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...]
Where the New Ones Grow
We’ve all heard of ‘black and white thinking’ and have probably participated in it at some time in our lives. It is when we think or feel in absolutes—good or bad, right or wrong, valid or in-valid—with no in-between or gray area. This dichotomous thinking (or splitting) is often a self-protective trauma response when we feel unsafe. It often goes along with ‘me thinking’ when we feel or believe that others ‘should’ think the same way we do and therefore act the same way we do. (And of course ‘me thinking’ is always the ‘right’ way.)
Part of that way of thinking is to try to maintain some sort of order or control over any given situation, which is exactly what traumatized people are always trying to do when they get triggered or activated or to keep from getting that horrible feeling in their guts. We also like to ‘order’ our time with categories, routines, schedules, and things that make sense to us. It helps to ‘calm’ our bodies and minds. We do it with Nature, too. We want the natural world to fit into our categories—just think Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall—‘white or gray thinking,’ ‘light green thinking,’ ‘dark green and bright colors thinking,’ and ‘yellow and orange thinking.’ But at every turn, Nature is moving us beyond those categories, beyond our limited thinking.
Chris and I walked through a predominantly White Pine forest in the middle of the year at the height of summer. It was dark green with mature foliage and rich brown with tree trunks and only glimpses of bright color at a few chosen places. The trail was covered with pine needles and strewn with pine cones. Sunshine through the trees dappled the pine carpet.
I walked quite a ways on the noticeable carpet of pine needles and cones before I realized that everywhere we walked, tiny Pine seedlings had sprouted from the seeds that had been released from the opened cones. Right in the middle of summer there was new growth sprouting like it was early Spring! Hundreds of thousands of them so tiny and new that our boots could not miss them.
A meadow opened up to bright sunshine and grasses. Mullein, like dancers of the prairie, were standing five feet tall with a spike of yellow flowers that open before dawn and close by mid-afternoon. This wooly plant begins its biennial life with a low-growing whorl of fuzzy leaves in its first year. It needs cold temperatures to induce flowering the following year. It is capable of self-pollinating, and each plant can produce 100,000 to 240,000 tiny seeds that are viable for decades! Respect!
Another beautiful fuzzy plant is the Common Milkweed. The veined leaves are a work of art in and of themselves. And then the incredible ball of flower! Milkweeds are considered a ‘fugitive species’ in the southern Great Plains—their growth is dependent on disturbance because they can’t compete with other vegetation. Here in the northern plains, they are a more permanent member of the ecology.
Milkweeds contain cardiac glycosides that infuse the Monarch caterpillars who eat their leaves (and also the butterfly) with a toxin that deters birds and other predators. Genius defense. (Not to mention the Viceroy Butterfly who looks similar to the Monarch to take advantage of Mullerian mimicry.) But the butterfly we saw on the Milkweed was a not-colorful Wood Nymph whose unusual characteristic is over-wintering as a hibernating caterpillar instead of in the protection of a cocoon.
Who would ever think there is a mushroom called the Funeral Bell?
Two old Bigtooth Aspens grew side by side. Aspens are clonal plants that can grow from root suckers. They are categorized as a ‘pioneer species’ that is one of the first to grow after fire or clear-cutting. Five hundred different species of plants and animals utilize the Aspen tree in some way! What an impact one species of tree can have on the world!
Bulrushes grow near and in rivers and lakes. They are important for fish and bird habitat, including spawning areas for Northern Pike, nesting cover for Bass and Bluegills, and food for ducks, geese, and swans.
Swamp Milkweed (Asclepias incarnata) is named after the Greek god of medicine (Asklepios) and is a food source for the Monarch. They have specialized, scented white roots that like heavy, wet soil.
The forest had many trees as large as these twin White Pines, stately, iconic Minnesota trees. They give a person a feeling of grandeur and history—all the things these trees have seen in their long lives! Wow!
And right there on the forest floor, from the nourishment of old trees, needles, and leaves, the new ones grow.
Nature is neither bad nor good—it defies dichotomous thinking and human categorization. It has gray areas galore. It has diversity and interdependence that connects species and truly makes the world go round. How many of the amazing ‘facts’ did you know about these few plants? Can you believe that individual people have similar ‘amazing facts’ that make up their lives? Just as Nature is a moving circle of Life that creates, develops, grows, matures, and dies, we are the same. We cannot be placed in ‘them or us’ boxes. I have thought and reacted with black and white thinking in a desire for control of who or what was triggering the horrible feeling in my gut. I did it for many, many years, but trying to control other people or things is not the way to erase those feelings. The work is ours, and it is on ourselves. Nature can be our guide to move us beyond our limited thinking, to help us show respect for the unique individuals in our midst, to see beauty and interdependence with ‘colorful thinking,’ and most importantly, to help us heal the wounds that have hurt us all.
