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Birds of a Feather

January 8, 2017 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

What if all the birds of the world looked and acted alike?  How would this homogeneous population serve the earth?  The winter birds bring activity, color, and beauty to the very coldest, bleakest part of our northern winters.  With temperatures plunging below zero this week, our feeders filled with black oil sunflower seeds have been life-giving to the varied population of feathered and furred creatures.

I read a blog post recently that made me curious about how we perceive homogeneousness.  Many are familiar with the term homogeneous from chemistry when substances are in the same phase or from geometry when angles are the same.  Homogeneous is defined as ‘essentially alike.’  The writer of the blog post, in the most general definition, lives in a very homogeneous population, yet wrote with disdain about some of the people in his daily life who chose a different path from the writer.  I thought, ‘Wow!  If this person has disdain for people who are so ‘essentially alike’ him, it’s no wonder there is little tolerance for people who truly are different.’

Heterogeneous means ‘different in kind; unlike.’  The different kinds of birds and creatures who come to our bird feeders in the winter showcase the diversity of Nature.  The Red-bellied Woodpecker flies to the feeder and scatters all the other birds who are feeding there.  His black and white barred feathers and red cap make him one of the showiest birds.  His diet of mostly insects is supplemented by the seeds he collects and stores in the bark of trees. 

The intelligent Blue Jay is the only bird that will challenge the Red-bellied Woodpecker as the dominant feeder bird.  His loud calls and large size intimidate the smaller birds.  Blue Jays love acorns and have been shown to cache 3-5,000 acorns in one autumn.  It is believed that Blue Jays helped spread the growth of oak trees after the glacial period.

Dark-eyed Juncos are small sparrows, mainly seed eaters who hop instead of walk.  They eat off the ground, scratching through leaf litter and snow to find their food.  They are snowbirds who retreat north to Canada in spring and summer.  

Purple Finches live near coniferous trees, eat berries, fruit, and weed seeds and love black oil sunflower seeds.  The males have a rosy colored head, breast and rump patch while the females are mostly brown.

This female Cardinal was having a bad crest day one very windy morning.  Usually the crests of Cardinals and Blue Jays are raised as a sign of aggression and down while feeding, but the wind had other plans.  Both male and female Cardinals are obsessed with defending their territory and will attack their own reflection in windows, thinking it’s another bird.

White-breasted Nuthatches eat mainly insects, but got their common name by storing large nuts and seeds in the crevices of tree bark, then whacking them with their bill to ‘hatch’ the seed out of it.  They are often seen going sideways and upside down on the trunks of trees.

American Goldfinches are the only finch to molt twice a year, giving them a bright yellow feathered coat in the spring and summer and a dull, muted yellow coat in the fall and winter.  Goldfinches are the strictest vegetarians and love thistle and aster seeds.

Curious and acrobatic Black-capped Chickadees flit to the feeder, grab a seed, and fly away to a branch to eat it or hide it for later.  They can remember thousands of hiding places.  Their namesake call of chickadee-dee-dee indicates a higher threat level with the more dee notes on the call.

The small Downy Woodpecker eats mainly insects, including many pest insects, but likes the suet cakes in the winter.  Only the male has a red patch on the back of his head.  Downy Woodpeckers don’t sing songs but drum loudly on wood and metal during courtship for the same purpose.

The birds share the feeders and seeds with the squirrels…

and rabbits, or maybe it is they that share with the birds.

 

What if all the birds were alike?  What if all of us humans were alike?  How would these homogeneous populations serve the world?  My guess is….not very well.  The blog writer scorned others who were in essence very similar to himself, which gave the impression that he wanted all others to act and believe like he did in order for them to be worthy.  God created a diverse world of birds, creatures, plants, trees, and humans.  All have a place at the table, a role to fulfill, and a job to do in the grand scheme that is not ours, but God’s.  Perhaps we need a biannual molt of ideas to show our new colors.  Fighting to defend ourselves and our territory is innate and at times, necessary, but too often we end up attacking the reflection of ourselves.  

