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There is a Reason for Everything–NOT Everything Happens for a Reason

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I like things to make sense.  When things don’t make sense in my mind, I ask questions—of myself and others.  Information helps a person make sense of a situation.  There have been a lot of things happening that don’t make any sense—why would a young person plan and carry out a school shooting or multiple bombings?  Finding a motive or reason for such action is paramount to the investigation.  Information is gathered from multiple sources, in multiple ways in order to figure it out.  Many times though, the answer to the question of why a person acted as they did is never fully known.

Science also asks questions in order to find answers—it is the foundation of the scientific method.  Information is gathered, past research is perused, a pertinent hypothesis formulated, the methodology carefully planned out and followed to exactitude.  Did the results confirm the hypothesis?  What conclusions were learned from the experiment?  Questions, answers, more questions.  And so it goes.

Questions about Nature have been studied by science for hundreds of years, and today the questions are just as important as ever.  Why is the Monarch butterfly population in decline?  https://www.annualreviews.org/doi/abs/10.1146/annurev-ento-020117-043241 http://www.eeb.cornell.edu/agrawal/documents/InamineetalAgrawal2016Oikosmonarchconservation_000.pdf

Is our water safe?  https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1253773/

https://www.mprnews.org/story/2016/07/13/minnesota-adds-pollution-sources-impaired-waters-list

What is killing our bee populations, and what is the impact on agriculture?  https://www.uky.edu/~jast239/reprints/Geography%20Compass%202016.pdf    http://mjpa.umich.edu/files/2014/08/2014-BiancoCooperFournier-HoneyBee.pdf

What happens when forests are clear-cut?  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Un2yBgIAxYs  https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2016/04/160415125925.htm

 

Scientific experiments seek to answer these complicated questions.  Seldom is there a singular cut-and-dry reason; seldom is the answer an easy one.  Mostly, answers lead to more questions.  But each answer, each piece of information that is discovered about the situation, adds to the body of knowledge.  It is a contribution to the big picture, and each piece shows a pathway to action that can be taken to solve the problem.

As for the things that don’t make sense in this world or in our lives, the same applies.  Rarely is there just one reason; rarely is the reason a simple explanation.  However, I hypothesize that there is always a reason for everything—not in the insensitive platitude ‘everything happens for a reason’ kind of way, but in the scientific ’cause and effect’ way.  There was a reason why they gathered the guns and made the bombs, there was a reason they felt like this was an appropriate thing to do, there was a reason their thinking was so clouded and deluded, and there was a reason they fell through the cracks.  As with everything, there is a long, complicated lineage of reasons why things occur.  Answers lead to more questions.  But information leads to understanding—that’s why questions are so important.  That’s why multiple sources are important.  That’s why experts are important.  All help to configure the big picture, so we can take multiple pathways to solve these heart-breaking problems.

 

A Slow Slide and Adversity

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“If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant; if we did not sometimes taste adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.”   –Anne Bradstreet

I knew my third pregnancy would be my last, and I was intentional in being present and grateful for the miracle of growing and carrying a new human being.  I really liked being pregnant and had had easy pregnancies before.  That was about to change!  Morning sickness was my constant companion for most of the way through two trimesters, and I spent more than my share of time on the couch and in the bathroom.  Saltine crackers were my friends, and the smell of tuna and the act of brushing my teeth were my enemies.  Yet every day, I was grateful.  As my abdomen grew large, time was slow and sweet as I welcomed each and every thing with my newest babe.

We have had a cold winter—not as snowy as most, but very cold.  Spring officially arrives on Tuesday, and I find myself being present and grateful for the chilly, icy mornings along with the sunny, above-freezing days.  I am not wishing Winter away.  The snow melt reveals the winter’s pile of sunflower seed shells under the bird feeder where every kind of creature, bird and mammal alike, have rummaged for the high-fat black oil seeds that slipped through the cracks.

The snow melts in the strong sunshine during the day and hardens into crusty, compacted crystals during the freezing nights.  The power of the sun is evident after a winter of low-in-the-sky traveling—snowbanks recede even when the temperature is below freezing.