Empty Homes
One fall day I looked out the kitchen window and saw a swarm of butterflies flying through the yard. We had a garden full of nectar-producing flowers, so we were used to seeing butterflies during the three seasons of blooming. But this was different. I walked outside and realized that they were no longer relaxed and meandering from flower to flower—they were on a mission—a Monarch migration mission to be exact. And while I stood there, the air filled with the orange– and black–winged beauties! They were everywhere! Some were close enough for me to touch, seeming to fly towards me, then up into the sky, above the tree tops, and beyond! It was awe–inspiring and joy–producing! Millions of Monarchs!
In a matter of minutes within the hour, they were gone, moving south in their annual migration from southern Canada and the northern Midwest, gathering all from the eastern United States, on to central Mexico where they spend the winter high in the mountains on the Oyamel Fir trees. Abies religiosa means ‘sacred fir.’ These trees and the wintering Monarchs require the same ecosystem for survival—cool and moist—which is now being threatened by our warming climate. Climate change, along with increased use in pesticides and herbicides, loss of northern habitat for Monarchs, and logging of the sacred firs have all contributed to the alarming news that was released this past week. The International Union for the Conservation of Nature has placed Monarch butterflies on the endangered list, just two steps from extinction, because of their fast-dwindling numbers. In just ten year’s time, the population of Monarchs in North America has declined between 22% and 72%, depending on the method of measurement. Other groups have seen even larger declines of the iconic butterfly. The most well–known and beautiful butterfly, once with a population in the billions, is headed towards extinction.
Loss of Monarch habitat in the north mirrors the declining number of acres of prairie, grassland, fence lines, and wetlands. There are statistics for these losses, but anyone who loves the prairie, who loves seeing cattle on grassland pastures, and who delights in a fence row of wildflowers has noticed the disheartening change in the last decade.
There is untold value in a prairie environment—home and food source for insects, birds, and mammals; erosion control; and carbon sequestration to name only a few. This time of year, the prairie displays a brilliant culmination of months of unseen root growth and a sea of green vegetative growth of grasses and wildflowers as they burst into flower and seed production. It is a beautiful sight! It was a good year for Butterfly Weed, a member of the Milkweed family. I have seen more of the bright orange flowers this year than I can ever remember.
Common Yarrow inconspicuously grows in most grassy places but is a dazzling background for Hoary Vervain’s sharply–toothed leaves and spikes of violet flowers.
And the grasses….each with their distinct–colored seedheads are the foundation of a healthy prairie.
In the acres and acres of prairie, including all the showy Butterfly Weed, I saw one Monarch. I was paying attention—awareness of dwindling numbers of Monarchs has been on my ‘radar’ for years now, and this year seems particularly bad for the numbers. The prairie had many Common Milkweeds, the primary host plant for Monarch caterpillars. Empty homes, waiting for the striped caterpillars to munch on their leaves, spin a cocoon, and produce another butterfly.
Evening Primrose is a night–blooming plant with buds that start to open at the end of the day and close up by noon of the next day, making them an unusual and enchanting wildflower.
Another favorite wildflower for butterflies is False Sunflower or Ox-eye Sunflower. The prairies that are planted and preserved in parks and natural areas are trying to bring back habitats for the butterflies, bees, and other creatures who depend on wildflowers and grasses for their survival. But is it enough?
My joy in witnessing a Monarch migration happened more than eight years ago—before I began writing my blog. Since that time, fewer butterflies of all kinds visited our gardens. I noticed fewer Monarchs on our hikes. It is a complicated, complex problem with no one in particular responsible for the solution. The statistics are jarring, and Nature-lovers feel sad and angry when they hear the news but powerless in the big picture of our world. Is it loss of habitat—we are personally leaving and cultivating all the Milkweeds we can—or are the populations of butterflies actually being killed by pesticides and by microwave radiation from cell towers that have proliferated in the last ten years? (please read the scientific research below) In civilizations and centuries past, plants have been seen and named as ‘sacred,’ just as all of creation has been deemed so by Christianity and other world religions. I am not an alarmist by nature, but the news of the rapid rate of decline of our favorite butterfly is cause for alarm. Because biologically, what is destroying butterflies, bees, and trees is destroying us, just at a slower pace. We are all connected with all of Nature. I don’t know what the answers are either, but I want all of us to be aware, concerned, and thinking about the big picture in our choices, our votes, and our advocacy. We don’t want any more empty homes.