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...]
Warming Sun, Splashing Water
We’ve had a bit of a cold spell this week that has slid its way south and east–so many of you have felt it, too. Yesterday morning clocked in at a chilly minus eighteen, and we won’t even talk about the wind chill. But that is all a part of an ordinary Minnesota winter. What has not been normal is our snowfall! I guess we’ve sent it all to Boston this year!
But as the tree shadows show, it was very sunny yesterday. And even though it only warmed to eleven degrees above zero, the strong sunlight melted the snow from the roof of the house and formed icicles.
The dripping water splish-splashed into a crevice on the granite planter below the window. It was sort of a marvel that any water outside at that temperature wouldn’t be frozen!
Some of the icicles had crashed to the ground, skidding on the snow and shattering into pieces.
The extreme cold brought the pileated woodpecker to the bird feeder. He stopped for a bite of frozen crabapple in our young tree, his chicken-like feet clutching the small branch as it swayed under his weight.
The sun-warmed rocks and dry leaves around our hosta garden made stepping-stones through the snow, when usually they are hidden far into spring.
Dried hydrangea flowers still graced the blue-white landscape, not buried under a mound of snow or nipped off for a rabbit’s supper.
Each winter is unique and offers its gifts to the birds, wildlife, and to us. After a record-setting cold and snowy winter last year, we are almost basking in the easiness of this year. The sun is already angled to warm things up on the coldest days and lights the sky past the five o’clock hour.
We all carry expectations based on past experiences. Some of us believe the thoughts we think while the facts of our senses are telling us a different story. Those ideas can come crashing down and shatter to pieces with enough illumination. We have to open ourselves to the splashing water of a frigid-cold day, to the warming sun in February, to the sparkling light and the dusky shadows of our lives, and to the possibilities that entice us to live life large.
Every Kind of Love
It was a one-in-a-million-chance-of-meeting love story that began in 1980 as May was slipping into June. He was a brown-eyed handsome man with ostrich leather cowboy boots and an easy, polite way of being. I don’t know what kind of courage it must have taken to walk over to ask a South Dakota girl to dance, with his slightly Southern drawl; all I know is, I’m glad he did. Thus began our unlikely long-distance romance with infrequent visits and the exchange of hundreds of letters. I learned about his love for his family, his character, his humor and loyalty, and his love of the outdoors. Two years later, in front of God, our families, and friends, I chose him to be my husband and he chose me to be his wife.
While we can only speculate whether there is Love between pairs of swans, eagles, and geese who mate for life, it is evident that they care for their chosen one.
They work diligently together to raise their families–building nests, incubating eggs, hunting for food, and teaching their young.
They are committed partners and companions, even when the road isn’t easy.
I have always said that Valentine’s Day is about Every Kind of Love. It includes Love for a partner but represents so much more. It is Love a mother or father has for her/his children–the daily care, the feeding, the teaching, and the letting go.
It is Love for our extended families and for the community of people who live and work with us.
It is Love for our friends–those close to us and those who are far away.
It is Love for our home the Earth and everything she provides for our well-being.
It is Love for the Creator who fashioned this incredible, enchanting world.
Valentine’s Day is also about a very basic, often overlooked kind of Love–the Love for ourselves. I don’t mean in a narcissistic, I’m-the-best kind of way, but in a deeply nurturing I’m-okay way. Love for the adventurous explorer in ourselves.
Love for the feisty, I’m-going-to-do-this part of ourselves.
Love for and acceptance of our uniqueness and our idiosyncrasies.
Love for our vulnerabilities and our curiosity.
I am grateful for the nearly thirty-five years with my brown-eyed handsome man, my husband and partner. But when time or circumstances strip away the driving forces of societal pressure and hormonal intensity to pair up, we are all left with something different, something more. When the busyness and self-sacrificing of raising a family or caring for parents is over, we need to re-fuel ourselves in some way. When friends are far away or gone from this earth, we are left alone in the middle of the night with our thoughts and feelings. When a workplace no longer provides support and daily companionship, we need the courage to be okay with ourselves. Love encompasses all the stages of our lives and is the container in which we grow and develop, make mistakes, take risks, and learn about the world and ourselves. Love is the Place we return to again and again.
Happy Valentine’s Day to my husband, my children, my family and friends, and to all you readers of North Star Nature! Love to you all!