Lavender is still stuck in the snow; leaves and sticks in the yard absorb the warmth and melt the ice and snow around them.

The wonder of Spring is beginning to reveal itself with Birch and Hazelnut catkins and swollen Maple tree buds.

Melted snow pooled into a small stream-bed of rocks—liquid by day, ice by night.

Geese, Trumpeter Swans, and even some Sandhill Cranes have taken flight through the blue skies, announcing their presence with their distinctive songs.

The pair of pairs of Eagles are at their nests—time will reveal whether each have viable eggs.  The oldest pair was not brooding on the nest, but one was sitting on a branch when we came by.  One of the younger Eagles at the other nest was keeping eggs warm.

Saturday’s surprise was the spotting of two Robins!  Iconic signs of Spring.  I wonder if they were confused by the snow still in the yard!

 

I like how we slide slowly out of Winter into Spring.  Longer days and melting snow remind us how far from the Winter Solstice we are—we’ve made it through another season of cold and snow!  While the dormancy of Winter is important for gathering nutrients and resting the system, it also makes Spring and Summer that much sweeter!  The mindful morning sickness I felt in my last pregnancy was, in essence, getting me ready for the adversity and long recovery after the birth.  What does adversity reveal to us?  It reveals our strengths and endurance.  It shows our weaknesses, and the places we are stuck.  It magnifies the cracks in the system that we’ve slipped through.  Adversity allows us to learn our own distinctive song of ourselves and how to sing it.  It teaches us to absorb the warmth and power of Love that melts away the obstacles that have been holding us back.  Because of this, I do not wish Winter or adversity away anymore, but I sure do welcome Spring and the good fortune that lay on the other side.

Over the Edge in Love

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I remember the electricity I felt when I met Chris—could he be more handsome or sweet?  Gosh, he was a good dancer.  He talks kindly of his mother (important!)  He was humble, interested in this unusual prairie girl, and had a sense of humor I had never experienced that kept me on my toes.  I wanted more of him, even as he drove away down 400 miles of interstate highway.  What I didn’t know at the time was that I was falling over the edge in love for the first time in my life.  There were three other times when I stood, with Chris, on the precipice, staring into the face of a newborn child, and I was swept away, over the edge in love, for no rational reason—when you know you are either in the realm of crazy or the sacred realm of Spirit.

We traveled 400 miles of interstate highway last weekend to celebrate Chris’ brother and sister-in-law and their 50 years of marriage!  How does one go from falling over the edge in love to celebrating 50 years together?!  I was also fortunate to once again stare into the faces of my first- and second-born and feel the electricity of the all-consuming love parents have for their children, even when they are adults.  My spirit sang its song of joy.

The day before the anniversary party, we took to the trails like we had done so many times when the kids were little.  We explored Parkville Nature Sanctuary on a blue-sky, hot and humid day. (All relative when coming from Texas and Minnesota to Missouri!)

Most of the 115 acres of the Sanctuary and White Alloe Creek Conservation Area is forested, along with streams and wetlands.

We found some little treasures along the trail—bright red fungi and a wise old turtle.

But the main attraction of the Sanctuary was the waterfall.  Water cascaded and tumbled over rocks, bubbling with activity in places, then calmly pooling in others.

Downstream from the main falls was a bridge where a mom and her kids were watching a couple of Northern Water snakes in the swift current.  The female snakes are much larger than the males and both get darker with age.  Gestation is 3-5 months with a single litter of 30 live snakes in August to October!

The female climbed back up a small debris dam as the male washed down over more rocks and falls.

Nothing says ‘beware’ or ‘stay away’ like this tree.  Honey Locusts have frondy branches with small leaves that turn a brilliant yellow in the fall.  The spring flower is strongly scented, and the fruit is a flat pod, 6-8 inches in length, with an edible pulp that encases the seeds.  Honey Locusts are hardy, resilient, and fast-growing.

