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 November 2022
Blessings and Crack-ups
I know a blessing when it presents itself to my life, and I can even spot a few that are in disguise. I know how to count them, accept them, savor them, and be grateful for them. I’ve had a few plaques hanging on my walls over the years proclaiming the goodness of blessings and offering that sentiment to anyone who sees it. I am equally familiar with the crack-ups, the break-downs, the pile-ups, and the mishaps. No Thanksgiving or any other day, for that matter, has one without the other.
Last Sunday’s hike at Mississippi River County Park was chilly and windy. The temps had dropped into the teens the previous few nights, and ice had formed on the River in record time. (We had hiked at the park across the River two days before, and the River was open.) A layer of snow had fallen after the ice formed, and then the wind blew! The wind and current sent the River ice into a crack-up! There is a dam a couple of miles down river from the park where the water becomes still and full. When the water slows down, the ice forms more smoothly. At this stretch, the north winds stirred up the current and the chaos, breaking up the ice that formed overnight. The River was a mash-up of smooth ice, piles of chards, open, flowing water, ice floes, and ‘warm’ spots that had melted and re-froze. Does any of that feel familiar?
We left the River bank and followed the trail ‘inland.’ The trail had already been groomed for skiing, and ski tracks intermingled with the footprints of humans, dogs, and deer.
The bright sunlight filtered through the trees, lighting up the ‘snow arches’ of the bent trees that live incognito during the summer.
The backwater pond, even and shallow, had smooth ice with a layer of snow that revealed the tracks of some brave animals that had already ‘tested’ the ice. I wondered how they knew they could make it across.
The beaver has been busy felling trees. I have yet to see where his lodge is, and I wonder if he is new to the neighborhood. His industriousness is impressive! Chewing down the tree isn’t even the hardest part—‘cutting up’ and dragging the chunks of wood to his building spot is the most labor-intensive.
Living in this world has given me an appreciation for the blessings in my life. It also makes me realize that blessings befall us all—they are not just doled out to a favored few. The hardest part is being grateful, humble, helpful, and beneficial to others with the gifts that come our way. The more difficult learning curve of the decades is appreciating the crack-ups, downfalls, pile-ups, and break-downs. They also befall us all. We cannot eschew them if we want to abide in a more peaceful place. The hard part is not getting tangled up in the chaos and the destruction, though that is easier said than done. But slowing down smooths things out and soothes the pain of the inevitable crack-ups and break-downs. So take it all in and be thankful. Be still. Be full of love—for our beautiful Earth, for ourselves, and for others.
The Snow is not Finished With Us Yet
When we are young, we are mostly oblivious to the things we carry or the burdens we bear. Not a child gets through childhood without shouldering the responsibilities or the feelings of someone else. It is so universally prevalent that I have come to accept this anomaly as the norm, even as I balk at the idea that that should be so. But to rail against something that ‘should not be’ when it is actually ‘the way of the world’ is plainly unproductive. My idealism gets covered over by realism.
I get a shiver of excitement when I rise in the morning, and as the light slowly wakes the day, I see the brightness of ‘snow light.’ The first substantial snow of the season fell early Monday morning and continued for the next couple of days. It was a slowly accumulating snow, lazy and small-flaked with the stingy, lingering drought. But the moisture–laden snow (thanks to the 30 degree temps) stuck to the trees, transforming the gray November to white. The sky remained cloudy and heavy when I walked the back trail—the snow was not finished with us yet.
As I walked, I noticed how the different plants ‘wore’ the snow. The stiff seedheads of the Yarrow flowers each had elaborate, conical headwear, like a fluffy ermine hat fit for royals.
The short needles of the Jack Pine trees held little cotton balls of snow and looked like they were wearing puffy coats….
but it was a different story for the tall Jack Pine that had died the year before. Brittle branches and old cones stiffly held the snow in long lines. Some things we carry are cozy and comfortable; others should be held at arm’s length or left to die.
A little Eastern Red Cedar tree almost disappeared under the blanket of snow, for its young, supple branches were able to carry the load.
The older Cedars, still sturdy and tough, drooped with the weight of it, but were also able to bear a tremendous load of snow. Some things we carry make us strong.
The Honeysuckles were clothed in an intricate maze of lacy white, each delicate branch outlined with snow. More pretty than heavy. Some things we carry help to make us beautiful.
On the trail, a newly-fallen Jack Pine partially blocked the way. Green and brown needles, old cones, new cones, and dying branches held up a canopy of snow. Some things we carry are ambiguous.
On the other side of the trail, small Sumac trees that had borne their first small flowers and fruits, were bent over from the weight of the seedhead and wore a crystal shawl. Some things we carry were ingrained at a very young age, yet protect us in a delicate way.
I was not the first creature to walk in the fresh snow—the deer had already made tracks down the trail (and through the yard). Their stealth visits are now recorded in snow, along with…
the wild turkeys…
and the squirrels, all of whom dig through the snow and leaf litter to find food. With snow and burdens come accountability.
The Red Oak leaves that cling to the branches for most of the Winter are cloaked in the contrasting snow. Some things we carry become the antithesis of who we want to be.
The burden of snow bent the branches over the trail, blocking the way. There was no way of passing without shaking the snow off the trees onto myself. Some things we carry block our pathway of life, covering us in ways that seem insurmountable. Part of the learning journey is figuring out how to shake it off.
Even the spikey Mullein seedheads sport the snowy attire. Unlikely solutions can present themselves to us when we least expect it.
It was truly a silent Winter wonderland for me and the creatures who had passed through the woods before me.
