evergreens Archives - NorthStarNature

Promise Shines Through the Gray

November 13, 2022 by Denise Brake 6 Comments

There is a stark contrast in my photographs from this post compared to the last one with all the brilliant Fall colors, though nearly a month has passed since I actually took the colorful photos. Gray November comes to us gradually. It is time to see things in a different light—the literal reality of which we have no other choice. Shades of gray and brown dominate the landscape now. We do have a choice as to how we think about the ‘colorless’ palette of late Autumn and Winter.

It is a time to see the bare basics, the silhouettes of trees and shrubs. I appreciate their form, their shape, their strength and flexibility.

The gray Mississippi reflects the gray sky, surrounded by the gray, bare trees, the gray-green Cedars, and the surprisingly yellowish-brown grass. The day was raw with a northwest wind—eighteen miles per hour of wind chill on the below-freezing day. Enough to make my eyes water as I faced the flowing River.

We had had rain, much-needed rain, in the few days prior to my hike, and the ice crystals crunched ever-so-softly under my boots. Tiny beads of snow fell, hardly perceptible to my eyes and skin.

Along with the rain had been strong winds that had toppled dead trees and limbs, making obstacles on the trail and wreckage in the woods. Beware of the gravity-defying widow-makers who have not made their way to the ground!

A pile of invasive Buckthorn had been toppled on purpose and piled neatly beside the trail. Good riddance to that which takes over the forest, if allowed, in its hungry quest for dominance.

The bare trees allow us to see things that we would not normally notice in the Summer, and though it seems to have an ‘ugly’ look, it really is ‘just different.’ Our judgement clouds the reality.

Blemishes, wrinkles, wounds, spots, holes, marks, weathering, and decline are all exquisitely evident in the unveiling Autumn. It is Nature, and it is us—how can you not love it?

Here in the forested North, we have place-holders for all the others who have lost their leaves—the Evergreens. They are the hope-keepers, the oxygen-makers, the color-bearers. Usually when I hear the wind whisking through the tops of the Pines, it sounds like singing, but on this day, it sounded more muted, less lyrical, more….story telling. The Evergreens, whether the long–needled Pines, the conical Spruces, the wispy Firs, or the sturdy Cedars, tell the Winter story for all the trees and dormant plants. It keeps them all ‘alive.’

And so, the dried Goldenrod flowers become stars of light…

the Artemisia becomes an array of tiny silver bells…

the young Pines embody the everlasting Goodness…

the Red-twigged Dogwoods represent the warm flow of life-sustaining blood…

and the clinging red Oak leaves remind us of our resilience.

Growth is a given in Nature—the eternal hopefulness of that can sustain us through the cold and gray months. Meditate on the miracle of it.

Often with growth comes the shrinking and dying of old branches, childish beliefs, old, outdated coping behaviors, and ignorant information. (To me ‘ignorant’ is uninformed or inexperienced, not a judgement.) Gray November and the cold Winter are perfect times to prune away the old, outdated branches.

Sometimes our old, tightly-held beliefs and ignorances have grown so large that they have wounded those close to us, often with no intention and knowledge on our part. Pruning allows both to heal and grow.

At the end of my hike, I saw a noisy flock of birds scouring the leaf litter under some trees. Robins and Chickadees and a Northern Flicker hopped around looking for food. The Robins and Flickers will go farther south when snow covers the ground. They are some of the last to go, but I see in them their promise to be the first to return, just as the snow uncovers the ground in Spring.

Gray November holds all kinds of Hope. We attended a beautiful wedding last weekend that held the light of young Love and the energy of Happiness and Potential. Do you remember those? At this time of year, we can see more clearly with less obstacles in the way, along with a path around the ones that fall before us. Vision and Breakthroughs. We can look at the reality of our blemishes and human short-comings and call them Authentic. Forgiveness lives on in the cold harshness of Winter. We can identify the invasive species of thoughts, beliefs, and behaviors that need to be toppled, pruned, and removed. Openness and Opportunity. With the un-busy-ness of the dormant time, the stories and glories of Summer and Growth have space and time to be told. And gray November and dark December unfold to Celebration—to giving Thanks, to decorating with stars, silver bells, ever-greenery, and warm red ribbons and bows. We celebrate Goodness and Life Everlasting. Promise shines through the gray.