Two Good Weekend Surprises
The first good surprise was a visit from my Mom. She called after lunch on Friday and asked if we had plans for the weekend. With nice weather in the forecast, she hit the road and was here by suppertime! On Saturday, we drove to Eagle Park to check on the raptors–no eagles in sight. A couple of hours later we checked again and found both sitting in the tree.
Chris walked down to the river as Mom and I started around the eagle tree trail. Soon the male flew toward the river. When Chris caught up to us, he said he had scared up a flock of pigeons from under the bridge. From his vantage point in the tree, the male probably saw the pigeons fly up and hoped to catch a meal. The female watched as we walked the trail.
We hiked the circular path around her tree, getting a look at her from all angles.
Mom was surprised by the huge granite boulders that were scattered throughout the park.
One of the rocks was called Morton Gneiss, estimated to be about 3.5 million years old–the oldest type of rock in the United States. It is normally found in southwest Minnesota, so how this rock got here was a ‘geological puzzle!’
I think the eagle tree and nest are an anatomical puzzle! How does the tree hold such a huge nest? And how do the eagles engineer such a marvel?
After leaving Eagle Park, we drove along Rockville County Park road and found the second good surprise of the weekend–another eagle’s nest! It’s about a mile away from the first nest and is not as large. We had driven by it before, but with the leaves on the trees, we had not noticed it.
As I was trying to focus in on the nest and get a picture, an eagle flew in with a rabbit or something dangling from his talons. Chris and Mom saw it, but I missed it! We know the nest has a mated pair, and I’m really excited to watch the raising of eaglets in two different nests!
(Watch Minnesota DNR’s live webcam of an eagle’s nest in the Twin Cities area.)
A beautiful, relatively warm weekend in the first part of February is certainly a nice surprise, but this one was made even better with a visit from my Mom. Both of us love the outdoors, and almost every visit includes some sort of walk or hike in Nature, whether she comes to Minnesota or I go to South Dakota. The unexpected in Life can affect us in a myriad of ways, depending on the event, our previous expectations, our stage in life, and the openness of our heart. My weekend was totally different from what I expected but in a good way! I’m grateful for a healthy Mom to hike with, a loving and supportive husband, the old and new in Life, and good surprises!
Gleanings from January 2015
As any parent will remember, there is a certain age when our children constantly ask questions. They are trying to piece together the world as they experience it. By age four, children have the words to ask the questions that help them learn and make sense of things.
I scrolled through all the pictures I had taken in January and was surprised when questions kept popping into my mind. Usually I get some ideas of what I want to say when I look at them, but never before have the ideas come as questions.
What’s brewing on the horizon?
Where are we going?
What are our hidden treasures?
How do we get along with others?
Are we gathering the wisdom of the ages?
Who’s talking? Who’s listening?
What seeds are we planting for the future?
How do we handle Life’s thorns?
What makes us happy and want to dance?
What happens when we fall down?
How do we see the world?
How do we handle abundance?
Whose tracks are we following?
What bad stuff do we need to get rid of?
What are we hiding from?
Is anything obscuring our Light?
Are we heeding the warning signs?
What are the bright spots in our lives?
What direction are we flowing? Are we walking on thin ice?
Where is our shelter from Life’s storms?
What’s around the bend? How do we want to step into the future?
Why did we stop asking questions? We have accumulated countless Life experiences that have become the picture puzzle of our lives. And many of those pieces were put together with our child’s mind and no longer fit us well. The questions now must be asked and answered by each one of us in order to learn about and make sense of our interior world. These grown-up questions are just as developmentally imperative as our four-year-old questions were in order to integrate the Life of the World Outside us with the Life Within.
Mount Tom
Temperatures slipped above freezing on Saturday, adding to my dismay that we were smack-dab in the middle of winter and experiencing ‘tropic’ air and melting snow. So on a positive spin to my dismay, we decided to go hiking (sans snowshoes) at the nearby Sibley State Park. The ranger recommended the Mount Tom trail, so after parking at the trail center, we were off to conquer Tom.
The trail was snow-covered and slick in places, and as I carefully traipsed up the hill, all I could think about was ‘what if I fall on Aaron’s camera?’ So Chris stepped into the woods and fashioned two walking sticks for me which made the traversing so much easier–and faster!