Each tree, structure, and plant held the snow in its own unique way.
Snow in the North is a way of life. I cannot help but smile when I see snowflakes drifting from the sky. It is still a child-like wonder to me. But there are plenty of distractors, disdainers, railers, and complainers. How do you ‘wear’ the snow? And how is the snow an analogy for the things we carry, the burdens we unwillingly bear? It doesn’t have to be ‘snow in the North’ that ‘shouldn’t be’ according to us—it can be ‘the government,’ ‘the libs,’ ‘MAGAs,’ ‘the church,’ ‘heathens,’ ‘the super wealthy,’ ‘poor people’—all a realistic, present, integral part of ‘the way of the world.’ We all have our own ‘scapegoats’ that bear the burden of our own burdens, knowingly or unknowingly. We want to shake them off onto somebody or something else. It seems easier that way. But the snow shows us our tracks. We are accountable to ourselves for the burdens we find draped across our shoulders and for the journeys we take in life. And that brings me back to my acceptance of the anomalies of life—those ‘out-of-the-normal’ norms. As prevalent as the struggle is for each and every one of us, I now regard it as our work—the spiritual work of our lives. It takes the pressure off of us in a way, while at the same time, our struggle-work becomes our very own—our power is not co-opted or controlled by the other person, the media, the government, the priest, boss, or partner. No need for scapegoats. It’s just me and Thee. We are beautiful and strong, and the snow is not finished with us yet.
Promise Shines Through the Gray
There is a stark contrast in my photographs from this post compared to the last one with all the brilliant Fall colors, though nearly a month has passed since I actually took the colorful photos. Gray November comes to us gradually. It is time to see things in a different light—the literal reality of which we have no other choice. Shades of gray and brown dominate the landscape now. We do have a choice as to how we think about the ‘colorless’ palette of late Autumn and Winter.
It is a time to see the bare basics, the silhouettes of trees and shrubs. I appreciate their form, their shape, their strength and flexibility.
The gray Mississippi reflects the gray sky, surrounded by the gray, bare trees, the gray-green Cedars, and the surprisingly yellowish-brown grass. The day was raw with a northwest wind—eighteen miles per hour of wind chill on the below-freezing day. Enough to make my eyes water as I faced the flowing River.
We had had rain, much-needed rain, in the few days prior to my hike, and the ice crystals crunched ever-so-softly under my boots. Tiny beads of snow fell, hardly perceptible to my eyes and skin.
Along with the rain had been strong winds that had toppled dead trees and limbs, making obstacles on the trail and wreckage in the woods. Beware of the gravity-defying widow-makers who have not made their way to the ground!
A pile of invasive Buckthorn had been toppled on purpose and piled neatly beside the trail. Good riddance to that which takes over the forest, if allowed, in its hungry quest for dominance.
The bare trees allow us to see things that we would not normally notice in the Summer, and though it seems to have an ‘ugly’ look, it really is ‘just different.’ Our judgement clouds the reality.
Blemishes, wrinkles, wounds, spots, holes, marks, weathering, and decline are all exquisitely evident in the unveiling Autumn. It is Nature, and it is us—how can you not love it?
Here in the forested North, we have place-holders for all the others who have lost their leaves—the Evergreens. They are the hope-keepers, the oxygen-makers, the color-bearers. Usually when I hear the wind whisking through the tops of the Pines, it sounds like singing, but on this day, it sounded more muted, less lyrical, more….story telling. The Evergreens, whether the long–needled Pines, the conical Spruces, the wispy Firs, or the sturdy Cedars, tell the Winter story for all the trees and dormant plants. It keeps them all ‘alive.’
And so, the dried Goldenrod flowers become stars of light…
the Artemisia becomes an array of tiny silver bells…
the young Pines embody the everlasting Goodness…
the Red-twigged Dogwoods represent the warm flow of life-sustaining blood…
and the clinging red Oak leaves remind us of our resilience.
Growth is a given in Nature—the eternal hopefulness of that can sustain us through the cold and gray months. Meditate on the miracle of it.
Often with growth comes the shrinking and dying of old branches, childish beliefs, old, outdated coping behaviors, and ignorant information. (To me ‘ignorant’ is uninformed or inexperienced, not a judgement.) Gray November and the cold Winter are perfect times to prune away the old, outdated branches.
Sometimes our old, tightly-held beliefs and ignorances have grown so large that they have wounded those close to us, often with no intention and knowledge on our part. Pruning allows both to heal and grow.
At the end of my hike, I saw a noisy flock of birds scouring the leaf litter under some trees. Robins and Chickadees and a Northern Flicker hopped around looking for food. The Robins and Flickers will go farther south when snow covers the ground. They are some of the last to go, but I see in them their promise to be the first to return, just as the snow uncovers the ground in Spring.
Gray November holds all kinds of Hope. We attended a beautiful wedding last weekend that held the light of young Love and the energy of Happiness and Potential. Do you remember those? At this time of year, we can see more clearly with less obstacles in the way, along with a path around the ones that fall before us. Vision and Breakthroughs. We can look at the reality of our blemishes and human short-comings and call them Authentic. Forgiveness lives on in the cold harshness of Winter. We can identify the invasive species of thoughts, beliefs, and behaviors that need to be toppled, pruned, and removed. Openness and Opportunity. With the un-busy-ness of the dormant time, the stories and glories of Summer and Growth have space and time to be told. And gray November and dark December unfold to Celebration—to giving Thanks, to decorating with stars, silver bells, ever-greenery, and warm red ribbons and bows. We celebrate Goodness and Life Everlasting. Promise shines through the gray.