Lichens & Leaves, Rocks & Trees

October 4, 2020 by Denise Brake 4 Comments

I don’t spend a lot of time in front of a screen on a daily basis—some tv, some computer, no ipad or phone. I’m not required to spend eight hours or more on a computer for work like so many other people, especially in this covid time. That is not a choice for most people—but what about the time we do have for choosing? It’s a touchy subject to say the least, just like questioning any way we choose to spend our time. I’m sure you know what I mean. Screen time is rather addictive, and we think it is serving us well—it informs us, connects us, records our activities, entertains us, relaxes us, makes us feel in control…doesn’t it? But what happens when we don’t engage with screens and social media? When was the last time you spent a whole evening without any of that, let alone a full day? It’s a study in self-awareness. Were you anxious, bored, uncertain, or crazy without it? Is ‘screen life’ your ‘real’ life?

Last weekend I spent three days with family members in the Northwoods—no screens, no phone, no news, no social media. It used to be that cell phones wouldn’t work up there at all, but that has changed with the installation of cell towers, which are an intrusion on the wilderness.

We had a beautiful drive to Ely—the Birch and Aspen trees were brilliant yellow, and Maples were all shades of yellow, orange, and red. After a few stops at our favorite places—The Front Porch for my favorite tea and Piragis Northwoods Company—we began our time in the woods and by the water. Shagawa Lake is on the north side of Ely and has a park and beach area. A hiking trail along a peninsula took us across a bridge to an island of lichens and leaves, rocks and trees.

A small grove of Northern White Cedars dropped their flat, ferny leaves among the Pine needles and Birch leaves. A beautiful look of Fall.

A broken Pine tree shows how a tree grows, layer upon layer, scrolling around the ‘knot’ of a branch and protected by the thick bark.

Lichens growing on rocks and trees were like works of art. Lichens are interesting creations—most are composed of a fungal filament or structure that houses green algae or a cyanobacterium. It is a mutually beneficial symbiotic relationship! They require moisture, minerals, and sunlight for photosynthesis.

The island and much of the land in the Boundary Waters Wilderness is rocky. The soil is shallow, and yet the trees grow. But the roots are often exposed as they curl upon the rock.

Lichens show up with different colors that are dependent on exposure to light and on availability of certain pigments.

This is an example of a shrubby or Fruticose lichen. Snails, voles, squirrels, and reindeer eat lichens, though some are toxic to poisonous for humans.

Many of the rocks had both lichens and moss growing on them. Mosses are primitive plants with a simple root-stem-and-leaf structure.

The ecosystem of the island, as in all forests, contained dead and dying trees of all forms—broken and twisted, woodpecker drilled, and water-smoothed driftwood.

On the rocky outcropping at the end of the island, we found Butter and Egg flowers blooming. They are an invasive species that the DNR recommends eradicating, pretty as they are.

Beyond the flowers we found these tiny Snapping Turtles! They looked like rocks and were not moving until Aaron warmed them up in his hands. We figured they must have hatched recently—maybe from the hole one crawled back into once he was warm. Eggs take around 72 days to hatch, and the sex of the hatchlings is determined by the temperature of the nest!

It was a good start to our Northwoods weekend. Even though the skies were cloudy and we were expecting some rain each of the days, the temperature was fairly mild. We could not have planned a better weekend for the Autumn colors. We hiked back through the trees, over the lichen-covered rocks, through the fallen leaves and pine needles, and over the bridge in order to get to our destination and set up camp before nightfall.

We are living in extraordinary times when computers, phones, and screens of all kinds seem to be our lifeline to work, meetings, church, friends, family, sports, and our own sanity. It is all stress-inducing but necessary nonetheless. How do you know when you’ve had too much screen time? Do you feel it in your body? Wired and tired? Can’t fall asleep? Irritable or anxious? My daughter Emily says she knows it’s too much when her brain won’t relax. It’s hard to distinguish between the stress of actually being connected to our devices and all the stress of living right now. Don’t underestimate the negative effects of electronic devices on your physiology. But this I know—an antidote for stress of any kind is Nature. Our bodies ‘know’ the natural world—it is a relief for our wired bodies to be walking on the earth, feeling the bark of trees, breathing in the natural oils produced by trees, evergreens in particular, seeing the colorful lichens, and hearing the water lapping against the shore. It reduces our stress hormones, decreases our heart rate and blood pressure, and boosts our immune systems. Nature is a powerful healer and the backbone of real life.