 

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Filed Under: Winter Tagged With: birds, squirrels

Gleanings from December—Threshold of the New

January 1, 2017 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view, That stand upon the threshold of the new.   –Edmund Waller

I crossed the threshold into the white-steepled Lutheran church.  The old, traditional sanctuary was simply and beautifully decorated for Christmas.  In the small narthex was my Grandfather’s casket—rich, golden-hued wood, not fancy, just lovely, with a lining that had sheaves of wheat imprinted on it, and I thought to myself, “How perfect.”  My father’s father was a small man, a farmer, born in a sod house in the Dakota Territory in 1884, before South Dakota became a state.  I was in my second year of college, and this was the first death of someone close to me.  He had lived at home until two or three days before his death, had received communion from his pastor in those twilight hours of his life, and slipped away in peace.  He was 93 years old.  It was a funeral of celebration, the most peaceful and almost joyful funeral I have ever attended.

Nine years and two days after his death, I gave birth to our first daughter, in a hospital decorated for Christmas.

My sweet Grandma Irene died after a lengthy stay in a nursing home at the age of 94.  She was a teacher and a farmer’s wife.  She cared about people more than anyone I have ever known.  She was a great cook, a dedicated artist, and had a wonderful laugh.  The funeral was held in the Lutheran church where Chris and I were married, and it was joyfully decorated with a large tree, wreaths, and banners.

Twenty-one years before that day, I had given birth to our second daughter, in a hospital decorated for Christmas.

My Dad died a year and five days ago.  He was a cowboy, mechanic, and builder.  I found out about his death as I stood in our Minnesota home amidst the smell of the fir tree, the sparking lights, the greenery, and the nativity scenes.

Twenty-three years minus two days before his death, I gave birth to our son, in a hospital decorated for Christmas.

So…December.  The last two weeks of December have always been beautiful, busy, bustling, and bright.  As the years have passed, and the kids are gone from the nest and loved ones are gone from this earth, it has also been bittersweet.  It is a time of transition, from the old year to the new—in birthday years and calendar years.  December was a month of crazy weather transitions with snow, ice, rain, and bitter cold.  Blue skies and frosty days painted the landscape with diamonds of ice crystals.

Twilight thresholds of a sundog sunset—like three suns setting…

…and a full-moon rising, nestled in the pine and spruce boughs.

A bright spot in December was the annual blooming of the Christmas cactus.  My plant is a cutting from the very large, old Christmas cactus that belonged to my great-grandma Anna on my Mom’s side of the family.  It was passed down to Anna’s daughter Edith, with cuttings to my Mom and then to me.

The winter birds returned to the feeders, their daily feeding times a joyous and energetic ritual—the epitome of living in the moment.

 

The end of a month, the end of a year, the beginning of a new month, the beginning of a new year.  We’re standing on the threshold—looking back at the old in all its certainty, looking forward to the new with anticipation and wonder.  Like those days of loss when the world would never be the same without our loved ones, and we looked forward with sorrow and trepidation.  Like those glorious birth days, when our world turned upside down and we didn’t know what lay in store for us, but we looked forward with excitement, joy, and love.  Nature offers us those threshold times every day with each twilight—the day coming to an end at dusk with the setting of the sun and a new day dawning as the sun rises.  Seasons and years slowly and consistently transition, remaining steadfast as we cross the threshold marked by the calendar.  The threads that tie the old with the new are many—the love of our families, the expression of our talents, the DNA that links us, and even the generations-old Christmas cactus that blooms each December.  These threads give us the courage to step forward through the threshold with hope and determination.  We can be like the feeding birds and show up in our present moment with joy and energy.  The Latin word for threshold is ‘limen’, the root word for liminal space and liminality.  David Guyor defines threshold or liminal space as ” the place or the experience where we are getting ourselves ready to move across the limits of what we were into what we are to be.”  Sometimes those thresholds are thrust upon us and we are blindsided, and our recovery and action are slow and self-protecting; other times we stand at the threshold of our choosing with determination and power.  Gather up the threads from the past that serve and sustain us and let them carry us across the liminal space into what we are to be.  Happy New Year!

