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 January 2018
The Aftermath
In the aftermath of the Minnesota Vikings’ loss to the Philadelphia Eagles in the NFC Championship game, the disappointment was expressed in various ways—some were thankful for a great season, some were bitter that Minnesota would be hosting the Super Bowl for the Eagles’ fans who were ‘less than nice’ to the Vikings’ fans, and some were able to express their disappointment with humor. Bryan Leary of Minnetonka wrote a short, succinct letter to the Star Tribune: “When I die, I want Mike Zimmer, Mike Tice, Brad Childress, Denny Green, Jerry Burns and Bud Grant to be the pallbearers, so when my casket gets carried to the cemetery, they’d have the chance to let me down just one more time.” The pain is real.
January, in the aftermath of thankful and festive months, is long, dark, cold, and usually snowy. It is mostly a month to be endured, and getting through it gets us thirty-one days closer to Spring. Christmas decorations still hang in some corners of my house—I’m reluctant to give up the cheer of lights and shiny red decorations. The Christmas wreath is now a Valentine’s wreath, and hearts have replaced the nutcrackers that were nestled in the lighted evergreen garland on the mantle. Our cedar pole Christmas tree in the front yard still shines all night long—a reminder that we haven’t lost what we gained on that December day.
But the Christmas tree is now a perch for the birds by the backyard feeder, lying beside the aftermath of countless meals by birds and squirrels who ate the nutritious sunflower nuggets and discarded the outer seed cover.
The weather has not been typical for January—we’ve had the bitter cold, as usual, but the temperatures have swung into the forties for a number of days. Our piddling of snow, in the aftermath of thawing temps, has melted away. We missed the storm that dumped ten inches of snow on the Twin Cities on Monday that resulted in cancelled flights, stranded school students, and stuck commuters.
January, the first month of a New Year, lends itself to introspection. It gives us a chance to stop, look around, and assess our situation. Where am I in this New Year? What do I want my year to look like? Who am I? What kind of person do I want to be?
The aftermath of a New Year’s Day fire that tried to keep us warm in the sub-zero weather, reminds us that some things from the old year should be released to fire and sky but also cautions us that it’s hard to re-build the bridges we burn.
The warm, gray days that melted the snow produced fog and bone-chilling dampness. In the aftermath of fog and freezing nighttime temperatures, spikes of frost coated the trees and grass, transforming them into winter beauty.
Aftermath: something that results or follows from an event, especially one of a disastrous or unfortunate nature; consequence. In the aftermath of a wildfire, mud slide, flood, hurricane, tornado, or snowstorm, the pain is real. In the aftermath of death, divorce, job loss, disease, injury, or other traumas, the pain is real. In the aftermath of disappointment, discord, impropriety, conflict, or disunity, the pain is real. So what to do with the very real pain…. Malcolm Lowry wrote about “the long black aftermath of pain.” There is a long, dark, cold period of time to be endured—which gets us closer to some resolution, solution, closure, peace, forgiveness, transformation, or justice. We triage our situation, do what we can to stop the bleeding, adjust, repair, recycle, receive, work, struggle, release, give thanks, make progress, laugh, backslide, and transform. The pain begins to diminish. We begin to find our way again. A second meaning of aftermath is a new growth of grass following one or more mowings. New growth after being cut down. We remember that we haven’t lost what we gained in that lifetime before the pain, but by various, glorious ways, we step ever closer to Spring.
Walking With Those Who Came Before Us
My Grandma Anna arrived in America at Ellis Island on July 9, 1907. She was four years old and had traveled with her mother from Osterild, Denmark. She remembered the boat trip being long and how the blaring foghorn scared her. What a journey for a child and her young mother!
Seventeen years later my Grandma, her whole family, and all their possessions traveled from Mott, North Dakota to Arlington, South Dakota by covered wagon pulled by a pair of horses. They crossed the Missouri River at Bismarck, headed east to Jamestown, then south to Arlington. They walked 450 miles back to their extended family in South Dakota.*
Every morning I walk with Tamba—at the most, we walk a mile. When the temperatures are well below zero, we don’t get that far. One morning after a fresh snow, I realized that we were walking with the animals that had come before us! The prints were fresh in the fresh snow, and I wondered how many minutes ago they had walked this very same path. The deer will walk down the road, the fox crosses the road from the quarry land, circles through the neighbor’s woods, and often treks through our yard.
Deer tracks and mine
Fox tracks
The deer and turkey have a path under a pushed up section of fence that gains them access to the protected quarry land.
Turkey track
There’s also an opossum, a skunk, raccoons, squirrels, rabbits, cats, and dogs who travel down and across the road we walk along.
Skunk track
Rabbit trail
Occasionally I see the deer or turkeys or fox, but mostly they walk their journeys without my awareness. I follow their paths, and they follow mine. I cross their paths, and they cross mine. Unknowing. But fresh winter snow illuminates the animals’ paths, and I can see us walking together. It makes me feel connected to them in some primitive way. Their quest for food. Their pathway to shelter. Their trek to safety.