Rubbing Elbows with Trees

June 14, 2020 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

The first time I mowed the grass at our new place was a little over three weeks ago. It takes awhile to get to know the lawn—how to mow in the most efficient way, where there may be roots sticking up that may impact the blades, which parts are weedy versus lush and long. I like mowing. It may be monotonous in a way, but it feels more like meditation to me—my body moves in habitual ways, the sun warms me, the breeze slides over my skin, and my mind can go wherever it needs to go. And then when I’m all finished, ‘the lawn looks good mowed,’ as Chris or I will say.

This place has many more evergreen trees to mow around than we’ve ever had, and it was not long before I realized that I was literally rubbing elbows with trees. As soon as that thought entered my mind, I affirmed that I was happy to rub elbows with trees! At this time of year, the new growth is soft and brightly-colored. The Green Spruces have opulent lime green extensions reaching out at various heights.

The distinguished Colorado Blue Spruces have light blue-green branches of tender new growth, like melt-in-your-mouth mints of candy confection.

Each time I mowed close to the trees, the lavish fragrance of a fresh-cut Christmas tree filled my nostrils.

A quad of Red Cedar trees grows close together, like school girls on the school yard with their arms linked, elbow to elbow—wealthy in friendship.

The prominent new growth of Spruces, Firs, and Pines is called ‘candles,’ which are most ‘candle-like’ on Pines. This once-a-year growth adds an abundance of new needles that unfold and harden off by early summer.

I love how the candles all point to the beautiful blue sky.

Rubbing elbows with eminent Oaks happens when they are young adolescents, when the branches are thin and pliable. The new, tender leaves are at the right height for grazing deer to munch on. If it happens early enough in the season, the tree will put out a new shoot of growth to ‘fill in’ where the deer removed the foliage.

Jack Pines are medium-sized conifers that often have crooked trunks and drooping lower branches. The pollen cones are rusty flowers that release a thick yellow pollen in late Spring, like gold drifting from the sky.

The small, hardy trees are well-adapted to fire. Their cones are ‘serotinous’—sealed with resin that requires high heat to open and liberate the seeds, most often with fire, but high air temperatures can open cones on low branches. One tree can be flush with many old, sealed cones with seeds that remain viable for years.

‘Rubbing elbows’ means to associate or socialize with someone—usually someone who is rich, famous, or special in a similar way. The President, who is most certainly all of the above, recently tweeted about some former cabinet members, “They all want to come back for a piece of the limelight.”

I prefer a piece of the sunlight that shines on us all, the wealth of blue sky for anyone who looks up, the abundance of beautiful trees affluent in life-giving oxygen. I want to rub elbows with creations that affirm life and liberty for all other creations of all sizes and colors. I want to link arms with living beings that are compelled to grow and change and whose trajectory is towards the light. Sometimes new growth and change come from the heat and passion and destruction of the old order, the ‘serotinous,’ unopened systems that protect the status quo. Public attention is widening. Illumination is happening. The new seeds are waiting.

Summer Solstice Snapshot

June 24, 2018 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

What happens on the first day of Summer? The Summer Solstice was Thursday, the 21st—the longest day of the year in the Northern Hemisphere, when the Earth’s axis is most tilted toward the sun. It is when the sun rises before most of us do and sets not long before most of us go to bed. It is a day of long daylight, of energy, of evolution of the seasons. It is a day of new beginnings.

What happens on the first day of Summer in Minnesota? Fruit is forming, growing, and ripening—apples, blueberries, wild plums, and wild strawberries.

Tender new growth on the evergreen trees is starting to harden off, easing into the next stage of growth and development, stepping into its larger self.

Summer sunshine, blue skies, and white clouds outline and energize the trees.

On the first day of Summer, some flowers, like the Gas Plant, are already going to seed, while a whole passel are in full bloom or getting ready to bloom.

The late-planted garden is growing, as are the weeds that will need to be cleared out so the good stuff will grow and produce.

Bird parents are busy searching for insects to bring back to their hungry babies.

Broken remains of storm damage finally fell from a tree, days after the other storm debris had been cleaned up.

And then, just for a reality check, Summer throws in a little taste of what’s to come in a couple of months…

Late in the long day, the sun finally sets, the long twilight glows on, and the moon shines bright in the southern sky.

One notable Summer day, the Solstice, the official beginning of Summer, is like a birthday—remarkable in a way, but as common as every other day. It is a marker of seasons and new beginnings, a snapshot of the continuing development of all that is Nature and all that is Us. If we take the time to clear out the weeds and clean up the debris from the storms of our lives, we are energized. We can learn and grow and step into our larger selves. We are ready to bloom and ready to bear fruit. Shine on!