 

 

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Filed Under: Winter Tagged With: birds, Christmas cactus, happy new year, sunsets, thresholds

Santa Lucia–The Lightbringer

December 21, 2016 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

We arrived at Salem Lutheran Church before 7:00 am and took our seats in the candlelit sanctuary.  The pews were filled with smiling parishioners, many of whom wore colorful Nordic print sweaters to chase away the extreme cold and to proclaim their Scandinavian pride.  My 100% Scandinavian genes were feeling a little envious.  After the handbell prelude, we listened while the first verse of the processional song ‘Sankta Lucia’ was sung in Swedish, then joined in for the English version: Night’s heavy footprints lie / ‘Round farm and toil / Spirits shall haunt the world / Shadows on soil / In our dark house at night / Rising with candles bright / Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia // Night’s full of black and gloom / Now hear her swing / Through all our darkened rooms / On her sweet wings / At our door clad in white / Wearing a crown of light / Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia

Santa Lucia (Saint Lucy) was a young Christian from Syracuse, Sicily who refused to marry her pagan husband and was martyred in 304 A.D.  Many legends surround Santa Lucia—that she carried baskets of food to persecuted Christians in the catacombs with a wreath of candles on her head to light the way, and that she appeared after her death at the bow of a ship carrying food to the starving people of Varmland, Sweden.  She was clothed in white with a crown of light circling her head.  Her feast day is December 13th which coincided with the Winter Solstice during the Julian calendar.  Santa Lucia’s Day, the 13th, marks the beginning of the Christmas season in Sweden.

Sweden and at least parts of Finland, Norway, and Denmark celebrate Lucia as the symbol of light and hope during the darkest time of the year.  In villages and households, a chosen Santa Lucia carries coffee and pastries—often lussekatter, sweet saffron buns—to villagers and family members.  Denmark’s first Lucia procession was held during Nazi occupation of the mid-1940’s to show peaceful resistance and offer a reminder of hope.   **

At Salem Lutheran Church, Tomtars and Star Boys, Saint Knut, and Lucia with her Tarnors or handmaidens processed down the aisle with candles and bells and sat at the front of the church during the service.  As we sang and prayed, daylight gradually revealed the amazing stained glass window above the alter.  After the service, all were invited to the Great Hall for Scandinavian pastries, coffee, and lingonberry glogg!

 

Today, on this 21st day of December, we celebrate the Winter Solstice, the first Day of Winter.  We have reached the shortest day of the year, the longest night.  Santa Lucia is celebrated in Sweden and other northern countries as the Lightbringer of faith, hope, and good things to come.  Her light shines through the darkness as she brings food for the hungry and needy.  She heralds in the Christmas season.  On this longest night, I wish for all of us the Light of generosity and compassion, the Light of warm housing and abundant food, the Light of forgiveness and peace, and most of all the Light of Love.  May we all be bearers of Light.  God Jul!*

 

*Happy/Merry Christmas in Swedish

**Santa Lucia image from Google images

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Filed Under: Winter Tagged With: darkness, light, Santa Lucia Day, Winter Solstice

The Ugly Time

March 8, 2016 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

You’ve heard of the ugly duckling, the ugly cry, and ugly houses.  The word itself–ugly–is, well, rather ugly.  It has a formidable list of synonyms under categories of ‘unattractive,’ ‘disagreeable,’ ‘bad,’ ‘threatening,’ and ‘cross’ ranging from the rather benign ‘plain’ to the severe ‘repulsive’ and ‘grotesque.’  This time of year is what I call ‘the ugly time.’  Most of the snow has melted; what is left of the snow piles is charcoal-colored and raggly.  The grass is flattened and gravely where the piles were made by shoveling the snow from the driveway or sidewalk.

The snowpile is gone

When the snow and ice melt from the road gutter, old leaves, sand, gravel, and salt remains are plastered against the curb.

Road gutter after snow melt

A winter’s worth of trash magically and tragically appears when the blanket of snow is pulled away by warm weather.

Trash in the ditch

The fall-raked yard is littered with sticks, pinecones, and other debris that will need to be picked up before the first mowing.

Sticks and cones

The perennial beds are leaf-covered and dormant.