The trunk and branches, however, are covered in huge thorns that negate the positive qualities of these trees.  Luckily, cultivated thornless varieties have been established.

 

We all stand at the precipice, at the top of the falls, at some points in our lives.  The air is electric, and the water is urging us forward.  Things look pretty beautiful from our dopamine- and serotonin-saturated brains.  It’s easy to fall over the edge in love.  At first, falling over the edge is beautiful and effervescent and carefree—until we hit some rocks, and we lose our way.  Until we encounter snakes and things that scare us.  Until we are tangled up in a mess of thorns that we didn’t ‘see’ until it was too late.  So how do we avoid a false positive for happy-ever-after?  What gets us through those tough times?  What keeps us connected to the things that matter?

Sanctuary.  Walking stick.  Bridge.  Sanctuary is a sacred or holy place, a place of refuge.  It is for protection, peace, growth, faith, and hope—qualities that sustain us over a lifetime.  Walking sticks are used to more easily navigate a tough trail, to keep us safer, to help us out.  There are many times in the span of 35 or 50 years of marriage when we need something or somebody to help us get through the tough spots.  Bridges allow us to move from one side of something to the other side across a divide that may seem impassable.  Love is a bridge—the enduring, respectful, committed, treasure-filled type of Love when you know in your heart and soul that you are in the sacred realm of Spirit.

 

last photo by Chris

Hope and Remembrance of the Poppy

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“My Dad Doug Brake had some strong opinions.  He was a sergeant in the US Army Infantry Rangers, 1st and 3rd Battalions in WWII.  Rangers led the way.  He took part in amphibious landings under heavy artillery and machine gun fire. (see Saving Private Ryan.)  He battled in North Africa, Tunisia, Sicily, Palermo, and Italy.  Anzio was where he was wounded and received a Purple Heart.  He didn’t speak about it, but I know that men he loved and fought next to were killed in combat, right by his side.  My Dad saw some of his buddies die violent deaths, painful agonizing deaths, bloody terrifying deaths, instant deaths.  That qualified Doug to have strong opinions.  He believed all Veterans deserve honor and respect.  Recognize them, especially on Veterans Day.  He believed wounded and disabled Veterans deserve care and compassion.  Give to the D.A.V.  Go visit a V.A. Hospital or Care Facility.  He believed Veterans killed in action or those who otherwise died during active duty deserve a Memorial Day.  That is their day of recognition.  One day for them and only them.”  ~Chris

 

Memorial Day or Decoration Day as it used to be called, has a long and somewhat conflicted history as to who or where it began.  After the huge loss of life during the Civil War, groups of women and later, communities would tend to the graves and decorate them with flowers.  In 1868, General John A. Logan called for May 30th to be Decoration Day to honor those “who died in defense of their country.”  

During WWI, an American pilot James McConnell wrote about the devastated land after the 1916 Battle of Verdun in France.      

“Immediately east and north of Verdun there lies a broad, brown band … Peaceful fields and farms and villages adorned that landscape a few months ago – when there was no Battle of Verdun. Now there is only that sinister brown belt, a strip of murdered Nature. It seems to belong to another world. Every sign of humanity has been swept away. The woods and roads have vanished like chalk wiped from a blackboard; of the villages nothing remains but gray smears where stone walls have tumbled together… On the brown band the indentations are so closely interlocked that they blend into a confused mass of troubled earth.”

Major John McCrae, a Canadian doctor and soldier, wrote this poem for a friend who was killed in battle May, 1915 after noticing the brilliant red field poppies that grew and bloomed in the devastated land among the burials in Belgium.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Poppy on the old Somme battlefield

Three years later, a woman named Moina Michael saw this poem in the Ladies Home Journal while on duty at the YMCA Overseas War Secretaries headquarters in New York and was inspired to take up the torch to remember those who had lost their lives.  She vowed to wear a red poppy as a sign of remembrance and wrote a poem in response to Major McCrae’s.  

Oh! you who sleep in Flanders Fields,
Sleep sweet – to rise anew!
We caught the torch you threw
And holding high, we keep the Faith
With All who died.

