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 February 2016
Walking Through Winter
Winter can be a tough season, but like last year, this winter has had minimal snowfall and relatively mild temperatures. This has allowed us to hike the trails of nearby parks with comparative ease. A couple of weeks ago we ventured out to Wildwood County Park for a morning hike. The park has three and a half miles of cross-country ski trails, but the only other people we saw were walking their dogs. The snow was slick and wet since temperatures hovered above the freezing mark. Deer and other animal tracks made their own paths through the woods, crossing the hiking and skiing trails with frequency. The woods were mainly old growth maples and oaks with ironwood as the predominant understory tree. The vertical lines in the bark of an ironwood contrasted with the horizontal lines in an adjacent birch tree.
We saw the ice-covered Kraemer Lake through the trees…
and bright blue sap lines from Wildwood Ranch that would soon be tapped into the towering maple trees to harvest the sap for making maple syrup.
We saw evidence of a very busy woodpecker–most likely a pileated–with his recent drillings.
The next weekend we went to Eagle Park and Rockville County Park to hike and check on the eagles. Small flocks of Canadian geese and Trumpeter swans flew over us as we walked the trail.
Then one of the eagles flew to their nest in the center of the park. Soon the mate glided in carrying a large stick to add to the already huge nest.
Both worked on getting the new branch in just the right place.
Later they hopped up to their perch above the nest and surveyed their territory. This pair didn’t raise any eaglets last year–I’m not sure if the eggs never hatched or if the young hatchlings died for some reason. But they are back this year, adding to their nest, getting ready for their next brood.
A mile or so away, the other nest of eagles who raised three eaglets last year, were also adding sticks to their nest in preparation for their next offspring.
Winter can be a tough season. Weather-wise, this winter has been fairly easy, but in other ways, it has been hard on me: losing a parent to death, losing children in the ways we do as they leave the nest and make their own paths, and losing a little piece of ourselves as each of those things happen. And so, step by step, I am walking through winter, hiking through the heartache, and letting Nature and the Creator work to fill up the holes that were drilled into my heart. I will pick up another branch and add it to the already huge nest of a life I have built. I will look forward to the new creations of Spring, and soon I will be able to tap into the sweetness that life also brings to each of us.
My Love Story with Nature
“The purest, most idealistic, truthful and honest love story one can ever live without the slightest sense of regret is that of loving nature.” —unknown
It takes time to get to know someone or something–at first things may not seem comfortable or the wrong words may be said or mistakes can be made. Doubts swim into our consciousness. But something draws us forward. And as we move forward and learn more about ourselves and the other, we begin to care–really, truly care. With time and caring, with respect and experience, with trust and observation, we begin to love.
I was very young when I first cared about nature–being outside and being around animals was an integral part of my life. I cared about the chickens and their miraculous eggs, even as I watchfully kept my distance from the scary rooster. I liked playing in the sandbox under the trees, walking under the wispy Weeping Willow branches, and sitting on the warm back of the gentle Holstein cow as my Dad milked. Later I fell in love with horses and worked hard cleaning out stalls at our neighbor’s barn so I could buy a horse of my own. I cared for that special horse for another twenty years until he died.
We care about people and things as we learn and spend time with them. Our feelings deepen and expand as we love the things we care about. And with that love comes responsibility to care for the people and things we love. Time. Caring. Love. Responsibility. Time, Caring, Love, Responsibility, and on and on it goes. I care about my family and Nature. I love my family and Nature. I care for my family and Nature, and in turn, desire to spend more time with them. On this Valentine’s Day, what kind of love story are you living?
Staying Warm
It’s a cold week in Minnesota–single digits and teens with below zero wind chills. When I go outside, I put boots on over Smart Wool socks, pull my fleece neck gaiter over my head, put on a wool stocking cap with one of those ear muff things over that to keep the wind out of my ears, pull on a double-layer Columbia coat (over a fleece pullover), and slip my hands into leather mittens with sheep wool lining–and that’s just to walk the dog! Staying warm in the biting cold is a challenge for man and beast–and birds! Our resident red-bellied woodpecker with his bright red head and barred feathers found a place out of the wind on the maple tree.
He clutched the tree with his strong feet, used his tail feathers for an anchor, and fluffed up his feathers for added insulation. As the wind whipped around the tree, he would close his eyes.
And then he hunkered down–as well as a bird can while perching on the side of a tree.
I have seen birds preen this way, but he just tucked his head into his feathers–first one way, then the other. It was the perfect way for staying warm on a frigid, windy day.
Later that afternoon, I saw him fly to the feeder, grab a sunflower seed, take it back to the windless side of the tree to eat, then return to the feeder again and again. It takes nourishment to stay warm, too, especially from the fat in the black oil sunflower seeds.
“What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness,” writes John Steinbeck. Our Minnesota winter has been relatively mild this year compared to most others. And yet, I always marvel when the weather warms enough to go outside without a coat and with just a pair of flip-flops on my feet! We, along with the birds and animals, have our ways for staying warm. There is sweetness in coming back into the house for a cup of hot chocolate by the fireplace after trekking through the snow and cold on an invigorating hike. There is a quiet comfort in a warm, secure home, which is not a reality for some people. There is warmth in sharing a nourishing meal of soup and bread. And there is the sometimes taken-for-granted warmth of Love from our family members and friends, without which we would truly be out in the cold. How do you stay warm?
Gleanings from December 2015 and January 2016
“All Nature speaks the voice of dissolution. The highway of history and of life is strewn with the wrecks that Time, the great despoiler, has made. We listen sorrowfully to the Autumn winds as they sigh through dismantled forests, but we know their breath will be soft and vernal in the Spring, and the dead flowers and withered foliage will blossom and bloom again. And if a man dies, shall he, too, not live again?” —Daniel Wolsey Voorhees
Time has been messing with my mind these last two months. With my Dad’s run at recovery after his pneumonia, the days seemed to go by quickly as we prepared and looked forward to his return home, but as things got worse again, Time slowed. With his death, it was as if Time wasn’t even recognizable anymore. Wait, was it only two days since he died?! I seemed to be in another realm where Time wasn’t numbered and predictable. Then Nature stepped in–the voice of resolution as well as dissolution, and day by day, the birds outside my window helped me settle down. I was surprised to see a mourning dove at the feeder one morning–I don’t usually see them in the middle of winter, and they most often browse on the ground for food. A mourning dove for my mourning.
A pileated woodpecker’s long, strong beak made short work of the suet-stuffed log feeder.
Purple finches gathered at the feeders in groups–a community of fine-feathered friends.
The male’s rosy-colored feathers looked like a richly tailored tweed suit.
Carrying his sunflower seeds to the maple tree, a Downy woodpecker placed them in the grooves of bark to break open the hull to reach the nutritious kernel.
Flower-bright cardinals come to the feeder in late afternoon when the other birds are finished feeding for the day.
And the squawking loner bluejay feeds in the morning, scaring away black-capped chickadees and nuthatches that browse throughout the day.
Sunrise of another day, a month of days and more….
Mourning time is measured by sunrises and sunsets and by birds flying to the feeders in their tenacious purpose of nourishing themselves for another day. The dissolution of my earthly relationship with my Dad and the permanence of that takes time to integrate into my soul. Nature helps me sort out the grief, work out the pain, and measure the memories. Writer Paul Theroux declares, “Winter is a season of recovery and preparation.” I am looking forward to blooming again.