Hosta bed in late winter

Bergenia in late winter

The view of the River and everywhere is gray, brown, muted, flattened, trashy, spent, and kind of ugly.  It’s not the severe ugly that is hard to stomach, but it is unattractive in a dormant, neglected sort of way.

View of the River in late winter

In two calendar weeks, it will be Spring.  And in the midst of late Winter ugliness, the Star Magnolia already knows and displays the potential of what is to come!

Star Magnolia bud in late winter

And therein lies the beauty of ugliness–a whole world of potential is encompassed by the unbecoming outward appearance.  It doesn’t matter that the young, ugly duckling doesn’t look like the others–what matters is what’s going on inside.  Time and maturity unveil a beautiful swan who was that beautiful swan all along.  An hour of HGTV reveals the potential of an ugly fixer-upper house–the art of transformation.  An ugly cry face matters not when compared to the process within–the release of emotions and stress that opens the door to a change of heart.  And the ugly, gray landscape is holding a rich, astonishing, life-affirming, and incredibly beautiful world that is almost ready to be seen.  Hope and potential are budding with excitement, thanks to the first glimpse of the Star.

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Filed Under: Winter Tagged With: buds, late winter

Gleanings from February–It’s All About that Food

March 2, 2016 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

What do black oil sunflower seeds and a bag of Ghirardelli 60% Cacao chocolate chips have in common?  They are both small, dark, and yummy (to the respective species).  Now, I might be stretching it to call chocolate ‘food’, especially in the sustenance sense, but nonetheless, it has been a part of my February and January…and December.  Anybody else eat chocolate in a seemingly uncontrollable way when under stress?

What a strange month February has been here in central Minnesota–it hasn’t been about the snow or the extremely cold temperatures this year.  In fact, last Saturday was a record-breaking warm day with a high of 56 degrees!  Needless to say, most of the snow has melted.  But February has been all about that food for the hardy winter animals and birds who harmlessly flock to the feeders and who harmfully chow down on our trees and shrubs.  The winter birds are the most beautiful to see as they come daily to the feeders for sustenance, taking a seed or two at a time.

Cardinal at the feeder

The most amusing visitors to the feeders are the squirrels who take their mealtimes very seriously!  This little red squirrel will sometimes eat at the feeder, but other times will fill his cheeks with seeds and high-tail it to his den in order to keep a stash nearby.

Red squirrel

There is an abundance of gray squirrels, a few little red squirrels, and two black squirrels–one with a long tail, the other with a shortened ‘Squirrel Nutkin’ tail.  These two are feisty and protective of ‘their’ feeders.

Gray squirrel sneaking up on the black squirrel

Whereas the birds are prudent with the abundance of a full feeder of black oil sunflower seeds, this guy is a little piggy, scooping up paws full of seeds and chowing down!

Our more nocturnal critters clean up the fallen seeds from the ground after the sun goes down–rabbits and foxes.  Evidence of the rabbit’s activities can be seen in the light of day.

Rabbit tracks, etc.

They also cause real damage to young trees and shrubs, as in the case of this young hemlock tree.

Hemlock tree after the rabbits

Rabbits or deer stripped the bark from some fallen branches.

Rabbit chewed branches

While my horticulturist husband loves planting and growing new trees and shrubs, it is a necessity to protect them from the winter grazers.

Tree guards for young trees

As in most food chains in Nature, the tables get turned, and a rabbit becomes a meal for the scavenger crows.

Crows eating a rabbit

 

February is all about that food for the birds and animals in this northern climate.  The mild temperatures and minimal snow have made it easier for the critters to find some kind of sustenance for survival this year, but they have still been hard on some of our unprotected plants.

Recovering from a death or grief of any kind can also make for strange months–times of sadness and despair, dreams that try to ‘organize’ the pain, and moments of lightness and laughter when the sun shines through the darkness.  Diving into my stash of chocolate may not be the prudent way to ameliorate the pain and confusion of grief, but it may just be a necessary way to protect that part of me that doesn’t want to accept what happened.  Until I do.  And then, once again, I can eat chocolate like a cardinal instead of like the Squirrel Nutkin squirrel.