She worked tirelessly for two years to have the poppy recognized as a national memorial symbol.  In 1920, the National American Legion agreed to use the Flanders Fields Memorial Poppy as the national emblem of Remembrance, and to this day, paper poppies are worn in remembrance of those who died serving their country.

Like many holidays, Memorial Day has strayed away from the original purpose of the day.  It has morphed into a day to honor and decorate the graves of loved ones, to honor all veterans, to begin the season of summer with barbecues, camping and family fun, and even to be known as a huge sale weekend for consumer goods.  Whatever your opinion of that metamorphosis, I hope you can take a moment to remember the original purpose of the holiday.  War not only takes our loved ones away from us—in countless many ways—but also murders Nature and sweeps away humanity, as James McConnell so poignantly described.  Thank Goodness for the hope, resiliency, and power of the Poppy, of Mother Nature, and of the Human Spirit.

 

Location, Location, Location

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I love this time of year!  After a bare, white and gray winter, the greenness seems amazing to my eyes.  From one year to the next I forget how many of our flowers bloom in May.  The colors, shapes, and fragrances are delightful to the senses.  This location we call home suits us well right now amidst the trees, among the flowers, and along with the wild creatures.

In a bird’s world, our yard and woods are a pretty good location to set up house, also.  There are eight pre-made houses to choose from, trees of all sorts in which to build a nest, a river nearby and various bird baths for water and bathing, and an endless supply of insects, seeds, and nesting material.  Unfortunately, in the bird real estate business, we have a tenacious bully.  The House Wren is an aggressive competitor for nests and will destroy eggs and young of other birds in order to take over that nesting spot.  Wrens are tiny birds, about five inches from head to tail, weighing only as much as two quarters.  Their exuberant, gurgling song is loud and persistent.  The Wrens show up a couple of weeks after the Bluebirds, who have already staked out the location that suits them best.  Wrens are the main source of nest failure in some areas for Bluebirds, Tree Swallows and Chickadees, but we witnessed some bold resistance to the real estate bully.  One of the wren houses hangs from the maple tree outside our dining room, and we happened to see a flurry of bird activity around the little house.  A male Bluebird chased the Wren into the house, then perched on the roof, seemingly daring him to come out again.

Then he even peered into the house.

Eventually the Bluebird left to attend to his own nest, and the Wren cautiously popped out of the house onto the ‘porch.’

A minute later, another flurry of wings–this time from a Tree Swallow defending its nest from the scalawag.

The male Wren will find a number of nesting spots and add twigs to them when he first stakes out his territory; later the courted female will inspect the nesting spots.  With all the negative reinforcement to stealing the others’ nests, the Wrens decided to build their nest in their hide-away place.  Both busy Wrens gathered twigs to add to the nest.

The ground below the house is scattered with small sticks that didn’t quite make it to the inside.

One of the most interesting nest-building practices of the House Wren is adding a spider egg sac to the final nesting materials.  It is speculated that after hatching, the young spiders eat any mites or parasites that tend to invade the nest when the young birds inhabit it.  Once the Wrens lay their eggs, the real estate battle abruptly ends; meanwhile, the Bluebird stands watch.

 

I’ve lived in a number of locations in four different states during my life so far.  Two of those states are birthplaces—mine and Chris’ and the kids’, which make them inherently special.  Each place also has a unique culture—Scandinavian, Pennsylvania Dutch, crossroads of America diversity, and German Catholic.  Each location has a beautiful ecosystem—prairie, foothills, rolling farm country, and lakes and woods.  Truthfully, I have loved them all.  Sometimes it’s not so much living in a place that suits us well but rather to become who we are supposed to be.  And places, cultures, ecosystems, and the people we meet there help us to do that.  We learn to attend to our own nests, to defend the things we hold dear, to stand up to bullies, and to watch over this beautiful, green Earth.

