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Awe All Over Again

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I love details. Details are up-close things to be noticed and examined. All the tiny nuances and changes, colors and shapes, normality or pathology. When I was in graduate school, I could spend hours with my eyes to a microscope looking at chromosomes of triticale, histological specimens of mouse testes, and morphological characteristics of sheep sperm. So fascinating! When I lifted my eyes from the microscopic world, I tended to look closely at details of the people around me. What was different? Why was it different? What’s going on with you? There are certainly situations where noticing details and questioning changes are super-powers—it works well for scientific research, but it can have its limitations when it comes to certain aspects of interpersonal relationships. Just ask Chris. This literal ‘short-sighted’ attention to details can bog me down in the minutiae of life—I am not thinking about the future or the ramifications of my inquiries; I’m just gathering facts and information. And I can get stuck there. Perhaps that’s why I’m extremely near-sighted. But I would hate life without my ‘corrective lenses’—I also want to clearly see what lies beyond my armlength! There is a world of wonder in the whole spectrum of near to far! Just like most things in life, it comes down to balancing the details with the big picture. While Chris has had many annoying moments with my detailed fact-gathering, I am fortunate that he has balanced me out with his foresight or far-sightedness. I am literally speechless when he asks me a question about how I envision something in the future. “I have never thought about that,” is usually my answer after realizing the void in my brain. So while I try to sing the praises of details, he challenges me to move my eyes to the horizon.

Last weekend we encountered Autumn in its full glory at Mille Lacs Kathio State Park. The first thing on my list was to climb the 100-foot fire tower to see the big picture! But I had to wait my turn! Cars were parked along the narrow road, and a line of people waited for their opportunity to climb to the top. Each section of stairs brought me closer to the tree-tops, then far above them until I could see, on the horizon, the shining blue water of Mille Lacs Lake, Indian Point peninsula, and Rainbow Island. It was glorious to get a 360 degree view of the beautiful Fall forest. The Oaks and Aspens were brilliant in all colors of rust and red and golden yellow. The clouds were thick and moving, so at times the sun would burst through and brighten and lighten the colors. I felt like I could touch the sky!

When my feet were back on the ground, we drove to the interpretive center overlooking Ogechie Lake, a historical producer of wild rice. The conical-shaped Tamarack trees that lined the wetland of the lake were not quite to their peak golden-yellow. Then we hiked the Touch the Earth trail that led to the bog boardwalk.

Big-toothed Aspen leaves were falling to the ground and the red and rust of Oaks shocked us from the yellow-of-it-all.

The bog was beautiful despite the toll of the summer drought. The leaning Birch trees were golden along with the Tamaracks while the Black Spruce trees and Labrador Tea maintained their constant green.

Most colorful in the bog were the Wild Blueberries in shades of red and pink.

It takes time and intention to notice the details. One has to put aside the compulsion to hurry, make every second count, and get in the recommended number of steps in a personal best time. Letting go of that compulsion, as hard as it may be, releases something inside yourself and allows a different dimension of time and success to flow through you.

The new-brick color, the number and shape of the leaflets, the environment of sticks and leaves, how it touches moss, the wear and tear on the leaves, and most extraordinarily, the veining of the leaflets and how a heart shape is formed—those are the details of an Autumn Wild Geranium leaf.

A Wild Cherry tree wears a unique Fall color that draws our attention to it—not quite yellow, not quite orange, not quite rose, but a combination of them all.

The beautifully barked Pine trees are a constant through all the seasons, though they, like the other trees in Autumn, drop some of their needles to create the fragrant carpet of rich brown.

The source of the Rum River is Mille Lacs Lake. It runs through Ogechie Lake, meanders to and through Shakopee and Onamia Lakes, and joins the Mississippi River at Anoka in its 154 mile run. It is a State Water Trail, a designated Wild and Scenic River, and was originally called Mde Wakan or Spirit Lake River by the Dakota people. It is a venue that encourages paddlers to see life from the River’s point of view, up close and personal.

