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 September 2016
Living a Grounded Life
I spent a lot of time on the ground when I was a kid. A tractor tire sandbox and the weeping willow tree ‘house’ were my grounded places from my earliest years. Later my siblings and I had forts in the woods–one with boulder walls, rock chairs, and a leaf-covered ‘floor.’ I sat cross-legged on the ground holding chicks and kittens, their downy feathers and fur a wonder to be-held. We rolled down the hills with our arms tight to our sides and stared up at the sky when we came to a stop, waiting for the dizziness to leave our heads. We made snow angels in the soft snow–angels of four different sizes. When I was older, I would sit on the bank of a nearby creek and put my feet in the cold moving water, letting it carry away the heat of humiliation and hurts that accumulate in the life of a teenager.
The Black Lab dog we have used to run down the driveway and romp in the yard when I walked to get the mail. Now, in her ninth year, she walks out the door, lays down in the sunshine, and watches me fetch the mail. Often I join her on the ground when I get back, and the pleasure of the sun and the grass and my company is evident in her eyes.
I haven’t looked at the world from the ground up in far too long!
The evidence of Autumn is right before my eyes, and I realize the graying fur and graying hair make it apparent that Tamba and I are in the Autumn of our lives.
But what a great season it is! It feels good to lay in the sunshine and roll around in the grass!
It feels good to see the world from a different perspective. And yet…it seems like I have been here before.
It feels good to be grounded again.
Many of us spent much of our childhood years outside and on the ground. Being grounded is to be sensible, connected, and down to earth–the qualities of young children and animals of all sorts. It is a calm steadiness that reaches far beyond our own bodies and lives–from the ancestors who came before us who have returned to the ground to our offspring and the ones who come after us. Being grounded is the basis for our daily life; it is a way of learning and showing up. It is the foundation on which we can build the rest of our lives. Being grounded is like a hug from Mother Earth–one that tells us we are loved, we are accepted, and we are a wonder to be-held.
Autumn Grows–Happy Autumnal Equinox
Days decrease,
And autumn grows, autumn in everything.
–Robert Browning
The decrease of our light-filled days brings us to this day–the Autumnal Equinox. Equinox means ‘equal night,’ which implies equal daylight and darkness, but that won’t happen until the 25th of September. On that day–Equilux, or ‘equal light,’ there will be the same amount of daylight and darkness. What does happen today is the sun rises precisely due east and sets due west!
After a rainy, stormy night, we did not see the sun rising on the due east horizon. But Autumn is already growing–the sumac are brilliant red, the ash trees are yellow, and the maples are beginning to turn color.
It’s a chilly day–just 61 degrees–and blustery. There is no denying that summer is gone. The pumpkins in the garden are more orange than green. Every day we hear geese flying overhead. The yard is strangely quiet as many songbirds have left to go south. Autumn grows. Leaves are scattered in the yard. The apples have been picked by us and the squirrels (mostly by the squirrels.) Nights are comfortably cool for sleeping. A cup of hot tea feels good at any time of the day. Autumn in everything!
An Invitation from a Hummingbird
I got an invitation from a Hummingbird one morning while working at the kitchen table. These notoriously fast flyers are usually seen zipping from one flower to another, but that morning the female Ruby-throated Hummingbird hovered at the window not five feet from me. I glanced to where the camera was, knowing that if I got up to get it, she would fly away. When she did fly away–after hovering for what seemed like quite a long time–I went back to my work. But it was only for a second, before I accepted her invitation. ‘I bet she went to the Lantana by the front door,’ I thought. I grabbed the camera and saw her sipping nectar from the yellow and pink flowers.
These tiny birds, about 3 inches long with a wingspan of 3 to 4 inches, weigh only 0.1-0.2 ounce. They hover by flapping wings in a figure 8 pattern at 53 wingbeats/second! Like a dragonfly, they can move in six directions and even upside down!
Along with fast wingbeats, Hummingbirds also have rapid heartbeats, fast breathing rates, and high body temperatures. They eat often and in great quantities in order to maintain that metabolism. They prefer nectar from red and orange flowers and eat small insects, pollen, and spider eggs.
Hummingbirds are very territorial; therefore, they live rather solitary lives. The females and males are only together for courtship and mating. Nests are usually built in deciduous trees 10-40 feet above the ground on the top of a descending branch. The nest is the size of a large thimble and is made from dandelion or thistle down held together with spider silk and sometimes pine resin. The exterior is camouflaged with moss and lichens.
The next day I noticed the Hummingbird was sitting on the Purple Plum tree outside the living room window. She was all fluffed up, and I wondered if Hummingbirds, like Dragonflies, have to periodically sit still to warm up their muscles or cool off.
Soon she was gone again in a flurry of wingbeats.
I had seen the iridescent Hummingbird often on various flowers in our garden. She was so fast and fleeting and getting a picture of her seemed impossible. I was grateful for her hovering invitation and her rest time on the tree branch. I was also grateful for the serendipitous timing that allowed me to see her both days!