 

The Traveler

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I was a traveler when I was a kid.  We had a low-slung, wood-sided Mercury station wagon—no dvd players or cup holders and if it had seat belts, we didn’t use them.  Every summer the six of us would pack the car with a cooler of food, shared suitcases of clothes, a Johnny Cash eight-tack tape, and a little, brown, hard-shelled suitcase of coloring books, games, etc. to keep us kids occupied on the long trip from eastern Pennsylvania to eastern South Dakota.  We traveled almost 1400 miles straight through with my Mom and Dad taking turns driving and sleeping.  Most often we would leave on a Friday night and get to Grandma and Grandpa’s farm in the early light of Sunday morning.  Occasionally on our trip we would stop at a truck stop for breakfast, but usually we ate at roadside rests with individual boxes of cold cereal (a once a year treat) and picnic meals of cold, fried chicken or sandwiches.  It was a time to stretch our legs, run around, re-fuel, and talk and laugh together as a family.  

Last week when I walked to the ponds and wetlands close to our house, I saw a bird that I had never seen before.  It was some sort of shorebird with a long bill, white underbelly, streaked upperbody, and long, yellow-orange legs, which I later discovered were the basis for its name—Greater Yellowlegs!  There is a similar, smaller Lesser Yellowlegs.  Yellowlegs travel thousands of miles each year from their wintering areas in southern, coastal United States, Central America, and South America to their summer breeding grounds in sub-arctic forest bogs or muskegs of Alaska and Canada.  I was lucky enough to see this Greater Yellowlegs on one of the rest stops on his long, migratory route.

Yellowlegs eat small fish, frogs, insects, snails, worms and occasionally seeds and berries.

The Yellowlegs was busy looking for food, walking through the shallow water, probing the mud for bites to eat.  When he turned and saw me, he stopped.  Then he continued to walk while bobbing his head and kicking his legs back, behavior indicating that an intruder was seen.

Yesterday, May 13th, was International Migratory Bird Day.  It highlights the importance of safe, healthy sites along the migratory routes of the thousands of species that need places for rest and refueling.  These rest-stops are critical for the survival of migratory birds.

The quiet, shallow lake was a perfect sanctuary for the Greater Yellowlegs to stop and rest during his long journey, and I’m fortunate to have seen him.

 

I felt like quite a traveler when I was a kid, especially compared to some of my classmates who had never been out of the county they grew up in, let alone the state!  Those trips back to South Dakota each summer were memorable because of the excitement of traveling that long distance to see our relatives, to go back to our Home state.  The Greater Yellowlegs have a winter home and a summer home with lots of traveling between the two.  And whether for people or migratory birds, the rest stops along the way on our journeys are imperative for renewal, restoration, (sanity), and rejuvenation for the remainder of the trip and for Life ever after.

This Glorious Day!

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Dear Nature Lovers,

Just wanted to share this glorious day in Minnesota with you!  Spring is now bursting out all over the place in our yard and woods!

Love,  Denise

Hostas, Ferns, and Lily of the Valley

Brunnera

Hosta leaves

Virginia Bluebells

Maple leaves

Purple-Leaf Plum

Iris

Apple blossom

Pagoda Dogwood

Crabapple

Foam Flower

Jonquil

Ajuga

Larch tree

Dandelion

Epimedium

Ostrich Fern

Candles on White Pine

Bergenia

Oak flowers and leaves

 

Spring work is going on with joyful enthusiasm. 

 –John Muir

 

Transitions of Spring and Life

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One of the most poignant and difficult transitions in my life was moving from a household of five to gradually becoming a household of two again.  It was much more difficult than transitioning from two to five.  But it certainly followed the flow of Life, the reason for parenthood—to raise up offspring in loving care so they would become independent adults living their own lives.

Here in Central Minnesota, we are still in the Spring transition.  Signs of the old—winter dormancy and fall foliage—still are apparent even as the new green grows up around the old.  Most of the deciduous trees now have small, unfolding leaves, though still looking more bare than there.  The Wild Plum tree is white with blossoms, small pink flowers buds are scattered on the Apple trees, and the Daffodils are blooming in their fragrant, cheery yellow beauty.  Within a mile of our place are a number of small ponds and wetlands—some only hold water in the spring and dry up during the heat of summer.  Others are large enough or fed by springs and creeks that they are the habitat for many different animals all year round.  The first small pond had many cattails—old and new—and not much water.  But it was home to a solo-singing frog who was later joined by two other voices as I stood nearby taking pictures.