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Filed Under: Winter Tagged With: birds, rabbits, squirrels, sustenance

Walking Through Winter

February 19, 2016 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

Fallen tree at Wildwood Co. Park

Winter can be a tough season, but like last year, this winter has had minimal snowfall and relatively mild temperatures.  This has allowed us to hike the trails of nearby parks with comparative ease.  A couple of weeks ago we ventured out to Wildwood County Park for a morning hike.  The park has three and a half miles of cross-country ski trails, but the only other people we saw were walking their dogs.  The snow was slick and wet since temperatures hovered above the freezing mark.  Deer and other animal tracks made their own paths through the woods, crossing the hiking and skiing trails with frequency.  The woods were mainly old growth maples and oaks with ironwood as the predominant understory tree.  The vertical lines in the bark of an ironwood contrasted with the horizontal lines in an adjacent birch tree.

Ironwood and birch trees

We saw the ice-covered Kraemer Lake through the trees…

Kraemer Lake

and bright blue sap lines from Wildwood Ranch that would soon be tapped into the towering maple trees to harvest the sap for making maple syrup.

Maple syrup lines at Wildwood Park

We saw evidence of a very busy woodpecker–most likely a pileated–with his recent drillings.

A woodpeckered tree

The next weekend we went to Eagle Park and Rockville County Park to hike and check on the eagles.  Small flocks of Canadian geese and Trumpeter swans flew over us as we walked the trail.

Canadian geese

Trumpeter swans at Eagle Park

Red-twigged dogwood at Eagle park

Then one of the eagles flew to their nest in the center of the park.  Soon the mate glided in carrying a large stick to add to the already huge nest.

Eagle bring a branch to build nest

Both worked on getting the new branch in just the right place.

Eagles working on the nest

Later they hopped up to their perch above the nest and surveyed their territory.  This pair didn’t raise any eaglets last year–I’m not sure if the eggs never hatched or if the young hatchlings died for some reason.  But they are back this year, adding to their nest, getting ready for their next brood.

The Eagle mates

A mile or so away, the other nest of eagles who raised three eaglets last year, were also adding sticks to their nest in preparation for their next offspring.

The Rockville Park eagle

Rockville County Park

 

Winter can be a tough season.  Weather-wise, this winter has been fairly easy, but in other ways, it has been hard on me: losing a parent to death, losing children in the ways we do as they leave the nest and make their own paths, and losing a little piece of ourselves as each of those things happen.  And so, step by step, I am walking through winter, hiking through the heartache, and letting Nature and the Creator work to fill up the holes that were drilled into my heart.  I will pick up another branch and add it to the already huge nest of a life I have built.  I will look forward to the new creations of Spring, and soon I will be able to tap into the sweetness that life also brings to each of us. 

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Filed Under: Winter Tagged With: bald eagles, birds, nests, woodpeckers, woods

My Love Story with Nature

February 14, 2016 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

“The purest, most idealistic, truthful and honest love story one can ever live without the slightest sense of regret is that of loving nature.”    —unknown

Mallard duck pair

It takes time to get to know someone or something–at first things may not seem comfortable or the wrong words may be said or mistakes can be made.  Doubts swim into our consciousness.  But something draws us forward.  And as we move forward and learn more about ourselves and the other, we begin to care–really, truly care.  With time and caring, with respect and experience, with trust and observation, we begin to love.

I was very young when I first cared about nature–being outside and being around animals was an integral part of my life.  I cared about the chickens and their miraculous eggs, even as I watchfully kept my distance from the scary rooster.  I liked playing in the sandbox under the trees, walking under the wispy Weeping Willow branches, and sitting on the warm back of the gentle Holstein cow as my Dad milked.  Later I fell in love with horses and worked hard cleaning out stalls at our neighbor’s barn so I could buy a horse of my own.  I cared for that special horse for another twenty years until he died.

We care about people and things as we learn and spend time with them.  Our feelings deepen and expand as we love the things we care about.  And with that love comes responsibility to care for the people and things we love.  Time.  Caring.  Love.  Responsibility.  Time, Caring, Love, Responsibility, and on and on it goes.  I care about my family and Nature.  I love my family and Nature.  I care for my family and Nature, and in turn, desire to spend more time with them.  On this Valentine’s Day, what kind of love story are you living?