Part of the DNA I carry came across the ocean on a ship to Ellis Island and walked across the Dakotas in the hot July weather. *Thanks to my aunt Faye and my dear cousin Marvel, may they rest in peace, we have stories and genealogy from the generations who walked before us. With that history of our family, we are aware of how we follow their paths and how they cross our paths. I am connected to my Grandma and to those who came before her. With the history of inspiring words and realistic pictures, we celebrated Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. last Monday. With that history and celebration, we are reminded of the quest for freedom, of the pathway to equality, and of the journey to a better life. Our pathways are illuminated, and I can see us walking together.
Denial in the Cold Night
“Denying the truth doesn’t change the facts.”
It began with some serious banging of the pipes—enough to wake me up in the middle of the night. So I run downstairs to the boiler furnace and see that the water pressure is low. I open the valve to let more water into the system, hoping that will displace the air that is causing the commotion. The next morning I check the boiler again—it needs more water. Not a good sign, but I add more water and scour the floor and ceiling for any evidence of leaking. It’s probably just evaporation with all the usage in this cold weather, I reason. It is Thursday before the long Christmas weekend, Emily is home, more company is coming, and temperatures are cold and headed to below zero readings for the weekend. So…the furnace can’t be broken, right? My denial lasts through most of the day, but the hourly checks of decreasing water pressure and noisy pipes finally force my hand to call the repairman. The evidence is right before my eyes—a water pressure gauge—and ears—clanging, air-filled pipes. Not the way I expected to head into Christmas and not what I wanted to deal with when family was here for the holidays.
Our temperatures have been on a roller-coaster ride—a very unusual winter so far. After a frigid Christmas and New Year’s, our daytime temperatures soared above freezing for four days this past week. The little snow we had started to melt—an early January thaw in the normally coldest time of year.
This is our third winter of a snow drought—we’ve only had inches of snow when usually the grass, plants, and garden rocks are completely covered.
New Year’s Day the high and low temperature was 1°|-18°; on January 9th, it was 41°|28°.
The next day the temperature dropped from a high of 40° to a low of -10°—fifty degrees from high to low in a little over 24 hours! The temperature pendulum is swinging wide and erratic. The melting snow water on the birch branches flash froze into ice droplets.
A half an inch of snow floated down, when days earlier the forecast had been for 8-12 inches.
Record low and high temperatures have been set in every decade of the last 120 years of record keeping, so there’s really nothing to be concerned about, right?
The furnace repairman assessed the situation and did not deliver good news. We may have a leak somewhere in the basement in-floor tubing. We could change out parts for hundreds of dollars that could “force” the leak to show up—maybe. Not something one would want to do in the middle of the holidays, it seems, or in the middle of winter. So we changed the game plan a bit and tried to mitigate the basement heating. Not a big problem in the whole scheme of things. We didn’t lose our home in a wildfire or mudslide like thousands of people did in California and other western states. Our home was not extensively damaged or destroyed in a hurricane or flood like what happened to tens of thousands of people in Texas, Florida, and the Caribbean islands. We didn’t start our new year having to deal with a Bomb Cyclone like the northeast did. The evidence of extreme and erratic weather due to climate change is right before our eyes, in the news every day, and in the extensive, credible research of career climate scientists.
Denial is a very human response, even as we are presented with evidence that is hard to refute. I did not expect furnace problems, and even more telling, it was not what I wanted to deal with at that time. William Shakespeare wrote, “The eye sees all, but the mind shows us what we want to see.” Our creative, sometimes desperate minds easily explain away the evidence that our eyes are seeing. Sometimes, as in life-altering situations like accidents or death, denial can be a blessing. Grief expert Elisabeth Kübler-Ross explains that denial “is nature’s way of letting in only as much as we can handle.” It “helps us to pace our feelings of grief.” But often denial is a mechanism of willful doubt because we do not want our beliefs challenged in any way. What if we would allow ourselves to become data collectors? Most of us do allow this when trying to figure out what washing machine to buy or what’s the best computer for our needs—we rarely buy appliances according to party line. The same due diligence should be used on all issues—research, evidence, data, personal experiences and reviews from thousands of people who intimately know the issue. We need to ask the tough questions and be willing to see and hear the answers. Sometimes it takes some serious banging of the pipes to wake us up and take action.
What is Your Default Setting?
Twenty-one days. How have you spent the last twenty-one days? What has been your default setting for those days? In the calendar year, the three weeks around Christmas and New Year’s are usually not the normal way we spend the rest of the year. Busyness, traveling, shopping, concerts, parties, baking, cooking, wrapping, decorating. What is your default setting when things are crazy busy? Are you happy, grumpy, a recluse, a shining star? What is the essence of you?