Dark, peeling bark of three huge wild grapevines climbing a tree caught my attention. They twined their way into a sculpture fit for any gallery.
The dead lower branches of a red cedar tree and the bright white fungus lining the grooves of an oak tree added to the gallery of Mount Tom.
A decaying log displayed a palette of earthy clay and moss colors, almost bright in the white and gray landscape.
The media of choice for the oaks were fungi and moss.
The native Ironwood trees still held on to their rust-colored leaves. This understory tree, also called Hop-hornbeam, is tolerant of shade, slow growing, has hop-like, papery seedpods and tough, hard-to-saw wood.
A stand of young ironwood trees displayed their catkin flowers, hinting at the spring to come.
An hour and a half into our hike, after climbing up and down hills, we began to wonder if we should just turn around. Where is this Mount Tom? And what kind of name was Mount Tom, anyway? This is Minnesota! Our map of hiking and snowmobile trails was confusing, so we didn’t really know if we were on the right track. But I was determined to get to Mount Tom–after all those hills, I knew we had to be close, and I wanted to get a picture! Finally we got to the top of a ridge where the sun had burned away the snow from a patch of prairie grass–this must be Mount Tom!
Down the hill we found a parking lot and outhouse, evidence that we had reached our destination! But then we saw a granite structure with a viewing platform up on the next hill. As we walked towards it, we saw a sign that said ‘Mount Tom!’ Ok. And from the signage we read, “Mount Tom is the highest point in Sibley State Park and one of the highest landmarks in the area. Sibley State Park was established in 1919, in part to protect Mount Tom and the area’s glacially formed hills.”
“For centuries people have used Mount Tom for spiritual, inspirational, and recreational purposes.”
“The origin of the name Mount Tom is unknown.”
Our quest to find Mount Tom on the trails through the oak, cedar, and ironwood trees and up and down hills was finally realized! And here we were standing on holy ground! How many thousands of people had made this trek before us?
As we journey, oftentimes we don’t know where we are, our self-constructed maps become confusing, and we wonder if we should turn around and go back. But Something keeps us going. We carefully assemble ways to make the going easier, and we enjoy and appreciate the sights and moments before us. And just when we think we’ve reached our destination, there is Something More. And we find ourselves standing on Holy Ground.
Winter’s Beauty
I am enamored with the common milkweed. We are in the middle of winter and still the strong stalks and seedpods are beautiful to behold. The beauty is different from the vibrant, fresh greenness and pinkness of the July flowers.
It’s different from the beauty of the summer home and food source of the Monarch butterfly egg and caterpillar.
As the green seedpod grows–one for every 60-150 flowers–the seeds inside develop slowly. By September and October, the pods begin to dry and open.
The sun and wind can empty the seeds from the pods before the snow flies, but my particular January obsession grew in the shade and developed later than its sunny cohorts. The pods dried and opened slowly, and as winter and snow fell, it still held on to most of the white-tailed seeds.
The rough, barbed exterior of the seedpod protects the seeds.
Inside the pod, the seeds are packed around a septum in an orderly, overlapping manner. There is an average of 226 seeds per pod. The seeds themselves are relatively large and heavy with a corky covering that allows them to float in water. Each seed is attached to a silky parachute called a coma. The comas are hollow and coated with wax, making them six times more buoyant than cork. In fact, during World War II, the fluffy silk was used to fill Personal Flotation Devices when the usual material was in short supply. It is also used in comforters as a hypoallergenic filler and can be used as tinder to start fires. But the main purpose of the coma is to disperse the milkweed seeds far and wide via the wind.
Each two-toned brown seed, overlapped on one another like the scales of a pinecone, is amazingly attached to the silky, pure white fluff that lays thin and straight in the pod. The tough, fibrous pod cracks open to reveal this biologic engineering feat (of which there are millions!) that transforms into an aviation wonder! Beautiful to behold!
Seeing beauty is easy when flowers bloom, grass is green, leaves are colorful, and water is flowing. Winter’s beauty is harder to see and appreciate. It reminds me of people driving through the western prairie lands of South Dakota, Nebraska, and Kansas–many think there’s nothing to see or that it’s boring or drab! We just have to look harder, change our parameters of beauty, and open ourselves to the subtleties of form, color, and function. There is beauty, exquisiteness, and wonder in all the seasons of Life.