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Filed Under: Winter Tagged With: love, nature, Valentine's Day

Staying Warm

February 10, 2016 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

It’s a cold week in Minnesota–single digits and teens with below zero wind chills.  When I go outside, I put boots on over Smart Wool socks, pull my fleece neck gaiter over my head, put on a wool stocking cap with one of those ear muff things over that to keep the wind out of my ears, pull on a double-layer Columbia coat (over a fleece pullover), and slip my hands into leather mittens with sheep wool lining–and that’s just to walk the dog!  Staying warm in the biting cold is a challenge for man and beast–and birds!  Our resident red-bellied woodpecker with his bright red head and barred feathers found a place out of the wind on the maple tree.

Red-bellied woodpecker

He clutched the tree with his strong feet, used his tail feathers for an anchor, and fluffed up his feathers for added insulation.  As the wind whipped around the tree, he would close his eyes.

Red-bellied woodpecker

And then he hunkered down–as well as a bird can while perching on the side of a tree.

Red-bellied woodpecker in the cold wind

Red-bellied woodpecker

Red-bellied woodpecker

Red-bellied woodpecker hiding his head

I have seen birds preen this way, but he just tucked his head into his feathers–first one way, then the other.  It was the perfect way for staying warm on a frigid, windy day.

Red-bellied woodpecker tucking his head

Later that afternoon, I saw him fly to the feeder, grab a sunflower seed, take it back to the windless side of the tree to eat, then return to the feeder again and again.  It takes nourishment to stay warm, too, especially from the fat in the black oil sunflower seeds.

Red-bellied woodpecker at feeder

Red-bellied woodpecker eating seeds

Red-bellied woodpecker at feeder

 

“What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness,” writes John Steinbeck.  Our Minnesota winter has been relatively mild this year compared to most others.  And yet, I always marvel when the weather warms enough to go outside without a coat and with just a pair of flip-flops on my feet!  We, along with the birds and animals, have our ways for staying warm.  There is sweetness in coming back into the house for a cup of hot chocolate by the fireplace after trekking through the snow and cold on an invigorating hike.  There is a quiet comfort in a warm, secure home, which is not a reality for some people.  There is warmth in sharing a nourishing meal of soup and bread.  And there is the sometimes taken-for-granted warmth of Love from our family members and friends, without which we would truly be out in the cold.  How do you stay warm?

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Filed Under: Winter Tagged With: cold, woodpeckers

Gleanings from December 2015 and January 2016

February 2, 2016 by Denise Brake 3 Comments

“All Nature speaks the voice of dissolution.  The highway of history and of life is strewn with the wrecks that Time, the great despoiler, has made.  We listen sorrowfully to the Autumn winds as they sigh through dismantled forests, but we know their breath will be soft and vernal in the Spring, and the dead flowers and withered foliage will blossom and bloom again.  And if a man dies, shall he, too, not live again?”                                                         —Daniel Wolsey Voorhees

Time has been messing with my mind these last two months.  With my Dad’s run at recovery after his pneumonia, the days seemed to go by quickly as we prepared and looked forward to his return home, but as things got worse again, Time slowed.  With his death, it was as if Time wasn’t even recognizable anymore.  Wait, was it only two days since he died?!  I seemed to be in another realm where Time wasn’t numbered and predictable.  Then Nature stepped in–the voice of resolution as well as dissolution, and day by day, the birds outside my window helped me settle down.  I was surprised to see a mourning dove at the feeder one morning–I don’t usually see them in the middle of winter, and they most often browse on the ground for food.  A mourning dove for my mourning.

Mourning dove in the feeder

A pileated woodpecker’s long, strong beak made short work of the suet-stuffed log feeder.

Pileated woodpecker

Purple finches gathered at the feeders in groups–a community of fine-feathered friends.

Purple finches

The male’s rosy-colored feathers looked like a richly tailored tweed suit.

Purple finch

Carrying his sunflower seeds to the maple tree, a Downy woodpecker placed them in the grooves of bark to break open the hull to reach the nutritious kernel.