I have traveled through decades of Autumns, and with each passing year I experience awe all over again. Isn’t that wonderful?! Nature has so much power and beauty, uniqueness and wonder that each season of each year is like new again! It allows us to touch the sky in order to see the big picture and to touch the earth and see the amazing details. I think we each have a tendency towards one or the other of ‘the pictures,’ so it helps to surround ourselves with people who can see things differently than we can. It is also a personal challenge to do that within ourselves when we know we can get stuck in always striving towards that future big picture or we are bogged down in the details of the moment. Nature helps us see the whole spectrum, from near to far—in the world and in ourselves.

Magical Reflections

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I’d hate to try to count the number of times in my life that I’ve employed ‘magical thinking.’ Developmentally, it’s a common occurrence with young children—the line between creative fantasy and reality is blurry. But adolescents and adults commonly find themselves with false beliefs about how their thoughts, actions, or words can cause or prevent undesirable events. I remember my Grandma believed that her worrying would prevent ‘something bad’ from happening. Chris’ Grandma believed her daily prayers brought her son home alive from World War II. Is it ‘magical thinking’ or ‘a belief?’ Is it a problem or a solution? Is it superstitious or factual? (Hmm, seems like we can all relate to a good amount of that in our world in the last few years.) Magical thinking is a common indicator of trauma. It’s a form of dissociation, a coping mechanism employed by our psyches in response to an overwhelming event. It’s an attempt to feel more in control when we feel totally out of control. So I don’t disparage magical thinking—it’s been a major player in my coping-mechanism toolbox.

The definition of ‘magical’ from Oxford Languages is ‘relating to or resembling magic’ (as in supernatural or mystical) or ‘beautiful or delightful in such a way as to seem removed from everyday life’ (as in extraordinary or incredible.) I’m not much interested in the former definition, but the latter describes so many things I discover in Nature!

Last weekend we hiked at Moose Lake State Park. It’s a relatively small park established in 1971. They have a beautiful park office that houses the Agate and Geological Center which displays Minnesota’s state gemstone, the Lake Superior Agate. On the Rolling Hills trail, we wound through towering Pines with an ethereal carpet of Meadow Horsetails—it looked like the homeplace of fairies.

Dark red fruit known as ‘haws’ loaded a thorny Hawthorne tree. It has hard and durable wood, edible fruit, and is the subject of many legends and myths. The Hawthorne tree is an emblem of hope and is said to heal a broken heart.

We passed by Wildlife Pond but did not see any wildlife. Instead we noticed beautiful White Water Lilies still blooming in the Autumn water.

White Water Lilies represent rebirth and enlightenment—an extraordinary occurrence in a person’s spiritual journey. They are a symbol of peace, love, and harmony—a magical blessing for anyone.

Across the trail from the Wildlife Pond was a smaller, more hidden pond where ducks and geese lazily swam and dove, bottoms up, to find food.

We heard the distinctive call of a Pileated Woodpecker before we saw him. They are not easy to capture with the camera. As a ‘spirit animal,’ the Pileated Woodpecker symbolizes strength, resilience, and determination.

The rather magical transformation of leaves was displayed with every step we took. The Maples were dressed and dropping their cloaks of red, orange, and yellow.

The Birch and Aspen were beginning their metamorphosis to golden yellow.

A tiny little environment of moss and mushrooms blossomed under the fallen leaves. Who else lives here?

Round-lobed Hepatica leaves were conspicuous through the leaf litter. These hardy leaves turn a rich burgundy color, persist through the Winter, then wither away when the lavender-blue flowers begin to bloom in early Spring. The new leaves unfold after the flowers bloom. The dark color and shape of the leaves reminded people of the human liver (thus the name Hepatica), and at one time was used by herbalists as a ‘treatment’ for the liver because of this connection. Magical medicine?

I noticed a large, golden-tan mushroom that had been eaten. At first I thought it was from a larger animal, but then I saw the shimmery shine of slime and dozens of snails attached to the underside and stem! Not an everyday sighting.