This time of year has always been a joy for Chris and I—the kids were all born within these weeks, so we celebrate three birthdays and Christmas in two weeks’ time; add two more weeks and throw in New Year’s Day and Chris’ birthday! A time for celebration! Not all years have been a joyous celebration—my Dad died two days after Christmas two years ago, my horse of twenty-one years died on New Year’s Eve many years ago, and last Christmas, Chris and I dined alone and didn’t see our kids. Sadness intertwines with joy. This year, we are fortunate to have Emily with us for twenty-one days—definite Joy! Aaron joined us for Christmas and New Year’s—Happiness! Anna wasn’t able to be with us—Longing and Sadness. All mixed together in this holiday season. With Emily here, this darling child of mine, I realized that my default setting was to “be” with her—no distractions of phones or computers. Social media is a great tool when you are far from your loved ones and friends, but I had no desire to spend time on Facebook when Emily was sitting across the table from me. Of course I’m grateful for the web and Facebook to circulate my posts and keep in touch with friends, and I purposefully checked in with my weekly posts, but I am evermore so grateful to have our grown children spend time with us.
What is Nature’s default setting at this time of year? Our northern winter sun rises, peaks, and sets in a low arch in the southern sky. This photo was taken a little after 1:00 pm on January 5th with the sun low on the horizon. The sunrise that day was 7:58 am CST, and sunset was at 4:50 pm—a short day of light.
Nature’s automatic course of action of sunrises and sunsets determined by the tilt and rotation of the Earth in relation to the Sun happens no matter what else is going on—we can rely on it and enjoy its beauty.
Another of Nature’s default settings is the constancy and reliability of the Moon and its phases. The New Year began with the rising of the full moon, traditionally called the Full Wolf Moon in the Northern Hemisphere according to The Old Farmer’s Almanac.
The close-to-Earth supermoon looked huge and orange as it rose in the below zero temperatures of New Year’s Day.
The second full moon of the month—a Blue Moon and another supermoon—will rise on the 31st of January and brings the only eclipse of the year for North America.
The constancy and reliability of the sunrises, sunsets, and moon phases are default settings in Nature that we often just take for granted. This automatic course of action affects the very intricacies of our lives—our sleep/wake cycle, the tides of the oceans, the production of blooms and fruit in plants, and reproduction in animals. When we look at our own default settings, we can see that they too affect so many aspects of our lives—relationships, health, outlook, education, and our environment. The things that happen around us are all mixed together in a milieu of self and other, of desire and fate, of purpose and happenstance. We can examine our default settings—those ways in which we automatically act and react—and we can ask ourselves if they truly represent the essence of ourselves. If not, we can override that automatic course of action and change the default setting. Overriding the default settings of our lives is not an easy task—it takes courage, love, time, education, and often many attempts—but it is worth it when you find something in yourself that you can rely on and at the same time, enjoy its beauty.
The Old and New Seasons of Our Lives
“Live in each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influence of the earth.” –Henry David Thoreau
When I was a child, I had a piggy bank shaped like a friendly, sitting dog. It was made out of styrofoam and flocked with a reddish-brown ‘fur.’ A metal dog tag hung at his collar, emblazoned with his name—Rusty. I put so many coins and folded dollar bills into the slot at the back of his head that the styrofoam broke away to a bigger hole. A metal circle could be pried off the bottom to retrieve the money—money I earned cleaning out stalls at our neighbor’s barn; money I was saving to buy a horse. I kept Rusty for a long time after I stopped using it, after I bought my horse, after a number of long distance moves, even after I had kids. I felt like I just couldn’t part with him. But then, one year of another move, he didn’t make the cut. I was able to let him go.
This winter season so far has been a hard hitting one—not for snow, but for cold. Christmas Day the high was 1 degree F. As I am writing this, approaching the noon hour, it is 13 below with a wind chill of -32. The actual temperature tonight is supposed to be 20 degrees below zero. “Stay warm” is not just a Minnesota pleasantry, it is a directive of concern and safety. But looking out the window, it is beautiful! The sky is bright blue, the sun is shining, and we have a couple inches of fresh snow. The birds and squirrels have been frequent visitors at the bird feeders this week to fuel up for the cold weather. The deer even make their way to the feeder at dusk to browse on the fallen black oil sunflower seeds.
New Year’s Eve and Day are traditionally a time to let go of the old and ring in the new. It is a time for a fresh start. But often, the resolutions to make changes are broken before a week or two has passed. The very things we were so enthusiastic about on day one become a source of failure and disappointment. What if, like the seasons of the year, we resigned ourselves to the seasons of our lives instead of forcing a change that isn’t meant to be just because it’s day one of a new year? What if the new year was about discerning where we really are ready for a change? What if it was about accepting ourselves with loving kindness in this season as we are at this moment? What if the things we think matter don’t really matter at all? Every old thing eventually passes away—I held on to Rusty, tucked away in a box, for years, and I don’t even know why I did. But for whatever reason, it was important for that season of my life as it passed. And then, I was able to let him go. So many things in our lives work that way! Relationships, jobs, weight, addictions, hobbies, grief, physical ailments—all serve a purpose in the journey of our lives, and none of them are controlled by resolution and the calendar year. So breathe the refreshing Arctic air, drink the drink with a toast to yourself and your seasons, make your way to the table and taste the fruitcake and other bounty, and let the Earth and its Master be your influence. Stay warm!