The Old and New Seasons of Our Lives

January 1, 2018 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

“Live in each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influence of the earth.” –Henry David Thoreau

When I was a child, I had a piggy bank shaped like a friendly, sitting dog. It was made out of styrofoam and flocked with a reddish-brown ‘fur.’ A metal dog tag hung at his collar, emblazoned with his name—Rusty. I put so many coins and folded dollar bills into the slot at the back of his head that the styrofoam broke away to a bigger hole. A metal circle could be pried off the bottom to retrieve the money—money I earned cleaning out stalls at our neighbor’s barn; money I was saving to buy a horse. I kept Rusty for a long time after I stopped using it, after I bought my horse, after a number of long distance moves, even after I had kids. I felt like I just couldn’t part with him. But then, one year of another move, he didn’t make the cut. I was able to let him go.

This winter season so far has been a hard hitting one—not for snow, but for cold. Christmas Day the high was 1 degree F. As I am writing this, approaching the noon hour, it is 13 below with a wind chill of -32. The actual temperature tonight is supposed to be 20 degrees below zero. “Stay warm” is not just a Minnesota pleasantry, it is a directive of concern and safety. But looking out the window, it is beautiful! The sky is bright blue, the sun is shining, and we have a couple inches of fresh snow. The birds and squirrels have been frequent visitors at the bird feeders this week to fuel up for the cold weather. The deer even make their way to the feeder at dusk to browse on the fallen black oil sunflower seeds.

New Year’s Eve and Day are traditionally a time to let go of the old and ring in the new. It is a time for a fresh start. But often, the resolutions to make changes are broken before a week or two has passed. The very things we were so enthusiastic about on day one become a source of failure and disappointment. What if, like the seasons of the year, we resigned ourselves to the seasons of our lives instead of forcing a change that isn’t meant to be just because it’s day one of a new year? What if the new year was about discerning where we really are ready for a change? What if it was about accepting ourselves with loving kindness in this season as we are at this moment? What if the things we think matter don’t really matter at all? Every old thing eventually passes away—I held on to Rusty, tucked away in a box, for years, and I don’t even know why I did. But for whatever reason, it was important for that season of my life as it passed. And then, I was able to let him go. So many things in our lives work that way! Relationships, jobs, weight, addictions, hobbies, grief, physical ailments—all serve a purpose in the journey of our lives, and none of them are controlled by resolution and the calendar year. So breathe the refreshing Arctic air, drink the drink with a toast to yourself and your seasons, make your way to the table and taste the fruitcake and other bounty, and let the Earth and its Master be your influence. Stay warm!

The Perfect Christmas Tree

December 22, 2017 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

Happy Winter! Our longest dark day of the year is over, and we inch back towards the light. But first, in this darkest time, we celebrate the Light that was born on Christmas Day. Part of our celebration is finding the perfect Christmas tree—and by perfect, I mean purposefully found, joyfully brought back to our house, and lovingly decorated. We go to Golden Nursery and Tree Farm, in business since 1958. There are no sleigh rides with Santa, no hot chocolate or holiday goodies to buy—just the experience of walking out into the fir forest, crunching through the snow, to find the perfect tree. With saw in hand, we walked under the old oak sentries standing guard over the young evergreens that will take years to grow into Christmas tree size. We passed by an old ‘boneyard’ of tractors, snowmobiles, and specialized nursery equipment—a rusty, three-dimensional history of the tree farm. We saw strips of standing corn and wondered if the available corn was enough deterrent to keep the deer from destroying the young trees.

The Balsam fir forest was lined with towering pines that must have been pioneers of the tree farm. A light dusting of snow had turned the forest into a winter wonderland, and as we wandered through the rows, we wondered, “Which tree?”

Many of the trees were way too big—they had escaped the saw for decades beyond their prime size. Some had been cut off chest high, taking the pyramid-shaped top and leaving a sprawling, bowl-shaped vesicle from which a branch grew from the side of the trunk into another Christmas-worthy tree!

Some of the trees were too small. They had been carefully planted into a hole in the forest where a larger tree had been cut down. Their development was fresh and promising.

We wandered for a long time—the cold nipped my toes and nose—but the forest was quiet and serene, peaceful and soothing. Chris later joked with the tree man that if he charged by the hour, he would make more money from us.