At one section along the trail, the Birch trees were bowing, creating an archway fit for royalty. As ordinary citizens, as lovers of Nature, as flawed and seeking humans, we marched under their humbleness with honor for them.

I have always thought of Autumn Quaking Aspen leaves as golden coins scattered on the ground—an abundance of riches, not for the taking but for appreciating.

A few Asters were still in full and fresh bloom, reminding us all that blooming happens in different seasons for everything (everybody.)

In contrast, Fireweed had bloomed, fruited, dried, and released its seeds into the wind with the help of fluffy cotton. Fireweed is a plant that represents rebirth and resilience, since it is one of the first to grow after wildfires. The lake-side Swamp Milkweed had also released its seeds, the empty seedpods creating a bouquet against the water and reeds.

The amazing afternoon sun and clouds were reflected on Echo Lake (echo lake).

Reflections of what we see in our lives and echoes of what we say are really the basis of our magical and not-so-magical thinking. As parents it is our responsibility to help our children ‘see’ things in a more realistic way and to ‘hear’ the facts and make sense of this world, while at the same time honoring their visions and words at whatever stage of development they are going through. It’s a huge, challenging endeavor that I know I had failings at, as hard as I tried. As loving, caring adults, it is our responsibility to do the same for ourselves and in our community of life and work. When there is a vacuum of loving exchange, a hole of information that could help us ‘hone’ our thoughts and ideas, that’s when we are left to figure it out on our own. To me, that’s what magical thinking does—it helps us try to figure out a situation in our own heads. It helps us identify our needs and wants—they are plainly being played out in our heads. The challenge is to straighten out our skewed thoughts and move them from our heads to our real life—easier said than done. Trauma in childhood can be crippling for life. Magical thinking is our good faith attempt to try to repair it. It’s part of our healing process. There are many things we employ in our lives that are not based on facts and reality of the moment—hopes, dreams, faith, prayers, affirmations, and our magical thinking. They are all a part of our nonfactual spiritual journey. Nature, with all her magical, delightful, and extraordinary creations and moments, is an integral part of my spirit, healing, and reality.

The Lone Wolf

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I remember in the first year of my marriage to Chris that I consciously struggled with what it meant to be one part of a couple versus my own person. Were they compatible, the me with him and the me for me? It’s not that I was a lone wolf for years before I met him—I had just graduated from college and was living at home with my parents. I had lived with people all my life! Though I was an introvert and liked being alone, I also valued belonging to a family. The importance of being an independent person within the interdependence of a married couple was an issue that hadn’t occurred to me before marriage. But I had come of age during the tail-end of the cultural revolution of the Women’s Movement, so the issue had been constantly in the background of my life. Who are we as women in our own right, not just from the family we came from or who we married?

I’m intrigued with the term ‘lone wolf.’ On one hand, it describes a very independent, solitary person, a rugged individualist who forges their own path. On the other hand, the negative connotation of ‘lone wolf’ is a person who commits a crime or act of terrorism by oneself rather than as part of a group or organization. The myths and stories of ‘lone wolves’ make for good songs, books, and video games, but the reality of a lone wolf in the wild is quite different. A lone wolf is defined in wildlife biology as a ‘dispersing’ wolf. He or she will leave the pack they were born into when they are 11–18 months old, depending on the availability of food. In essence, lone wolves are young adults who are ‘leaving home’ to find their own mates and start their own pack or family unit.

The size of a wolf pack’s territory depends on the availability of food. In northern Minnesota, there is a high density of white-tailed deer, so wolves do not need to travel far for food, though they can easily travel thirty miles in a day. If food is prevalent, packs are usually bigger with multiple generations, including non-breeding young adults. Minnesota wolves make up nearly half of the wolf population in the lower 48 states, so it is not unusual to see wolves in the wild in northern Minnesota.