In our fast and flurrious world, how often do we miss an invitation that comes our way? How many times do we go through our day in solitude, even while surrounded by people? How often are we in constant motion yet not getting much accomplished? Do we long for connection, yet brush people aside and hurry away? My invitation to you is to stop and consider the words ‘How are you?’ Most people utter and answer the question as a greeting. ‘Hi, how are you, fine’ in a passing, fleeting moment of time. When I ask the question, I really want to know. How are you feeling? How is it with your soul? How is life going for you on this particular day? I know that life is busy, but I urge all of us to rest for a minute or two and accept the invitation to connect and be grateful for serendipitous time together.
Light of the Morning Sun
The sun is rising farther north in the morning sky and later in the hours of our clock-run days. When I raised the shade of our bedroom window, I saw the morning sun hitting the trunk of an old oak tree in the woods. Usually cloaked in shade and blended in with the other trees, its presence was illuminated for a few minutes by the rising sun. The sun had to peek over the quarry shed, sneak through the spruce trees, and find the opening between the large lilac bushes in order to shine on the rough trunk of the oak.
The low morning sun lit up the grass and goldenrod and produced long shadows of tree trunks.
A busy squirrel carried a huge Buckeye seed in his mouth that he had gathered from the yard down the road from us.
The feathery branches of a young White Pine shimmered in a sea of golden grass.
Saint Francis, who stands among the ferns in the shade garden, was also illuminated by the morning sun.
The morning sun, with its warmth and light, has been a welcome sight these past days. The last two weeks have been kind of tough around here. A friend of mine died suddenly, and as I mourned the loss of such a kind, gentle woman, I was also filled with regrets. We had planned to ride bikes together, and I never made it happen. I was so caught up in my own life that I didn’t go see her or send her a card when she broke her leg recently. We live our lives thinking the people we care about will always be around.
The overwhelming darkness of this past week has been the tearing open of an old wound in our community. The body of a young boy who had been kidnapped twenty-seven years ago was found after a confession from his killer. The details are chilling and horrendous. Our hearts ache for the family that has held his memory and the hope of his return like a bright beacon for all of us. Our tears flowed as the news recounted the facts of the case. And parents held their children more tightly as we watched Jacob’s mother face the unacceptable. Patty Wetterling’s words:
Everyone wants to know what they can do to help us.
Say a prayer.
Light a candle.
Be with friends.
Play with your children.
Giggle.
Hold hands.
Eat ice cream.
Create joy.
Help your neighbor.
That is what will bring me comfort today.
The light of morning. The Light of mourning. Death, despair, hatred, destruction, and every kind of darkness doesn’t stand a chance when the collective rays of light and love are gathered in God’s name. We need to lift up the lives of those who bring goodness and mercy to all those around them, like my friend Joan did. We need to bear the agony of innocent lives lost at the hand of evil and stand with an eternal flame in defiance of the darkness. We need to do whatever it takes to illuminate any darkness within ourselves in order to be a light to others. There is so much we can do to help, as Patty Wetterling suggested and as Saint Francis wrote in his prayer:
Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace….
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.
Love and Light to you all.
Gleanings from August–Sunflowers and Humidity
There are things about August that I love–Sunflowers, the delicious feel of warm sun on bare skin, spotted fawns, and long stems of brilliant Goldenrod.
Humidity and mosquitoes top my list of things I don’t love about August, but we were still fortunate not to have too many days of either pest. What lies between my love/don’t love lists is the subtle reality of the waning summer and tiny glimpses into fall. As the wild plums ripen to rosey-purple, some of the leaves begin to change their color also.
Black-eyed Susans grow underneath Ash trees that begin to drop yellow leaves like secret notes hinting at what’s to come.
August is a later rising morning sun casting shadows on a fallen log.
Whether hiking or biking or walking the dog, Sunflowers greeted us with their cheery countenance. The red-stemmed prairie Western Sunflower…
and the exuberant Maximilian.
The Blueberry bushes have slipped into their coat of many colors, ready for the cooler days and nights.
Swamp Milkweed provides delightful nectar for the Monarch Butterfly that will help sustain it for the long fall migration to Mexico.
Some days of August, with dripping humidity and no air conditioning, I literally wished away. This day cannot get over fast enough, I thought, even as I stared in the face of a dank night with tossing and turning in clammy sheets. I counted down the hours until a refreshing north breeze would sweep the southern heat and humidity back to its home. But as we got closer to September and the cooler nights reminded me that the warmth of summer was waning, I changed my perspective–this may be our last 85 degree day, I thought; I better enjoy it, humidity or no humidity. (Winter looms large in the calendar year of Central Minnesota!)
I remember how I changed my perspective during my third pregnancy. I had more morning sickness with our last child than the other two combined, but I held the thought that this was the last time I would have the extreme honor of bringing a child into the world, to love, to cherish, to teach, to let go. I never wished away a single day, as tough as some of them were. ‘You never miss the water until the well runs dry.’ Aren’t we humans funny that way? Maybe each of those wake-up calls are from the One Who Knows, sending us secret love notes hinting at what’s to come. We need to tune in to the subtle realities and tiny glimpses. We need to drink the sweet nectar of life to sustain us on our journey. We need to appreciate and not take for granted the things on our love/don’t love lists–including sunflowers and humidity.