Finally, we found one that was just right, though we still ‘topped’ it a bit, for what looks relatively small in the big forest will be large in the corner of the living room!

The perfect Christmas tree! Natural, not sheared. Fresh and pliant. Fragrant with the heady smell of Balsam.

Chris sledded the tree gently over the snow, back to the shed where the tree man put it through the baler to wrap it up in twine.

Feel free to breathe deeply! Breathe deeply to feel free! The cycle and circle of life provided by a tree.

Finding the perfect Christmas tree is an experience in and of itself. I derive great pleasure from the process. It also evokes memories of Christmases past—when I was a child, when Chris and I were young newlyweds, when our kids were young, when the three of them, as adults, came to Golden Nursery with us—so many memories of the history of our Christmases. But as we acknowledge and remember the past, we look at the present and give thanks for every breath we breathe (and also thank a tree!) If we are old sentries, how are we looking out for the young ones in our midst? If we are in the prime of our life, how are we serving our families and communities and the world at large? If we are fresh and promising in our development, how do we plant goodness to keep our dreams alive and protected?

I wish you all a Merry Christmas. I wish you purpose, joy, and love. I wish you peace, serenity, and freedom with each breath you take. And in this darkest time, I wish you Light.

Inhaling the Color

December 3, 2017 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

When the kids were younger, we spent hours each day on art projects—finger paints, crayons, sidewalk chalk, markers, watercolors, acrylic paints at the Fisher-Price easel with stubby, color-coded brushes, and many more. Emily was a visual learner and artist from a very young age. She held a pencil correctly when she was one year old, she drew detailed pictures of our family, and she would come home from kindergarten and describe the color and style of clothes and shoes her teacher wore (fast forward to Stitch Fix!) I can’t remember how old she was at the time, but she went through a period when she was coloring with crayons that she would put one in her mouth and pretend she was smoking. When I gently admonished her for emulating smoking, she replied that they were special good rainbow ones with vitamins and fruit! That memory was recently revived for her when she saw an ad for rainbow-colored personal essential oil diffusers—cylinder-shaped diffusers of essential oils that you inhale into your mouth and out your nose—just like her childhood idea!

Color is a scarce commodity in Nature as late Fall morphs into Winter. Our Thanksgiving weekend hike at Warner Lake County Park was devoid of much color, but we were able to find some interesting hues by looking closely at the gray-brown landscape. Red berries of a woodland perennial persisted among the pine needles. Red-violet branches of Red-twigged Dogwood brightened the lake shore, and scarlet berries of a Viburnum looked enticing against the sleepy gray background.

Rusty orange leaves cling to the understory Ironwood trees through most of the winter, making them easy to identify. Bittersweet vines produce vibrant red-orange berries perfect for Fall decoration.

Happy yellow-gold seedheads remain from a prolific-blooming wildflower. Golden stands of grass lined the ice-covered Warner Lake.

Healthy green moss covered a fallen tree, outlining the upended roots and trunk. A fallen cluster of green pine needles, thanks to a nibbling squirrel, intertwined with the brown needles that were shed earlier in the season.

The hiking day began with blue skies and active, fluffy clouds of white before a front of gray clouds and sprinkles covered the cerulean. A few days later the day ended with a rainbow-colored sunset painted on the western easel of sky.

One of the gifts of Winter, when the landscape is devoid of color, is the simplification of sight. With the leaves gone, the structure and essence of a tree is obvious. There are less things to look at—no flowers or colors to capture our attention for a second before it moves to the next thing. Time seems to slow a bit. The things that do capture our attention are worth noting and examining. Late Fall and Winter open up the opportunity to look closely at ourselves—what is our structure and essence? What is the understory of our life that has been covered up with the exuberance of Spring and Summer and that is now easier to identify? How do we outline a healthy life? How do we intertwine the old parts of ourselves that need to be shed with the green, growing parts that need to be expressed? The season of my life when the kids were young was busy, fun, full of laughter, love, and creativity—an exuberant, colorful Spring! Emily taught me that we can look at things differently, that we can re-create a negative into a positive, that we can breathe in the special healing rainbow goodness of Life.