In our September trip up north to Ely, we stopped at an overlook to see the Fall colors. At the opposite corner of the lake clearing, we saw a dark shape in the grass. Was it a bear? Zooming in with the camera, I saw a charcoal-colored wolf. I’m sure he saw us before we saw him.

His first instinct was to run away, and I thought that was all we would see of him, but soon he circled back to look again.

He turned away, but his curiosity kept turning him back towards us!

He headed away from us to the water behind some reeds, but once more looked our way.

Finally he trotted off into the forest, into his home territory. Was he a lone wolf or part of a pack?

‘Lone wolf’ personality qualities include being introspective, intelligent, self-aware, and self-motivated. I can relate to that. But like any human or animal ‘lone wolf,’ we all are social animals. We begin our lives in a family structure that (ideally) feeds us, defends us, keeps us safe, and teaches us to someday function on our own and perhaps have our own ‘pack.’ The makeup of the ‘pack’ can vary with circumstances and environments, most especially for us humans. When I was first married and for the many years subsequent to that, I have embarked on the very human journey of navigating my individual life with my life as a partner, wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, and co-worker. It’s an honor to be on such a journey, and perhaps that is not just a human journey.

Later that night, around the campfire, two of our fellow campers lifted their heads and voices to howl in tandem. In a spine-tingling response, we heard the whole pack answer in an orchestra of different voices and tones. I know the charcoal wolf we saw was one of them.

For more information on wolves, visit the International Wolf Center in Ely, Minnesota or go to their website: https://wolf.org/

A Humming Song of Hallelujah

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I’m a couple weeks behind the amazing Autumn leaf color-fest here in Minnesota—by now, most have fallen to the ground. But social displays of wonder are preempted by occurrences of life, death, and life. The possibility of losing a loved one (and I want to add the word ‘again’) grabs one’s attention from the mundane day-to-day as well as the seasonal wonder. It focuses our attention on the past, on the relationship, and on the absolute and pure preciousness of a person. When death is on deck, it changes things.

I was emotionally exhausted when we came back from Missouri. Everything tends to grind to a halt for me as I try to process everything that has happened. The first day back I was rather catatonic—I didn’t move much, and my thinking about anything was blurry and scattered. I sat outside and let the sunlight sink into my skin. The following weekend, Chris and I journeyed to the golden cathedral of a Maple forest. A forest of mostly Sugar Maples turns the most brilliant yellow-gold in those fleeting days of Autumn color. Being a prairie girl, it was an extraordinary delight when I first went to the Maples of Lake Maria State Park in the fall of 2014 and wrote ” The Trees Were Glowing.” Every year since then, we find a Maple forest in which to bathe in the ethereal glow of the gilded leaves.

The day was cloudy, which made for a different kind of glow. No rays of sunlight danced on the leaves and slipped to the leaf-covered forest floor. The cloudy light was reflected back and forth from leaf to leaf like a humming song filling the air.

A relatively ‘young’ part of the forest had tall, straight-trunked trees, like a colossal choir dressed in robes of gold, swaying to the humming song.

Two large rocks at the base of two older-barked trees, along with a flexible, bent-over young Maple, created an alter of sorts. We pray for the souls of our loved ones.

With awe, we stood by the Grandmother and Grandfather Maples whose branches reached out wide and tall, proclaiming their time-honored wisdom. Like all elders, they deserve respect for all they have seen, all they have lived through, and all the hardships they have survived.

Pines shed a certain number of needles each fall, usually from the interior of the branches. Their winged pairs often get caught on other foliage, as do the bright-colored leaves.

We came to a clearing in the forest where Sumacs grew along the edges, happy in the more abundant sunshine. The deep red leaves are a sharp contrast to the golden Sugar Maple leaves. Sumacs are one of the first to change color, so by this time, many had already lost their leaves. But in contrast to most other shrubs and trees, they retain their striking brick-red seedheads throughout the winter.

The younger stems are fuzzy and pink, and after the leaves drop, look like arms raised in hallelujah!