I am Yours and You are Mine
The eagles are back! Or perhaps they never left. Eagles are well equipped to live in the cold, but they migrate for food when lakes and streams are frozen over. Except for the early November snow storm, it has been a mild and open winter. Parts of the Sauk River are flowing, allowing the eagles to fish. But this is the first time we have seen the pair since late summer.
The massive nest makes the leafless Hackberry tree look top-heavy. The eagles first built this nest in 2004. Each year more sticks are added to the nest before mating and egg laying.
Both eagles were in the nest when we arrived at the park, then the female flew out to a branch. They watched us watching them.
The male calmly walked out of the nest and up a branch.
He hopped up on the branch beside his mate and shrieked. The shrill call reinforces the bond between the pair and warns other eagles or predators that this nesting territory of one to two square miles belongs to them.
Eagle Park borders the Sauk River and the Rockville County Park and Nature Preserve we visited two weekends ago. The granite boulders, dried seedpods, and coating of snow made a beautiful winterscape.
The bare stems of red-twigged dogwood were the only bright color that punctuated the winter brown and white–besides the azure blue sky.
One huge boulder was half covered in snow–a yin and yang of bright snow and dark rock.
The male and female eagles have identical coloring. The female (on the left) is slightly larger in size and has a deeper beak (from top to bottom.) The male has more of a scowl, as the bone over his eye protrudes further out. We saw both of them last summer, but never together.
Mated eagles return to the same nest at generally the same time each year to resume courtship, mating, egg laying, and eaglet raising–an anniversary of sorts.
‘I am yours and you are mine.’ Together the eagles will incubate the eggs, defend the nest, hunt for food, feed the young, and raise another brood of eaglets.
These eagles have been together for many years–the size of their nest proclaims their longevity. They seemed content to watch the Sunday afternoon visitors from their high vantage point. Side by side, they surveyed their rocky estate and the other pair of creatures. And once again they have committed themselves to one another–I am yours and you are mine! Let’s do this one more time! Happy Anniversary, Eagles!
Gimme Shelter*
I lived in a barn for three summers of my life while in college. It was a red, wood-sided barn with a hayloft and a lean-to on either side. The half-moon cement stoop had my name etched into it and a willowy caricature of a horse by the awesome Amy Olsen–artist, cook, wrangler, and bunk house mate. It had an upgraded floor of particle board, one wall of wood paneling, a couple of square wood-framed windows, and two rows of bunk beds. My lean-to was not rodent free–though I did check my mattress to make sure there wasn’t a round hole chewed through the fabric–but it was a good place to live, nonetheless. We were safe from the coyotes that howled in the night, above the rattlesnakes that crawled on the ground, dry from the rain that tapped on the tin roof, and close to the South Dakota prairie that we loved.
My children also worked at church camps with ‘rustic’ housing. Two of the them lived for three summers (or more) in a straight-sided canvas wall tent on a wooden platform near the Boundary Waters Canoe Area and the other in a cabin under towering pines and oaks on a hill overlooking Star Lake. Immersed in Nature, sheltered by Nature, inspired by Nature.
Have you ever wondered where all of Nature’s creatures find shelter, especially in winter?
Fallen trees provide shelter to many little critters–thick walls of wood insulation, grubs and insect larvae to eat, moss to munch on and use for nesting, and protection from the wind and snow. A weasel or mink may live in the cavity of a fallen log.
Dead trees that are still standing make excellent homes for woodpeckers and other birds.
This old oak tree has a hobbit-house opening at the base. Who lives here?
Leaves lined the opening of the shelter.
Inside the oak house, there was shredded wood for nesting material, but I’m still not sure who lives here.
Other animals make their dens under rocks. I know the fox who travels through our yard has a den somewhere on the steep hill under a large granite rock.
Rabbits like to take shelter under brush piles. When we have more snow, the brush piles turn into huge igloos, making a cozy place for a rabbit family.
We have a critter who lives under our garden shed. Our attempt to close his entry with chunks of granite didn’t deter him–he now just has a granite entryway!
Trees and rocks–home to so many creatures!