The Treasure of a Diamond

December 11, 2016 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

I’m not much of a ‘jewelry’ person. I wear my simple gold wedding band on my left hand and a silver, lapis, and turquoise ring I bought years ago at Mount Rushmore, on my right hand. The single diamond in my engagement ring was knocked out decades ago when I was doing laundry. My ears aren’t pierced. And most days of my life, I would look pretty silly wearing a necklace with my jeans and fleece. But, I remember when I was a kid, I loved looking at the diamonds in my Mom’s jewelry box. Rows of dangly earrings and intricate brooches sparkled with what seemed like hundreds of tiny diamonds. What a treasure! It didn’t matter to me that they weren’t ‘real’ diamonds.

Melting snow during Thanksgiving weekend created a thick fog that condensed and froze on everything. The Cedar trees were encrusted with glittering ice ‘diamonds!’

The ice-covered Hydrangea reminded me the most of the earrings I admired in the jewelry box–clusters of tiny diamonds and flower-shaped dangles. What a treasure.

The berries of the Gray Dogwood, fall food for the birds, were replaced by diamonds of ice.

Those of you who know of my non-proclivity for jewelry also probably know of my love for Emmylou Harris. I was introduced to Mark Knopfler’s voice and song-writing from their album together, All the Roadrunning. You know how at certain times in your life a certain song ‘speaks’ to you? The second song on this album spoke to me—it was on repeat and played loudly in the quiet of my car or the solitude of the house for many months.

I dug up a diamond / rare and fine / I dug up a diamond / in a deep, dark mine

If only I could cling to / my beautiful find / I dug up a diamond / in a deep, dark mine

My gem is special / beyond all worth / strong as any metal / or stone in the earth

Sharp as any razor /or blade you can buy / bright as any laser / or star in the sky

I had been to the bottom of the deep, dark mine—that spiritual journey that shakes up all the beliefs that hold your life together. When you are digging and clawing for something to make sense of all the pain. When you’re covered in the dust of disappointments and heartache, and it’s so dang hard to breathe. And then I realized I had found a rare and fine diamond, and it was me. We lose what we were and become something new. Each one of us is special, beyond all worth—what a treasure! Take your place, Bright Star, and shine.

The River Just Rolls On By

October 16, 2016 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

‘Cause the river don’t talk, the river don’t care

Where you’ve been, what you’ve done

Why it is you’re standin’ there.

It just rolls on by, whisperin’ to your soul

It’s gonna be alright, the river just knows.

–Annie Tate, Dave Berg, Sam Tate

I don’t usually listen to Rodney Atkins, but I love what the chorus of his song ‘The River Just Knows‘ says and invokes in me. The singer/storyteller gets up early in the morning to go fishing and sees another guy at his spot on the river, and he wishes he could have the river to himself. He notices the guy has a military haircut and fresh scars on his face, and knows what brought him to the river. The soldier catches a rainbow trout, then releases him back to the river with “I’ll help you get your wind back, ’cause you helped me get mine.”

Our journey to St. Croix State Park a couple of weeks ago centered on the rivers that border and crisscross the large park. Twenty-one miles of the St. Croix River make up the southeastern border, and the last seven miles of the Wild and Scenic Kettle River is on the southwestern side. After leaving the fire tower, we first crossed Bear Creek–one of ten other streams that flow through the park. The stone and log bridge and beaver-chewed trees made a picturesque scene as we drove toward our hiking destination–Two Rivers Trail.

We ate our picnic lunch at Kettle River Overlook. The cloudy sky made the river look gray, and white-capped and burbling rapids brought the river to life.

The trail along the Kettle River was often lined with towering white and red pines that dropped their needles to cushion the path and provide the heady fragrance that makes you know you’re in a good place.

Along the river bank, where rain and flooding waters had washed away the soil, some of the roots of the pines were exposed but hanging on to keep the trees upright.

As we hiked, the clouds gave way to blue sky, and the river reflected the change. This one spot had swirly foam that created abstract pictures as the river rolled by.

Then we walked to the point where the Kettle River ended…

and flowed into the larger St. Croix River. Five Pine sentries stood at the confluence of the two rivers. “Welcome Home.”

It was easy to see why this river was chosen for a National Scenic Riverway–every glimpse of the river was so beautiful! It stirred a desire to explore it from a canoe.

Across the river, in Wisconsin, is Governor Knowles State Forest, with more impressive pines.

The rock in the river made a natural fount to hold the holy water, blessings for all the travelers who passed by.

The tipping Pine, on the point of an island, had a pileup of log debris at its feet.

A primitive camping spot for canoeists is at a bend in the river under another giant pine. The hiking trail veered into the forest away from the river at this point—and the river just rolled on by.