Tucked into a little valley that protected the Sumac from leaf-dropping wind, was a spectacular display of a community of trees of all colors, sizes, and shapes! In the center of the fall color was an Eastern Red Cedar with a shine of gray-blue ‘berries’ (actually small cones) dusted on its branches.

We walked back into the forest where even an uprooted tree looked like a woodland sculpture with the background of golden leaves.

One part of the trail had beautiful red-leaved Maples that added to the color palette of our rustling footsteps.

Then before we left, the clouds broke away, and the sun flooded the golden cathedral with shimmering light!

Death was a swing and a miss this time around, thank the Good Lord, but all the feelings and sensations of uncertainty, compassion, love, loss, and grief took us on a roller-coaster ride. It’s funny how we are never quite prepared for it, even when we’ve been in similar circumstances before. It’s like the forest coming alive with golden light as the leaves are dying—life, death, and life again. We tend to take for granted the long Summer of green when all is well, then panic and wail a bit when leaves change and fall. Mother Nature has shown us time and time again that that is not the end of the story. As people of faith and mercy, we believe that, but as people of doubt and confusion, we constantly need reassurance that it will be so. So in the aftermath of such a roller-coaster of emotions, it is a healing balm to walk into the golden cathedral forest, to be surrounded and blessed by gilded light, and to raise our arms and hearts, along with the trees, in a humming song of Hallelujah.

Work Well Done

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I’m not a betting person. I like a sure thing, not the maybe–potential–good day–bad day–luck–fate thing that seems to juice the adrenaline of gamblers on any kind of betting opportunity. Too much drama for me. That’s why I love the changing of the seasons—it’s a sure thing. And yet, there are humans who want to make even that a little more dramatic! When will the leaves be at peak color? Don’t miss your chance to go North to the place where the Fall color will be the most spectacular at this particular time! We even want to game Mother Nature. (I guess that’s nothing new.) Don’t get me wrong—I love the spectacular colors of Autumn leaves at peak times. It really is the epitome of storybook Autumn, especially when paired with pumpkins, hot cider, fingerless gloves, red cheeks, cozy sweaters, and Uggs. But I also love the process of Fall—the subtle shift when plants stop growing and pour all their energy into the production of fruits and seeds, when there is ripening and fullness and deep color to the produce, when waning energy production is noted in the loss of gloss or slight color change in leaves, and when a morning temperature in the low 40’s produces a heavy coat of dew on the warm, sun-soaked earth of the previous day.

Thursday was officially the first day of Autumn, but signs of the process of Fall have been showing for weeks now. Last Sunday Chris and I hiked at Oak Savanna Park in Sherburne County. 140 acres of the park were gifted to the County by Bill and Margaret Cox on the outskirts of Becker. There was a hint of coolness in the cloudy air when we began our hike from the parking lot of Sherburne History Center whose signage reminded us of ox-cart trails, Indian land, and settler farmers who tried and often failed at making a living on the sandy soil. In essence, they urged us to go forth on this land with the knowledge of who and what came before us.

At this park, as at the Sherburne National Wildlife Refuge to the south, there are acres and acres of wetlands.

The rolling hills above the wetlands were home to an impressive Oak stand that is being managed as an Oak Savanna as invasive species like Buckthorn are removed.

Sumac is one of the first tree/shrubs to display their brilliant Fall colors and even show the process of how the leaves change from the outside tips to the central vein of the compound leaves. Aren’t they beautiful?!

Poison Ivy is coordinating its Fall colors below the Sumac.

Certain plants are stand-outs at this time of year—purple-stemmed Raspberries with carnival striped leaves, pale purple and albino bracts of Spotted Horse Mint, and the spiny brown balls of Cockleburs.

The park has horse trails and an extensive disc golf course, so at times we found ourselves on someone else’s turf.

Ash trees are one of the first hardwood trees to change color, and again, the leaves show the Fall process of losing chlorophyll.

And Gooseberries, one of the first shrubs to open their leaves in the Spring, have turned a rosy color along with the Virginia Creeper growing at their feet.