Look around your house–how many trees and rocks went into making your home a comfortable place for you and your family to live? Safe shelter is a basic need for all of us–humans and animals alike. Having a place to live that is warm, dry, and safe is essential in order to live well the rest of one’s life. It’s fairly easy to live in a barn or a tent in the summer, but winter provides additional challenges. I’m grateful for the trees and rocks that make up our home, for the warmth that earth’s natural gas provides, and for the connection to and inspiration from Nature.
*The Rolling Stones
What You See is What You Get
In what bold relief stand out the lives of all walkers of the snow! The snow is a great tell-tale, and blabs as effectually as it obliterates. I go into the woods, and know all that has happened. I cross the fields, and if only a mouse has visited his neighbor, the fact is chronicled. –John Burroughs
We were walkers of the snow on Saturday. Even though it was only a chilly 11 degrees F, it was a sunny day with no wind. With minimal snow cover, it was a perfect day for a winter hike! We went to Rockville County Park and Nature Preserve which is adjacent to the Sauk River and Eagle Park where we watched the eagles last summer. One of the first things we noticed were the mouse or vole tracks through the snow–not tracks, exactly, but a trail, as their low-to-the-ground body indented the snow. Scattered seeds of a fallen dock will likely entice the rodents to trek this way.
We saw deer tracks skirting a dried, prickly thistle, then following the trail through the woods.
A large area of the park has been planted to re-establish a natural prairie.
The arched seed heads of Indian grass shone in the bright sunshine and stood tall in the open winter.
We walked toward the Sauk River through the woods. We saw fox tracks and many fallen trees from a previous summer’s tornado-like storm. The River was frozen from either side of the banks, but the middle was a fast-moving stream.
The River had an S-shaped bend and as the narrow channel of open water turned each corner, it flowed swiftly as a Rocky Mountain stream.
Walking through the leafless woods and along the prairie with only an inch or two of snow covering the ground, we could see everything. We saw the animal tracks, the grasses, the lay of the land–what you see is what you get–until we got to the River. Up river and down river from where we were, the ice covered the entire river. The swiftly flowing current was under the ice, hidden from sight. Just how deep was the ice above the current? I wasn’t going to find out.
In the early Seventies, a group named The Dramatics sang a song ‘What You See is What You Get’ (Whatcha See is Whatcha Get). The phrase was used in the media to assure customers of the quality of products. It was adopted by Flip Wilson for his comedic skits. It is used in the computing world (as the acronym WYSIWYG) to signify that what is displayed on the screen is the way it will be displayed in print. Most of us try to display ourselves as the ‘real thing.’ We want to be genuine and live our lives without hidden agendas. We want to be like the woods and the prairie. But we all have a little bit of frozen river in us. What’s going on inside does not match what it looks like on the outside. The ice is covering something we cannot see–especially in ourselves. How thick is the ice? That may matter when fording a stream in winter, but Life doesn’t care. What does matter is that we work on melting the ice that separates us from ourselves so we can live our lives in bold relief.
The Making of a Sunset
New Year’s Day was cloudy and gray–a typical mid-winter landscape to start the new year. But there were moments throughout the day when the clouds parted and we saw a glimpse of the sun–for a second or two. It was as if the cosmos was shifting into the new year.
It was the movement of the heavy clouds in the southwestern sky that caught my attention at three o’clock in the afternoon. As a strip of pink appeared low in the sky an hour later, I realized I was witnessing the making of a sunset. By four-thirty, the majority of the clouds were gone from the sky, except the long, horizontal band of purple that took the lead role in the sunset production.
The dark purple-blue clouds were outlined in pink and moved at a swift pace to the south.
The setting sun colored the sky beneath the roll of purple clouds in shades of orange, pink, and yellow.
Forty minutes later, the clouds were gone. The sun had set. A smooth gradient of blue to red-orange silhouetted the cedars and oaks.
And a star shone bright in the quiet sky.
This making of a sunset is like making a big decision in our lives. At first we are in the clouds and rather confused. Thoughts are moving in our head, grabbing our attention, then moving on. We see a glimpse of a solution, but then we are clouded with doubt. As time passes, the choices become more clear to us. We may still have a blind spot–a fear, a doubt, or a prejudice that gets in the way. The process has a beauty of its own–colorful, ever-changing, illuminating. Then all of a sudden, we know what we are going to do! The cloudy doubts and fears are gone. We can see clearly. We feel a quiet peace as we gaze at the bright star guiding our life.