t have another choice, considering all the the circumstances. Four years later, my coursework was completed, my research was almost finished, there was a new department head, my ‘new’ adviser had left, the professor I asked to help me finish said he didn’t have the time for me, my parents-in-law had both died, two of our three kids had left for college, and I was a total wreck. Somehow, I managed to find an ally, and we tried to get that PhD to happen, but I was broken in every sense of the word. How could this be happening? This shouldn’t be happening. My sense of ‘rightness’ in the world was shattered.

Beyond the confusing political week, I also had a crazy blog week. Chris had noticed a hawk in a tree outside of our yard. I could barely get a picture of it, but a few minutes later, it flew to the top of the cut-off spruce in the yard with a red squirrel in its talons.

We live in a place surrounded by trees, and I assumed it was a young Cooper’s Hawk who eats mainly birds, but also hunts for chipmunks, rabbits, mice and squirrels. Cooper’s Hawks have a large head, broad shoulders, and long, rounded tails. The juveniles are brown with a streaked brown breast and yellow eyes. (The pictures of the young Cooper’s had streaking all the way up to their necks without that white bib. Oh, well, juveniles are variable.)

The young hawk looked down at this prey as he squeezed it to death with his strong talons.

Cooper’s Hawks live and hunt in the woods and are skillful fliers with short wings and long tails. (His tail doesn’t seem as long as the other Cooper I saw.)

He was a beautiful hawk, and it was crazy that I got a picture of him with his prey!

After a minute or two, he looked around, and then flew away with the squirrel.

Yesterday, as I looked at the hawk websites again, I realized that my hawk was more likely a juvenile Red-tailed Hawk. But Red-tails usually hunt in open land, not in tree cover. I had assumed because of our location that it was a Cooper’s Hawk, even though his tail was shorter and he had a white bib. Confusing. What I thought to be true, what I assumed to be true, even with nagging evidence to the contrary, wasn’t true. Granted, the coloring was very similar between the two—it was not a cut-and-dried decision.

Evidence. Assumptions. Facts. Opinions. Wishes and wants. The choices we make are a large knot of all of these things. We often see and dismiss evidence of what’s to come, yet on some level, often with our gut instinct, we absolutely know the truth. But it’s not a cut-and-dried decision. And then there are the things we work hard at and hold dear–the things we will fight for, the things that sustain us, the things we build our lives upon. When those foundations are threatened, we feel attacked and justify our actions of attacking others. It’s personal. We wonder how this can be happening, we proclaim this should not be happening. My sense of ‘rightness’ in the world took another hit last week, and policy wasn’t the reason. I can certainly see both sides of the policy issues, and there is truth on both sides and lots of gray area in between. That’s what politics is all about. My hit came when the bully won, when fear and hateful language won. We teach our children not to make fun of the disabled kid, not to call others names that are different from them, not to be a bully. If we hold that standard for our children, why in heaven’s name wouldn’t we hold that basic standard for our president? I may be idealistic, but I am no longer naive. I know that sometimes the predator wins, that non-ethical things happen in unintentional and in deliberate ways, that many people don’t have the same standards as me, that some will ‘win’ at any cost and lay their head on the pillow at night and sleep soundly. Last week my gut felt sick and I had trouble sleeping. I did a lot of thinking and took in very little media. And here’s what I know: I know that words are important. I know that decency, understanding, and civility are cornerstones of our American values. I know that most of our ancestors were immigrants. I know that I love my LGBT friends and family members. I know that all women are strong and beautiful in so, so many ways. I know that Love, Faith, Hope, Mercy, and Goodness matter. And I know that the greatest of these is Love.

Camouflage and Curiosity

November 6, 2016 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

One of our childhood games, as with most people I would guess, was hide and seek. Living in the country with four children in the family, it was the perfect get-outside-and-run activity with just enough ‘players’ to make it fun and last for a while, at least. I remember that giddy excitement after the designated person started counting—‘Where should I hide?!’ Or being the counter at the large pear tree, which I did slowly and deliberately, and finally yelling, ‘Ready or not, here I come!’ The seeking and the hiding both had an element of anticipation and surprise and would most often end in laughter, with only occasional arguments and crying. Yet I remember one morning when hide and seek wasn’t a fun game. When I woke up, I noticed my younger sister wasn’t in her bed, which was unusual. I went downstairs, but she was not eating breakfast or watching tv. I went back upstairs to look in her room, check under the bed, and look into my other sleeping siblings’ rooms. I felt the panic rising in my body. I couldn’t find her. I don’t even remember if it was summer, a weekend, or if my mom and dad were home or at work. After much frantic searching, I found her sleeping on the floor behind the couch. I was so incredibly relieved that I had found her, and she was safe. I know I asked her why she was there, and I know she had a reason that had made perfect sense to her at the time—but I can’t remember what it was.

Hiding is a survival mechanism for many animals in the wild. Camouflage by color—a rattlesnake or tree frog, and by shape—a walking stick or katydid, are common ways for animals to blend in with their environment in order to hide from predators. While driving along the gravel road at St. Croix State Park last month, we saw little creatures dart across the road and disappear into the foliage. ‘What was that?!’ I asked Chris. We slowed down and once again caught sight of one by the road but lost track of it when it moved into the woods. Finally a couple of them stopped, and we stopped, and I could get a picture of the Ruffed Grouse! They were so camouflaged with the surrounding environment that the camera had a difficult time focusing on anything!

These chicken-like birds with short legs and a crest of feathers are non-migratory, live in heavily forested areas, and forage for seeds and insects on the forest floor.

In spring, the males’ mating display includes a black ruff of neck feathers and fan-shaped tail feathers. Most notably, they stand on a log or rock and make a booming ‘drumming’ sound with the movement of their wings.

In winter, Ruffed Grouse eat buds of deciduous trees, roost in soft snowbanks for protection, and grow projections on their toes that act as snowshoes! The bird in the back of the photo has the crest of feathers up on his head.

Another woodland animal that uses camouflage is the white-tailed deer. The adult coat color blends in with the surrounding environment, and very young fawns with their white spots, hide in the brush while their mothers forage for food. Another characteristic of deer is their curiosity. As we hiked along a grassy road in the forest at St. Croix State Park, I looked up to see these three looking at us!

We stopped when we saw them, and I started taking pictures. The fawns were so cute and curious–it makes me smile every time I see these pictures!

They stood looking at us with bright eyes and attentive ears as long as we stayed still.

But when we began to walk slowly toward them, their ears flicked one way then another, and they looked around with wariness…

and soon scampered off into the woods.

Hide and seek. Camouflage and curiosity. Our mammalian brains are wired to ensure our safety. We take in cues from the external environment, just like the deer, and decide what is important, threatening, or dangerous. Most of this is accomplished without our conscious brain ‘knowing.’ This part of our brain is also where our emotions reside, which explains why I remember certain emotionally charged things about trying to find my sister but completely can’t recall other details surrounding it. I’m sure most of us can remember times in our lives when we just wanted to blend into the environment and not be seen or times when we wanted to run and hide—that is our brains working to keep us safe. Luckily, we also have a highly developed cerebral cortex that gives us the ability to learn, attach meaning, do abstract thinking, plan, predict, imagine, and choose, all within a sense of time, context, and empathy. Our brains are amazing! Within the confines of a safe place, our innate curiosity is unleashed, and we seek to learn about ourselves and the world around us. Childhood games and play are the training grounds for our minds and bodies for learning how to cope with our daily challenges. From our safe place, with curiosity, courage, and caring, we can yell, ‘Ready or not, here I come!’ and be prepared for whatever comes around the corner.

Gleanings from October—A Reflection

October 30, 2016 by Denise Brake 5 Comments

There have been days in my life when a glorious mixture of Light and Love from a combination of earthly wonder and heavenly grace has shone upon me. The brightest of them all were the days in which I married my partner for life and I bore our three children. Each of those days is etched in my body, mind, and soul as a reflection of everything that is good and holy. Each of those days included mundane tasks, messy happenings, and marvelous emotions.

October is a reflection of those kinds of days—bright and beautiful, colorful and chaotic, yet peaceful and priceless! It seems like October days pass by too quickly, as the vibrant-colored leaves fall and dry to brown, and the warm days fade to cool nights. Maples of all species are the shining stars of autumn color in our yard…

and in the woods at St. John’s Arboretum, where a Sunday hike on the trail is like walking through a grand, gilded cathedral.

The stillness of the beautiful Lake Sagatagan reflected the autumn colors and housed a community of lily pads with only the stems remaining of their exquisite flowers.

The reflection in a pond along the trail seemed sharper and more realistic than the actual trees in the woods…

until the focus changed to the individual leaves floating on the stained glass water.