There is a subtleness to Autumn along with the spectacular color. It’s like a sigh after work well done.

Mother Nature has worked hard all Spring and Summer to grow, reproduce, develop, mature, and produce—the work of all our lives in one way or another. It takes a tremendous amount of energy (thank you photosynthesis and Sun) along with imperative resources like soil nutrients and water in order to get to the point of ‘work well done.’ Sigh…

I think we have a tendency to want the ‘good stuff’ right away—the spectacular peak colors, a great paying job as we start our career, a well-furnished ‘dream’ home—the epitome of American life. But when we embrace the process, we don’t ‘wish away’ the time it takes to get to the ultimate experience. The proverbial ‘life’s a journey, not a destination’ holds true in Nature and in our lives. If one only lives for the ‘hit’ of peak colors or for the money jackpot, what happens next? The apex experience only lasts for a minute or two, then we strive to reach the next ‘hit.’ There is wisdom and satisfaction in the process—growth and development comes one way or the other, the embraced way or the hard way. We can go forth on our journeys, satisfied with ourselves and what came before us to get us to this moment, enjoy a time of rest, then move forward into a new season of growth, development, and production. Enjoy the process!

From the Inside Out

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I have a scar on my thumb and one on my hand where glass chards from a kitchen door window slashed through my skin. As a kid running home after getting off the bus to see who’s first in the house, it wasn’t the blood that was most unsettling—it was who was going to be in trouble when Mom and Dad found out about it. I have a few other ‘story’ scars—when a rock hit my shin when I was mowing and ended that chore for the day and one wide, repeated scar from three c-sections, all with their own ‘war story’ but with three beautiful children as the result.

I have been thinking about wounds and scars and healing since that is what we’ve been dealing with in our household the last couple of weeks after Chris had surgery. A simple wound, one without extensive tissue damage or infection, takes four to six weeks to heal, with scar tissue formation taking much longer. Our bodies are amazing healing organisms! First step, stop the bleeding and keep the germs out! (Of course with this surgery, the medical professionals inflict the wound and begin the healing process by stitching, stapling, or gluing the wound shut with all safety protocols in place.) Second step, immune cells begin to clean up the damage, waste, and any harmful bacteria from the wound. Third step, create new tissue—skin, blood vessels, new collagen frameworks, etc. to repair and mend the damage. And more long term, the fourth step, remodel the temporary tissue formed at the outset with stronger skin tissue and scar formation. Whew! Our bodies do a lot of work to heal—work that takes extra energy and building blocks (amino acids, minerals, cholesterol, etc.) beyond the process of normal, daily metabolism and renewal of cells. And one of the most important aspects of healing is rest. Our autonomic nervous system with its two branches—the sympathetic fight, flight, or freeze and the parasympathetic rest and digest—determine what is happening in our bodies on a cellular basis. The parasympathetic system is also called the rest and repair system—in order to digest our food properly and repair our bodies, we need to be in rest mode. It allows our bodies to do the ‘work’ of repair.

All of that makes me think of Autumn—the prelude to Winter. Autumn is a time when the trees and plants slip into rest mode. No more energy-intensive photosynthesis, no busy, nutrient-grabbing flower and fruit production, and no new growth that requires abundant energy and nutrients just for that. The leaves stop their work and fall to the ground. The already-formed seeds disperse on wind or water or via an animal, who nourishes its body with the fruit or seed and discards potential new seedlings. It is a time to purge in the best of ways, to gather what nourishes for future needs, and move into rest and repair.

All healing happens from the inside out with the help of outside influences—an excellent surgeon and medical team, antibiotic drugs to prevent infection, pain management to allow for comfort and rest, wholesome, nutritious food for needed building blocks for repair, walking for blood circulation and strength, and sleep and rest when our cells can kick into high gear to repair and restore. Healing—the process of making or becoming sound, whole, or healthy again. I want to reiterate the profound amazingness of our bodies’ ability to heal—how responsive the healing mechanism is, how many systems work together to initiate and carry out ‘the work’ of healing, and how the goal of the systems and spirit of our bodies is to return to homeostasis, to balance. As amazing as the physiological repair process is in our bodies, a similar process takes place in our minds, hearts, and spirits to repair wounds of trauma and grief. The language is the same for both—wound, repair, pain, trauma, health, wholeness, wellness, and healing. Healing our hearts, minds, and spirits happens from the inside out also, with the help of outside influences—animals, Nature, therapists, friends, partners, community support, sometimes medication, and once again rest. So welcome Autumn. Welcome the quiet dormancy that Winter brings. Welcome rest…and restoration.

Checking Our (River) Bank Statements

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One of the greatest lessons children can teach us is to hold two very divergent ideas in our mind and hearts at the same time.  It may just be a matter of days after their birth before we are holding the most precious thing we have ever seen at arms length while contemplating the extreme mess of diaper, clothes, and blankets that needs to be cleaned up.  Or there is non-stop crying that wears on our sleep-weary ears and nerves from the perfectly beautiful baby we brought home.

This past week was hot and muggy with uncomfortable nights and air quality alerts that tightened my airways with ozone.  Summer’s bad qualities.  But it looked like Fall.  The Ash trees were mostly all yellow and dropping leaves.  The Sumac trees had turned showstopping crimson and scarlet.  The Linden trees were quickly turning lemon-colored with a circular blanket of leaves covering the green grass underneath them.  So is it Fall or Summer?

Our neighbor’s Buckeye trees glowed golden with leaves and spiny seed capsules that encase the ‘eyed’ dark brown seed.

Fall harvesting by the birds has begun.  A juvenile Cardinal plucked a seed from a nearby tree—unfortunately it was a seed from the dreadful Buckthorn!  Is Buckthorn good for food or a worthless tree?

Virginia Creeper vines are turning red, going from camouflage to conspicuous.

Also conspicuous in the morning dew was a funnel weaver spider’s sheet web.  Most likely a grass spider, she hid herself in the entrance of the funnel to wait for a tasty insect to stumble upon her web.  Are spiders terrible pests or architectural geniuses?

Drying seeds of Queen Anne’s Lace leaned over against the background of fall-colored Sumac.

The smallest Hostas are just now blooming, fresh and summer-like…

…while the sun-kissed Maple trees are beginning to show their colors.

 

We are a society based on labeling.  The calendar says it is still Summer and will be Fall on Friday; the meteorologists say it was Fall on September 1st.  If we had no way of orderly keeping track of days, what would it be called?  Perhaps it would not be named at all.  Often labeling comes with black and white thinking, with opposite and extreme judgments—good or bad, right or wrong, all or nothing.  We run into a web of tangled trouble when we try to determine who has the ‘right’ to decide what is right or wrong.  Does the person who is deathly afraid of spiders get to determine a spider’s worth or does an entomologist?  Does a person who is trying to eradicate Buckthorn from his property have the right to determine its value or does the person who loves it for a privacy hedge?  I believe black and white thinking are like two banks of a river, and the river is the gray area.  We can be the sturdy boats with thick ropes and strong oars and sails that navigate the River of Life.  At times it is imperative for us to tie up to one of the two banks—for order in a society or for taking care of our personal space.  But most of the time we are moving through life on the gray River, and we must hold two very divergent ideas in our thoughts and hearts with compassion.  Our child who just made a huge mess is our beloved.  The dreadful Buckthorn provides food for the birds.  The scary spider or bat eats many destructive insects, and on and on it goes.  Many people live on one of the two banks, like I used to—it is familiar and safe there, but Life passes by.  We call out with disdain or hope to the people on the River—“We know the answer!”  And while the River at times can be dangerous and fast-moving or stagnant and stale, most of the time it is life-giving, refreshing, cleansing, and invigorating.  Through rough waters and smooth sailing, may we navigate well, anticipate the rocks and snags, learn what we need to learn, look to both horizons, and enjoy the unexpected treasures around the bend.