The next body of water I walked by was a small lake populated by waterfowl, turtles, and muskrats.  A pair of Canadian Geese swam together at the far side of the lake, dipping their heads into the shallow water, sometimes going bottoms-up in their search for food.

Like the bottoms-up goose, the Lily Pads uncurl by sticking up in the air before laying flat on the water’s surface.

A line-up of turtles were sunning themselves on a mud barge, happy for warmth after a winter of hibernating.

On the other side of the road from the lake was a small pond and wetlands where the new green grass was becoming dominant.

An old nest rested among the new leaves.

Pine-cone Willow galls, made last year, house pink, grubby larvae that pupate in the spring and hatch as adult gnats.  The old cone ‘houses’ and the new lime green flowers and leaves are the epitome of this Spring transition.

 

Transitions are always a little tough, whether going from Winter to Spring or Autumn to Winter, from health to sickness or injury to healing, from a busy, vibrant household to a quieter, calmer environment or from a carefree, me-and-you life to baby makes three or four or more.  With each transition of our lives, it’s good to take some time to appreciate the old way, to have gratitude for the things that served us well, and to learn from the difficulties that wrenched our hearts in sorrow or pain.  Perhaps that is why Spring is slow in its unfurling.  As the old way slips away, we make room for the new.  We are happy for the warmth.  We shed another layer of our childish ways to become more adult-like.  We build a new nest.  We join with other voices who know the song we’re singing.  With peace and renewed energy, we merge once again with the flow of Life.

 

The Courtship of Spring—Love Letters to Us

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Courtship consists in a number of quiet attentions, not so pointed as to alarm, nor so vague as not to be understood.  –Laurence Sterne

Downstairs there are two cardboard boxes full of hundreds of letters from our courtship—one marked Letters to Denise, the other, Letters to Chris.  In this era of smartphones and other technology, who can even imagine such a thing!?  We met one May night, one one-in-a-million chance meeting, one would-you-like-to-dance swirl around the dance floor.  He was headed back home to Missouri from a northern fishing trip with his Dad, and I was out with my friend Patty talking about her upcoming wedding.  He gave me his temporary fishing license with his name and address on it and said if I’d write to him, he would write back to me.  So I did.  That began our two-year, 400-miles-apart courtship.

Letters are slow—slow to be written with pencil or pen and slow to be delivered by the US Postal Service.  But I still recall the excitement of opening the mailbox to find a letter from Chris, unsealing the envelope, reading his words and turning over the pieces of paper in discovery of this man.  Many things we wrote about were mundane—the weather, what we ate for supper, what tv shows we watched.  But letter by letter, slowly and surely, his character and values emerged.  Most of the time when we did see one another in person, we stayed at our parents’ houses.  I spent time washing dishes with his Mom, held the ladder for his Dad as he put up Christmas lights and told stories, met his four older brothers, their wives and children, and spent precious time with his sister.  Chris went duck hunting with my Dad, brought gifts of plants for my Mom, and made my siblings laugh.  Our courtship was slow and lovely and difficult and richly exciting as we anticipated each new discovery and the life we would have together.

The courtship of Spring is also the slow emerging of a wondrous season.  Weeks after the calendar Spring, tiny, golden leaves unfold from a Ninebark shrub.

Rhubarb, the delicious, tart fruit of the North, is pushing its way up out of the ground…

…while seeds of abundant greens wait for warmer weather and germination.

Setbacks happen in even the best of courtships—we were smiling from the warmth until a wave of cold air moved in this week, icing over the birdbath and constricting the leaves and flowers that were intent on opening.

Even the bluebird, all poufed up from the cold, was wondering what had happened to Spring.

Setbacks are temporary, and early bloomers like Epimedium and Lilacs can tolerate the cold better than others.

Day by day, Spring reveals new surprises—blooming Vinca vine and fairyland Mayapples.

Ferns unfurl tête à tête…

…and Mourning Doves and other birds pair up in courtship.

 

Spring delivers a plethora of quiet, slow unfoldings as each tree and plant comes ‘back to life’ after a dormant winter, as each pair of birds and animals prepare for mating and raising young ones.  The courtship cannot be one-sided—it takes the attention and appreciation of a beloved for the other to be seen and understood.  Each Spring we are privy to thousands of tiny miracles right before our eyes.  Do we see them?  As we swirl around the dance floor of Earth, tête à tête with Spring and with the beloveds of our choosing, it behooves us to remember that courtships include more than just the pair.  We are part of a family, a friend group, a community of like and unlike, and finally, a small part of the entire Whole.  While in our mundanity, during our chilly setbacks and mistaken attentions that alarm, let us notice the quiet miracles, the revealing values and character, and the discoveries that let us know we’re on the right track, that’s there’s no turning back, that we’re all in this together.

 

This Huge Nest Called Earth

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Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher.  

–William Wordsworth

Last weekend I was off the internet for three and a half days, and I feel ridiculous for even saying that like it’s some big deal, since I have lived two-thirds of my life on Earth without that technology.  (And having lived two-thirds of my life without it, I can honestly proclaim that the internet is a-mazing!)  I didn’t miss it; though along with not having tv, I did have a slight feeling of missing out on what was going on in the world.  But since most of what’s on the news right now gives me a sinking feeling in my stomach, I was better off not knowing.  So what did I do?  I visited with my Mom who came for the weekend.  I cooked food for our Easter celebration.  I laughed with my family around the dinner table.  I read a little bit of the Sunday paper.  And we all went outside to hike, to take pictures, to walk the dog, to bask in the warm sunshine on a wind-cooled day, and to revel in the emerging signs of Spring.

We hiked at our nearby Eagle Park and were disappointed when we saw no movement of gray fluff or adult guardian in the huge eagle’s nest—the second of three years now with no viable eaglets.  We wondered whether it was the age of the parent eagles or if the nearby Sauk River food source was contaminated with something that interfered with the egg development.  (Happily, the other nearby eagle’s nest did have a couple of gray fluffy babies and a watchful parent.)  The bright-light sunshine cast shadows on the tomb-size boulders scattered throughout the park.

A clump of Pasque flowers, also called Easter flower and prairie crocus, bloomed along the trail.

Golden stands of last year’s prairie grasses waved in the wind with hints of green growing up between them.

Nodding heads of Prairie Smoke flower buds hung from early Spring foliage.

We saw the first Bluebird of Spring at Eagle Park, then later delighted that our pair had returned to the yard to check out the houses Chris hastily put up.

Our Spring crocuses were an absolute sight for sore eyes, a shocking display of regal purple, pure white, and purple striped color after a winter of gray, white, and brown.  I couldn’t help but smile and marvel at the sight of them!

Every year, as we come forth into the light of Spring, we are inundated with marvelous, amazing examples of creation, renewal, and transformation.  The old, golden grasses give way to the growing green.  The birds return to their northern breeding grounds and prepare for raising their young.  The miraculous perennials push through the chilly soil for another year of growth and flowering and bearing fruit.  We are just another part of Nature’s transforming miracle.  We are Easter people.  We come together with family and friends.  We prepare nourishing food to share with one another.  We commune around the table with prayer, talk, and laughter.  And then we are drawn outside to commune with Nature, with that from which we come and whom sustains us.  In September of 1965, President Lyndon B. Johnson signed a bill establishing the Assateague Island Seashore National Park with these words, “If future generations are to remember us more with gratitude than sorrow, we must achieve more than just the miracles of technology.  We must also leave them a glimpse of the world as God really made it, not just as it looked when we got through with it.”  Through the miracle of the internet, I commission all of us to become guardians of our little parts of this huge nest called Earth.  Happy Earth Day to us all!