Downy woodpecker

Flower-bright cardinals come to the feeder in late afternoon when the other birds are finished feeding for the day.

Cardinal

And the squawking loner bluejay feeds in the morning, scaring away black-capped chickadees and nuthatches that browse throughout the day.

Bluejay

Sunrise of another day, a month of days and more….

Sunrise

Mourning time is measured by sunrises and sunsets and by birds flying to the feeders in their tenacious purpose of nourishing themselves for another day.  The dissolution of my earthly relationship with my Dad and the permanence of that takes time to integrate into my soul.  Nature helps me sort out the grief, work out the pain, and measure the memories.  Writer Paul Theroux declares, “Winter is a season of recovery and preparation.”  I am looking forward to blooming again.

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Filed Under: Winter Tagged With: birds, sunrise, woodpeckers

Coming Home, Going Home

January 26, 2016 by Denise Brake 11 Comments

Thursday we were going home to South Dakota to bury my Dad in the place he wanted to be after dying.  After weeks of mourning and making plans, we traveled the snowy roads back to the house I helped Mom and Dad build.  The day mirrored my mind–kind of blurry and monochromatic with loss and the grief that holds its hand.

Farmplace in snow

Snowy roadscape

After a warm supper with my Mom, I laid in bed in the same room where I slept until noon on my college weekends, where Chris and I slept as newlyweds before our move to Missouri, where we brought all the things one travels with when three young children are coming home to visit Grandma.  Memories of my childhood with Dad flitted through my mind and landed on the building of this house–how I helped put down the puzzle of underlayment, nailed up sheet rock, taped and mudded and sanded and mudded, hammered down the shingles, and stained the siding a red-brown color.  Not too long after that, my Dad left and lived in places as far away from South Dakota as one can get–Florida, Texas, California.

I rose with the sun the next morning as the blue-dawned snow turned pink.

SD sunrise 1-22-16

Sunrise

Sunrise 1-22-16

Sunrise on snow

Dad’s ashes had arrived from Oklahoma in a plastic-lined plastic box–the size of which made one wonder how a person’s body could ever fit into it.  So I had built him a box.  I measured scraps of rough cedar board–pulling out the tape, making the pencil mark, letting the tape slowly zip back into its circle of yellow, squaring up a line, and pulling a handsaw through the line.  As I sawed and nailed, I thought about how glad I was and how right it felt that Dad was coming home.  I finished the cedar box by nailing a horseshoe on the front of it to honor the farrier, horseman, and father who had taught us so much about horses, building things, and hard work.

Dad's burial box

A small gathering of relatives and friends shared memories of Dad in the Fireside room of the Lutheran church.  His old cowboy hat sat atop the box, his dusty cowboy boots on the floor below.  I thought back to the many times growing up that I had polished his boots and with a tinge of guilt thought I should have polished them one last time.  An even smaller group of us progressed to the rural Danish cemetery where Dad’s folks, sisters, and ancestors are buried.  The pastor prayed in the cold, windless afternoon and consecrated Dad to this Earth and to Heaven.

Danish cemetery

And right beyond the evergreens lining the cemetery along the road is the shelterbelt and old red barn of the homestead where my Dad was born.

The Homestead

The memorial service continued at my sister Sam’s place as we ate, looked at pictures, told stories, laughed, watched the moon rise and the deer graze, and remembered our lives with Dad.

Sundown and moonrise on 1-22-16

 

We lost our Dad for many years after he moved away, and even though we were all adults when that happened, it nonetheless affected our lives in many different ways.  For me it was sad that he didn’t really know our kids or they him.  He did make sure to say that he loved us and loved them when we talked on the phone, so that’s a gift we can accept with grace.  So we build our lives with the gifts he has given us and sand out the rough places that don’t quite fit.  There is something sacred in the process of being born, living life, learning lessons, and leaving this earth once again.  It is remarkable that Dad has his resting place half a mile from the farmhouse he was born in—a true and joyous coming home for going home.

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Filed Under: Winter Tagged With: home, prairie, sunrise, sunsets

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