I had an inordinate amount of fear growing up. Nature helped to cushion my path and get my wind back every time I felt a pile-up of debris at my feet that threatened to tip me over. It helped me hang on. In the song, the river brought life back to the soldier–and to the storyteller. All of Nature brings Life back to us–even when we don’t realize we’re in need. The holy water, the sanctuary of trees, the steady foundation of rocks, and the breath of wind whispers to our souls, tells us we’re in a good place, and lets us know that everything’s gonna be alright.

Walking in the Sand

July 10, 2016 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

…in every grain of sand there is the story of the earth. –Rachel Carson

Walking in the sand along the shore of a lake or ocean is the epitome of a romantic sunset evening or a sand-castle fun family day. Bare feet sink into the dry sand, slowing down the pace of gait and time. Sand has been used for training athletes, including Walter Payton, to improve speed, agility, and strength with the added resistance of moving through sand. Now imagine going for a hike in the middle of a pine forest in Minnesota and walking in the sand!

Sand Dunes State Forest and Uncas Dunes Scientific and Natural Area is located in the Anoka sand plains created when meltwater from the last glaciers deposited a large area of sand. Sand dunes were formed when strong winds blew across the flat landscape. Prairie grasses grew on the sand, and when European settlers arrived, they plowed the virgin prairie for cropland. The drought and Dust Bowl era of the early 1930’s ended farming in the area as the sandy soil “took to the air and drifted like snow.” Hardwood and conifer trees were planted in 1941 to stabilize the sandy soil. In 1943, the state legislature passed a bill to set this land aside for conservation, and since that time, the forest has been enlarged to over 10,000 acres. It now includes camping, swimming beach, horse camp, and trails for hiking, riding, and snowmobiling.

Over 2,400 acres of pine trees have been planted over the decades. They are thinned and harvested for forest products every 5-10 years.

The Uncas Dunes Scientific and Natural Area lies within and adjacent to the State Forest. It was established to protect the sand prairie, the dry sand savanna, and the Uncas skipper, a state endangered butterfly. We had no idea at the time of our hike what the Uncas skipper looked like, but my photo of a small butterfly turned out to be a Mustard White butterfly.

Prairie, pine forests, and blue skies surrounded us as we hiked. Unfortunately, the deer flies also surrounded us, and I tried implementing the Aaron Brake Mind-Over-Mosquito Strategy for the extremely annoying pests.

We hiked past native hazelnut shrubs with their frilly, pale green seed pods encasing the immature nut.

A fern-lined wetland area held the remains of trees that had died from wet feet.

The trail of trees opened up to a small meadow where a brilliant Butterfly Weed was in full bloom. Dark green lance-shaped leaves were outlined with sunlight. The bright orange flowers attract butterflies and hummingbirds. Native Americans chewed the tough roots of the Butterfly Weed as a cure for pleurisy and other pulmonary ailments.

Another wild flower that I didn’t know was in the foreground of the Butterfly Weed. It is either Hoary or Hairy Puccoon, similar sandy soil-loving perennials that are known for the intense reddish-purple dye derived from their deep tap root.

As the time edged closer to suppertime, we decided to turn around and head back to the car, ready to be free of the circling deer flies. Our footprints sank into the sand, along with deer and horse hoof prints.

Evening sunlight streamed through the trees and lit up a spider’s web that was previously unseen.

Explorer Will Steger has been doing a yearly ice-out solo expedition in Northern Minnesota and Canada for the last number of Springs. He travels with a sled or specially designed canoe that he can either pull across the snow and ice or float in the rivers and lakes when the ice breaks up. He radios in a daily report telling about his night and day. Most often the temperatures are below freezing and sometimes below zero. Some days the wind chills are staggering. Snowstorms can dump many inches of snow that impede his travel. Food and fuel sometimes need to be rationed towards the end of his trip if he is in the wilderness longer than planned. And yet, he wraps up his report of a freezing night in a tent, thigh-high snow to trek through, and treacherous ice to navigate with “it was a good workout, though.” This 71-year-old explorer challenges his mind and body with these solo expeditions, doing the hard work, and calling it good.

We find ourselves in trying times with lives endangered in a myriad of ways. Somehow we must stabilize the shifting sands. So whether we’re trekking through deep snow, walking in sand with deer flies, navigating polarizing politics, or trying to save lives, let Light shine on the previously unseen, let us challenge ourselves to do the hard work, and at the end of each day, call it good.

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: