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...]
This is What November Looks Like
I subscribe to a monthly magazine marketed ‘for women of style & substance,’ and while I would never claim to have the least bit of style, I would like to think my substance makes up for that! One section in the magazine has a beautiful photo of a real woman (as opposed to a model woman) and is titled, “This is What 50 Looks Like” or 62 or 45 or whatever age that particular woman of style and substance happens to be. It tells a little about her in soundbites like ‘On letting her hair go gray’ or ‘On keeping things simple.’ I like that page because the women look real–they may have wrinkles, imperfections, gray hair, or whatever, and it doesn’t matter. They look beautiful, healthy, and radiant and inspire by what they are doing to make a difference in the world.
So on this gray November day when most of the color is gone from Mother Nature’s palette, I want to show you that this is what November looks like in Central Minnesota.
ON SHOWING HER COLOR IN A GRAY LANDSCAPE
“The sumac seed heads are a colorful and enduring presence through late fall and all of winter, looking especially nice against the white of snow.”
“The tiny blue berries of the Eastern Red Cedar are a delicate decoration on the large evergreen tree until the birds eat them. The cedar also provides excellent shelter and nesting space for many birds and small mammals.”
ON BEING THE INSPIRATION FOR THE MOSSY OAK EMPIRE
“It’s an honor, of course.”
ON BEING GREEN
“We were green before going green was cool.”
ON BEING CHOSEN AS THE BEST TREE IN THE SILHOUETTE CATEGORY
“My oaks are winners in multiple ways! They provide food and shelter for many birds and animals. They are so much more than a beautiful structure!”
ON MINNESOTA’S TEN THOUSAND LAKES
“The lakes and rivers of Minnesota are one of the state’s greatest resources. They provide recreation and support tens of thousands of businesses. They are also home to a multitude of creatures.”
ON WINTER INTEREST
“Not only is the big, bold Joe Pye Weed great to keep for winter interest, so are perennial grasses and flowers with interesting seed heads, like the Ligularia. Of course, in Minnesota, they also have to be tall in order to be seen above the snow.”
ON DISPLAYING HER SCULPTURES
“This Gray Dogwood is a free form piece with strong yet flexible lines and added interest from scarlet flower stems and curly grapevine tendrils.”
“This fern piece has a rigid upright form and sports a metallic look, contrasting nicely with the fallen leaves.”
“This large, multi-piece sculpture is a study in contrasts thanks to the white branches of the sumac and the black branches of the Eastern Red Cedar tree.”
ON BRINGING NATURE INDOORS
“The Quick Fire Hydrangea is the perfect dried seed head to bring indoors to decorate for the holidays. To glam them up, just spray paint with silver or gold.”
ON GOING DORMANT
“Autumn is the season of transition to Winter. Winter is a time of dormancy, hibernation, tough conditions, and finding shelter from the storms. It is a time of introspection and internal growth after the exuberance of spring and summer growth and fruit and seed production.”
Thanks to Mother Nature for sharing the Beauty of November.
As told to Denise Brake
Great-Grandaddy Cottonwood Tree
We traveled down the Great River Road from Red Wing to La Crosse, with the Mississippi on our left and the river bluffs on our right. Most of the leaves were gone from the trees, though the rusty-brown oaks still warmed the bluffs with their color. The sky was clear and blue, and the day was uncharacteristically warm for October 25th. We were on our way to a wedding–an outdoor wedding in a park beside the Great River. And the wedding was held beneath the grandeur of this great-grandaddy cottonwood tree.
The huge old tree, with only a few of its heart-shaped leaves still glowing in the sun, was a gorgeous altar. According to The Meaning of Trees: Botany-History-Healing-Lore by Fred Hageneder, the cottonwood represents honesty, humility, and self-sacrifice. The Sioux Indians used a young cottonwood for the Sun Dance, and Kablaya, the one who first taught his people the Sun Dance, spoke to the tree, “…you, O rustling cottonwood have been chosen in a sacred manner…for you will bring that which is good to all beings and all things.” A fitting place to start a life together.
The morning after the wedding, in equally beautiful weather, we drove up Bliss Road to Grandad Bluff. As we slowly ascended the 600-foot high bluff, we saw patches of my favorite Maidenhair ferns glowing whitish-gray in their fall color.
And then we saw an ethereal pinkish-white tree decorating the landscape, looking like Christmas or Easter or a Wedding Day against the ordinary gray and green of the autumn woods.
We saw only two of the small trees on our drive, and Chris excitedly identified them as Eastern Wahoo or Indian Arrow Wood. (Euonymus atropurpurea) These large shrubs or small trees are native to the eastern half of the United States and prefer light shade and moist soil. The young twigs have a square shape that is typical of the Euonymus genus. The mature stem or trunk is reddish-gray with vertical splits. Wahoo has small, dark pink flowers in spring that form bright pink seed pods that hang down in small bunches. The seed pod opens to reveal a red-covered seed. The seed pods are often still on the tree after the leaves drop, but I did not see any on either of the trees.
At the top of Grandad Bluff, we looked over the city of La Crosse to the Mississippi River Valley that included the three states of Wisconsin, Minnesota, and Iowa. It was a breath-taking view!
The area at the top of the bluff had been renovated a few years ago and included a beautifully restored prairie. Asters and yarrow still bloomed among the bluestem.
A couple sunshiny yellow prairie coreopsis flowers caught my attention.
And then I saw a plant that looked like a feather stuck in the ground! We had no idea what it was!
We didn’t see any flowers or seed heads coming from the unidentified plant, but the leaves were tough and sandpaper rough. They lit up in the morning sun.
I have tried to find the name of this beautiful plant, but without a flower to help identify it, I didn’t have any luck. So the feather-leaved prairie plant remains a mystery.
We followed the Great Mississippi River to the Great-grandaddy Cottonwood tree to witness the beginning of a new life together under that ancient tree. Adam and Ashley will need the honesty, humility, and self-sacrifice the wise tree imparts to them as they navigate their married life. May they have the excitement of rare and beautiful finds among the ordinary, like the Wahoo tree. May they have breath-taking views as they climb the hills together. May they find and accept and honor the Mysteries of Life. And may the Sun shine upon them with all that is good.
Gleanings from October
October is the month we get serious about winter. Though it starts off relatively green and warm, it ends with killing frosts and leafless trees. We had a glorious blast of color throughout the month, however; it was one of the best years in memory! Asters and mums dominated the floral landscape of this transition month.
But the crown of glory goes to the deciduous trees as they stopped production of chlorophyll and let their colors shine through. The maples and oaks were spectacular this year with just the right combination of moisture, temperature, and wind to allow for a splendid show.
Seed production and dispersal is ongoing in its quiet and less showy manner. The lollipop balls of purple allium dry and rattle in the wind, and the tiny, black seeds dislodge and fall to the ground.
The winged seeds of the Amur maple hang clustered together among the fiery leaves and remain for a while longer after the leaves fall.
The white, delicate Queen Anne’s Lace flower closes as it dries and each seed is encased in a stickery covering, ready to hitch a ride on the fur of a passing animal.
The seedhead of Queen of the Prairie turns a rosy red before drying and flaking off the paper-thin seedpods.
The reproductive process of the fern starts with the production of spores instead of seeds. Dotted casings full of spores can be seen on the underside of the leaf.
The animals also prepare for winter. This pair of spring fawns, now without their mother, filled their bellies with apples that had fallen from the tree.
For the squirrels, it was a bad acorn year, so they are happy to try out the new bird feeder.
The turkeys also discovered the birdseed that had fallen from a feeder in the front yard.
October means leaf raking, tree watering, and perennial pruning. The potatoes and carrots are dug, the apples are picked and the apple butter made. Bird houses are put away and the feeders are hung up. Small evergreens are wrapped in burlap. Tree guards are put on small trunks. Clay pots of spent annuals are cleaned out and put in the shed. Pots of oak seedlings are covered with straw. There’s still more to be done.
The reason we do so much work each October is two-fold. First off, you don’t mess with Old Man Winter in Central Minnesota. There are no guarantees that the extreme temperatures and drying winds won’t kill the trees and perennials that we have planted, so we help the best way we can. Ironically, the snow cover is beneficial for the plants, but makes life harder for the wild animals to find food. They need to be prepared by storing fat and having a sheltered place to live. Secondly, much of what we do is because of stewardship. We appreciate and love the natural world and believe it is our responsibility to care for our small piece of it. So as Nature has given us a spectacular show of Fall color, as the seeds for next year’s plants have been dispersed, and as the animals prepare for their cold, harsh season, we work hard to protect, prepare, and care for the creation around us. After all, it’s what we all do for the things in life we love.
An October Day of Contrasts
When I woke up, I heard the slow plopping of rain drops through the leaf-clogged downspout outside the bedroom window. It was our best chance of rain in weeks, but it didn’t sound very promising. The dry weather at this time of year is wonderful for farmers harvesting beans and corn, but the trees, shrubs, and perennials need good, soaking rains in preparation for the harsh winter. Our sandy soil and the drying winter winds can zap the moisture away from the roots and the branches of the evergreen trees in particular, especially the young ones. So more watering will need to be done.
The drizzle had collected, then streaked down the screens of the porch, dotting and striping the landscape beyond.
The Diablo Ninebark had brightened to its fall color from the dark purple-red, and the honeysuckles had suddenly turned golden.
The heart-leaved bergenia had started its leaf by leaf color change, living up to its name in shape and color.
Apricot and rose-colored leaves on the gray dogwood looked vibrant against the drab, gray day.
Though the leaves were falling off the trees, a few flowers were still blooming–violet spikes of lavender, a rogue Canadian thistle, a rose-colored mum, and this daisy fleabane.
A young Nannyberry viburnum was the scaffolding for a spider’s web that connected to the golden honeysuckle, a vivid picture in front of the old oak tree trunk.
The leaves of the lupines were as green as ever, looking almost out-of-place in the autumn palette.
But the most amazing feature of the foggy woods was the tall, stately Monkshood! When most things are going dormant, these five foot tall spikes of violet-blue flowers are just coming into their own!
The beautiful late-bloomer dislikes hot weather, will grow in partial shade, and is poisonous, so the deer and rabbits don’t bother it. Each individual flower is shaped like a hood or helmet, giving rise to its common names.
A day of contrasts–the rain we had and the rain we needed, the gray, foggy day and the bright autumn colors, the dying, dormant plants and the vibrant blooming flowers.
I love the fact that the Monkshood blooms so late in the year–it’s so unexpected! And unlike the daisy fleabane that can easily be missed, the bright violet-blue flowers grab your attention and your admiration. Our lives are filled with contrasts, and how we look at them often determines the quality of our lives. Can we see the value and the goodness of one side of things even as that same thing causes more work or pain for us? Can we appreciate the brightness that may or may not be so noticeable on a dreary day? Can we be the sturdy scaffolding that holds the delicate, transient things in our lives? I will probably chop down that rogue thistle that announced itself with its conspicuous purple flower–I can acknowledge its beauty and know that I don’t want it seeding itself in our woods. But I will hold all these contrasts in my heart–with love–for it is within love that we can grow and bloom, die back and go dormant, and grow and bloom again.
Looking through Rose-colored Glasses
When I was in college, an outspoken and very down-to-earth friend told me that I looked at life through rose-colored glasses. And in my idealistic and naive way, I defended my ideals as upstanding and moral! I didn’t think there was anything wrong with looking through rose-colored glasses!
One evening last week as the sun was low in the sky, the world outside our windows became rose-colored. The reds and pinks of the autumn leaves intensified, while the yellows and oranges glowed with a rosy light. The fallen leaves were pink, and even the grey-brown tree trunks blushed.
I looked up the meaning of the phrase ‘to see the world through rose-colored glasses’:
- an unduly cheerful, optimistic, or favorable view of things; sanguine
- idealistic; don’t see reality for what it is; naive
- to see the positive in things while being oblivious to the negative
- to see things as being better than they really are
It is interesting that the word ‘sanguine’ is related to ‘sanguinaria’–a spring-blooming, woodland perennial called blood-root and also means a moderate to strong red color–along with cheerfulness and optimism.
I have lived my life with a favorable view of people and things. I admit to being naive and idealistic. I have closed my eyes to the ‘bad’ things in life. I believe in second chances and seeing the good in people.
My son Aaron and his friend were canoeing and fishing when the rose-colored evening settled over us. He said it was disorienting to navigate the canoe when the sky, the water, and the land all glowed in that rosy color.
And I became disoriented when I met a wolf in sheep’s clothing, when a trusted person lied in front of me, when I saw people take advantage of me and others, when people who should have helped me, didn’t–all things that should not happen, that could not happen in a rose-colored world. The ultimate reality check.
I held onto that world for way too long and suffered the consequences, and unfortunately, I also didn’t teach my children how to handle those wolves in sheep’s clothing. My new mantra is ‘get real!’ It’s a hard lesson to learn after all those decades.
So the rose-colored evening brought to mind the bigger picture of my life. It really did change the true colors of everything. I still like to look at the positives of people and life, but I am no longer oblivious to the negatives.
As to that evening–I like to think that God was seeing things as better than they really are.
A Change in Perspective
What if we saw our world from the perspective of a bald eagle soaring high above the land? We would definitely see the ‘bigger picture.’ We would also want the eagle’s excellent vision so everything wouldn’t be a blur. I saw a different perspective of our place on Sunday when I was on the roof painting the chimney. We live on a bluff of the Sauk River, though we usually can’t see the river because of the leaves and trees. But from the roof I could see the River widening into the Chain of Lakes and cloaked in Autumn finery.
It was fun to see the woods from the one story roof of our house. The curtain of maple leaves had dropped from the nearest trees, and I could see some of the colorful, stand-out beauties that are usually lost in the forest of green. I’m glad they have a season to be seen and awed over.
My rooftop view displayed the amazing amount of progress we have made in our war on buckthorn. What used to be a dense, homogeneous wall of green with mature oaks and cedars rising above it, is now a real woods with diverse plant life and paths to enjoy it.
But through the boldly branched oaks, I could see a patch of bright green–an area of buckthorn seedlings that had grown to four feet tall–and I made a mental note about that being our next place to work.
The eight foot tall Nannyberry Viburnum tree, splendid in orange and the focal point from the ground, looked small and insignificant from the rooftop. The magnificent oaks and the distant River captured my eye and attention.
On the other side of the house, maple leaves were falling like rain. The day before, we had raked huge piles of yellow leaves and mowed and mulched to a carpet of green.
And when the last leaves drop, we will have another day of the same.
We tend to see our lives from one perspective–from our two feet on the ground, historical, corrected vision. It’s only natural. But what would it look like from an eagle’s eye? What would your life look like from the rooftop? Do you see the progress you’ve made? Do you make a note of where you need to do some work? Or are the leaves and the trees getting in the way of the beauty and potential that lies beyond sight? Is the daily, repetitive work clouding the vision of your future? You don’t have to get on the roof to see your life in a different way–just let Nature change your perspective!
Bobber or No Bobber
I’m not a fisherman. But the handful of times that I have tried fishing, I liked having a bobber on my line. It is a good Indicator of Success for one who does not have a ‘feel’ for having a fish biting on the bait. Bobber going under the water equals a fish on the line. Set the hook and you have a fish. It makes fishing so much easier! But with the exception of one long ago fishing experience at a Varner Brothers farm pond in the great state of Missouri, when the fish were literally jumping on the hooks, I don’t even remember catching a fish–bobber or no bobber. But I still like the idea of an indicator, a marker, a helper when it comes to fishing–or anything else, for that matter.
We stopped at Warner Lake County Park this past weekend on our way back from Lake Maria State Park. It was our first time there, and we wanted to explore a bit. We parked at the boat dock, and the first thing I saw when I walked down to the lake was this:
Bobbers floating in the cattails–an indicator of hooks stuck not in a fish, but in the sticks and weeds! How many foiled fishing experiences had happened here?! I left the two true fisherman in my family at the boat dock to catch a fish or lose a lure as I walked along a path in the woods to another part of the park. An interesting mix of large cedars and oaks grew between the trail and the lake shore.
At the other side of the park, there was a fishing dock, picnic pavilion, playground, and swimming beach. The clearing had room for volleyball and running games. Tracks in the dirt and paths in the grass indicated it was a popular place for bike riding. Hiking paths disappeared into the woods. It was a charming place. Two boys and their dad fished off the dock, and the younger, bespectacled boy had a fish story of catching a large northern pike that fought like crazy. Such was the tiring fight that the young fellow had given up on the fishing and was happy to tell his fish story to passersby.
Evening announced its arrival with a chill in the air. The lake was calming down. We saw a lone kayaker out on the water practicing Eskimo rolls. Again and again he would roll over, going under the clear water and righting himself. Practicing. Being prepared.
The setting sun then lit up the far shoreline, igniting the autumn leaves in a blaze of color.
This small park just off the interstate highway was a jewel of Nature–a perfect spot for the interaction of people and the elements of Nature.
When we are surrounded by Nature and our senses are on high alert–in a good way–we are changed. Our eyes can scarcely take in all the beauty of the autumn trees, the smell of cedar trees and fallen leaves pheromonally entices us to stay and explore, the soft lapping of the water on the sand and the quaking leaves on the trees hone our hearing, and the touch of wind, water, or scaly fish makes us happy to be alive. It takes practice to let the rest of our busy worlds go for a while, but the practice is relatively simple–just go to Nature. And Nature takes it from there. Being in Nature gives us an opportunity to ponder what the Indicators are in our lives. It changes our very physiology–in a good way–just by merely coexisting. It gifts us with a fish, a good fish story, or patience. So whether your bobber indicates a great catch or a snag in the sticks and weeds, practice being in Nature–it will prepare your soul for the work of your life.
The Trees Were Glowing
The trees were glowing on our recent hike through Lake Maria State Park, a 1500 acre park of rolling terrain, old-growth forests, small lakes, and woodland marshes. Chris gathered a beautiful array of Bigtooth aspen leaves that carpeted the trail near the sunlit edges of the forest. The huge, old maple trees that elevated this woods to forest status had turned a brilliant golden color and shimmered in the autumn sunlight, causing an ethereal glow of the shaded trail.
The immenseness of the trees was brought to ground and sight with those that had fallen. They must have made earthquake rumbles and sharp cracks of breaking wood as they fell to the forest floor, crushing the young trees that grew along the axis of their path. Some fallen giants still had leaves from this year’s growth; others were decayed and covered with moss.
We spotted a little acorn bandit, cheeks full of plunder, backed into an awkward frozen position of potential fight or flight.
Bjorkland Lake reflected the blue of the sky and bore a circular wreath of cattails and common reed grass. It was quiet and empty of birds–perhaps they were hiding in the reed grass, but it seemed they were missing out on a glorious swimming day!
The quivering golden aspen leaves were singing the last refrains of their seasonal song, dropping note by note to the ground below.
Their audience of sumac, goldenrod, and gone-to-seed asters swayed with the song of the breeze, and for some reason, it reminded me of Christmas.
Neatly packed milkweed seeds lay exposed to the wind in a dried pod that had cracked open, while the fluffy stragglers from another pod clung to the rough casing.
A living arch invited us into the chapel of gilded maples, and we hushed as we walked the hallowed ground beneath their glory.
We drove to another area of the park, passing through a low wetland area where a yellow sign warned of ‘Rare Turtle Crossing.’ The Park is home to Blanding’s turtles, a threatened species in Minnesota. I spotted a turtle on a log in the tree-reflected lake, but this sunbather was a common painted turtle.
A common painted turtle living in an extraordinary autumn-painted world.
So often we take our world for granted, and yet, every single day we walk on holy ground. We want the hugeness and history of what came before us to stretch out in front of us for our children’s children. We are small, common creatures living in an extraordinary domain. In your tree of life, what song are you singing to the world?
Let Your Cares Fall Away
Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into the trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while care will drop away from you like the leaves of Autumn. –John Muir
No matter where you are this weekend, take some time to spend outside, gather up the glories of Nature, and let your cares fall away!
Getting Rid of the Old
Autumn leaves are brilliant, colorful, showy, breathtaking, vacation-worthy, and postcard picture perfect….
photo by Aaron Brake
until they fall off the tree. Then they become crinkly, earthy-smelling piles of fun, work, mulch, and compost!
We all know that deciduous trees lose their leaves–the hallmark of fall. But did you know that evergreen conifers lose their leaves, too? Their leaves are generally called needles, and like deciduous trees, new growth occurs every spring. Unlike the deciduous trees who shed all their leaves each fall, the evergreens keep a number of years’ growth throughout the year. But they don’t keep them all. Evergreen foliage lives for one to seven years, depending on the species. As the new growth emerges, the older growth becomes shaded and produces less food for the tree. White pines keep three years’ growth in the summer, drop the inner needles in the fall, and keep two years’ growth in the winter. The inner needles turn bright yellow quite suddenly and remain attached for seven to ten days, depending on the weather.
And then they fall to the ground, carpeting the grass with a sappy layer of pine needles decorated with an occasional cone.
The inner scale-like leaves of Arborvitae (White cedar) turn brown and remain on the tree longer than the white pine needles, but they too will eventually fall off to mulch the ground below.
Red pines also exhibit seasonal needle drop, though not as noticeably as white pines or arborvitae.
Needle drop on spruces and firs is even less noticeable, for they maintain the largest number of years’ growth. On the opposite end of the spectrum are deciduous conifers that drop their needles every year–larch, bald cypress, and dawn redwood.
The larch
The death and deposition of the oldest, innermost needles of evergreen trees reflects the normal growth cycle of a healthy tree. The white pine in our yard looks lighter and healthier now that it has shed its yellow needles. It will be a beautiful beacon this winter in a landscape of white as it prepares itself for next year’s spring growth.
Like the evergreens’ inner needle drop, I think it’s important for humans to periodically get rid of ‘the old.’ Maybe getting ready for winter helps us do that–cleaning and tossing out junk that has accumulated from the carefree summer so that everything fits into the garage, shed, or closet. Making sure things are ready and fit for winter use. Cleaning up leaves and cutting back perennials so the trees and plants will be ready for new growth after their long winter hiatus. Perhaps we also shed some ‘old thoughts’ in the process that no longer feed us, making us lighter and healthier as we head into the winter and into our own preparation for a season of new growth.