Our destination for our Sunday hike at Saint John’s was Stella Maris chapel which sits on an island-like peninsula across Lake ‘Sag’ from the campus. Stella Maris is Latin for ‘Star of the Sea’ and ‘Our Lady Star of the Sea’ is an ancient title for the Blessed Virgin Mary. The original chapel was built in 1872 but was struck by lightning and burnt down in 1903. It was rebuilt in 1915 and has had three renovations since that time.

The beautiful stained-glass star window and pregnant Mary statue simply adorn the inside of the chapel.

Moving on through October, another celestial body displayed its beauty—the full moon.

A hazy reflection of the Sun’s light illuminates the darkness.

And then a foggy morning diminished visibility and gave the changing leaves a muted glow. Such a changeable month this October!

A clear, crisp night frosted the blades of grass and tipped the outlines of fallen leaves with white.

The bright sunlight soon melted away the frost and shone on these robins who grabbed a bite of crabapples.

By the end of the month, the gloriously colored leaves are gone, and the silhouettes of the trees are lined against gray skies. We move into our late fall landscape.

October reflections of light, color, and brilliance are gone before we are ready for them to leave. Once again we are reminded that Nature’s time schedule doesn’t bend to our wishes and wants. But those days of illumination stay with us and quietly and stealthily renovate our hearts. We build our lives with the stones we have available to us, and sometimes the fires of life tear down those walls in order for us to rebuild something new and better, all while retaining what is good and holy. At any given moment, we believe we see the reflections of our lives clearly—but what happens when we change the focus? Hindsight has a way of honing in on what matters most and of illuminating the flaws of our thoughts and actions. And the best thing we can forgivingly say to ourselves is ‘Live and Learn.’ We move into a new landscape of life, our eyes see differently, and we receive new wonders from our earth and new graces from the heavens.

Art In The Park

October 23, 2016 by Denise Brake 4 Comments

Smack dab in the middle of glorious summer, Brookings, South Dakota hosts the Arts Festival in Pioneer Park. Two weekend days of music, food, lemonade, art of all kinds, flea market, trader/trapper rendezvous tents and goods, children’s face painting and activities, more food, and more fresh-squeezed lemonade! We lived just a few blocks from the park, and I was always amazed at the transformation from quiet playground to exuberant festival. The art in the park included photography, painting, jewelry, leatherwork, sculptures, pottery, woodwork, fabric arts, and so much more. With creative minds, art can be made from almost anything.

On our exploration of St. Croix State Park, we saw art in Nature by the Great Creator via a walking tour. This piece is a collaboration of Mother Nature and the stone masons of the 1930’s who built the roads and crafted this stone pillar for a bridge over Bear Creek. The stonework and mosswork are exceptional, especially with the indigo background of rippling water!

A Maidenhair Fern tapestry is woven from fall-colored fronds that whirl and blend together, all accented by dark stems.

A light-reflecting prism of water is nestled in a leathery leaf basin, one of many multimedia works of art seen on the tour.

Realistic landscapes are abundant in the Park. This particular scene transcends realism to an ethereal realm.

This interactive piece is made up of soft green moss over rough bark with a line of fall-colored Virginia Creeper. Touching is encouraged.

Fungi art is an often overlooked medium that seems to be particularly popular at this time of year. Bright colors and wonderful textures highlight the geometric shape.

This stone-moss-pine study integrates wonderful textures and details with the muted green and stunning river-blue background.

These images by Current and Foam are ever-changing. Each evolving creation boasts a unique design and an ink-blot quality to its interpretation.

A colony of free-standing sculptures arise from the hodge-podge, monochromatic, needle-like matrix that has tiny accents of green.

An ancient, life-giving sculpture is the foundation for an even greater work of art that towers above it.

Dark and moody with punctuation of sunlight and clouds, this reflective work also features bubbly texture along with an applique of lily-pads.

Usually seen in a vertical position, this three-dimensional piece offers a fresh look for the bark-covered cylinder. Especially unique is the colorful banner of Virginia Creeper hanging below this expansive work of art.

A collage of leaves, duckweed, and grass are picture perfect on a reflecting aqueous background that transmutes trees and azure blue sky to a grounding environment.

These are just a few of the masterpieces from the gallery of Planet Earth. Nature’s art is available at any time of the year for all to see, study, and admire. Works of art can touch a place in our souls that needs healing and can inspire us to transformation. How glorious it is that all of Earth is an exuberant festival of arts!

This post is dedicated to my friend Amy Olsen Linn who has made art in more ways and out of more things than anybody I know.

Archives for 2016

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