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Stars of the Earth

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The other night we walked home from a neighbor’s house in the late-night hour of eleven o’clock. It had been a deliciously fun evening with supper and a competitive card game with our friends. I was tired and ready for bed and could hardly believe Chris was still awake considering how early he rose that morning (and all mornings.) It was cold—around nine degrees—and clear. We walked like cats stalking a mouse on the icy patches—slow and sure-footed, ready for defensive action if our feet were to slip. Besides the few and far-between street lights, there was little light pollution, and the stars were absolutely brilliant! After our footing was more secure, I walked with my eyes to the sky which was a tad bit disorienting in the darkness, but the tired, late-hour time and nose-biting temperature discouraged us from stopping. There is something about a dark sky full of bright stars. Even while walking I noticed how far to the west Orion had slid in the late-Winter sky. The moon was just a sliver of light, a team-player allowing the others to shine. There is a great sense of calm when in the presence and awareness of the Universe.

Are not flowers the stars of the earth? –Clara Lucas Balfour

Winter is long in Minnesota even when it’s a normal year. Snow has covered the ground since before Thanksgiving, a fact that I love, actually. It’s the way it’s supposed to be. But even as much as I love cold and snow, as Winter wanes my mind wanders to Spring….and to flowers. There is something about the green earth full of bright flowers. There is something about having some bright flowers in the house in the midst of Winter and snow! For Valentine’s Day, Chris brought home a pot of mini-Daffodils.

And just as the yellow-gold blossoms had dried to paper-thin permanence, the grocery store displayed buckets of pretty pink Tulips with an eye-catching sale. I wrapped them in plastic and warm air to get them to the car and to the house in the cold.

I’ve been feeling the dichotomy of transitions—the excitement and looking forward to what is to come, right alongside the sadness and looking back at what was left behind. Whichever one is most dominant depends on the day. Nobody gets through a transition of any kind without this present day wrestling of feelings about the future and the past, though some are more aware of it than others. Sometimes it is only with hindsight and insight that we look back at a transition and realize just how difficult it was for us.But the wrestling is good—the work of it gets us to where we need to be. What helps in the meantime? A comfortable and relaxed evening with friends. A walk in the crisp, dark night under a symphony of stars. A bouquet of Earth’s stars that delights our senses and whispers hope and promise of the future. The calm of the Universe—the way it’s supposed to be.

What Kind of Flower Are You?

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What if you were a flower? Which one would you be? After waiting so desperately for Spring flowers, we now have an explosion of sorts! The Crabapples and Lilacs are garnering star-status attention—eyes are drawn to their charisma and beauty. From a distance they are admired, and up close they are appreciated.

Lily of the Valley are hidden among the wide, pointed leaves—at first glance, green is all one sees. A closer look reveals pure, simple features with an exquisite fragrance.

What’s not to like about Virginia Bluebells? Beautiful shape and color and one of the first flowers to bloom in the woodland before getting covered up by the vigorous summer plants.

The tiny, delicate Brunnera is easily missed among the larger green leaves. The flowers can be mistaken for the better known Forget-me-nots.

Sweet Woodruff, a shade-loving groundcover, has a diminutive, elegant flower reminiscent of the tropical Stephanotis.

On their own, the Purple Flag Iris and the Anemone are brilliant and eye-catching, each with distinct, enchanting features. When paired together, they are a power couple!

What flowers?! Jack-in-the-Pulpit flowers don’t look like flowers at all! They blend in with the triad leaves and the purplish stems.

I always forget the name of these Spring flowers that pop up from low-growing vines. Chris reminds me they are Creeping Phlox that can be confused with the other Creeping Phlox. (The perils of a common name.)

Wild Geraniums are showy in color with large stamens and striped flower buds, but the mound of cut-leafed foliage is the most distinct feature of the plant.

Dozens and dozens and dozens of Honeysuckle shrubs are blooming in our woods right now. Some are pink, others are yellow and white, and some are a darker rose color. They are sweet-smelling and abundant.

Serviceberry and Chokecherry are best know for the fruit they produce, but without the flower, there is no fruit!

Ajuga, besides its great name, is a richly-colored ground cover that can get carried away. (In other words, it can spread into places you don’t want it.) The stalks of lobed blue flowers are impressive at this time of year.

Variegated Solomon’s Seal is a work of art with arching stems, white-lined leaves, and pendulous pairs of white and green flowers.

If you are not looking for this flower, you will miss it. The large heart-shaped leaves hide the ground-hugging purple-red flower. They are exquisite flowers when you look closely.

Spring/Winter was hard on the bulb flowers this year. The Crocuses that line the driveway grew their leaves, but did not produce one flower. The Daffodils were late to push up their lance-like leaves, and only two flowers showed their sunshine faces.

Flowers of the Nannyberry Viburnum are large clusters of many smaller flowers. Their strength and presence come from the compilation of lots of small, individual beauties.

I know some Crabapple people in my life—they are seen and heard from a distance and are admired and appreciated by many. Some people I know aren’t showy at all—their gifts are more subtle or hidden, and it takes time and effort to uncover them and get to know them. Others blend in, get covered up by more vigorous people, are confused with others, or are missed entirely. They are the ones that need intention, time, noticing, and listening from the rest of us. Their gifts and beauty are just as important to our communities and lives as are the abundant ones. Certain people are known only by the fruits of their labor, what they produce, the work they do, and the brilliance and perseverance of who they are as a person is lost in that translation. I know couples who are superb and talented individuals who are synergistic in their togetherness. And some people are having hard times and are just doing what needs to be done to survive—their sunshine faces are clouded over. We are all flowers, each in our own exquisite way. When you look closely, we are all works of art.

Snapshots of July Stories

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Here we are in the middle of the year, in the middle of summer—this month of July.  I tend to wish away July when the temperatures rise, when the humidity causes so much discomfort, and when bugs are bugging humans animals, and plants.  Oh, and also when the deer jump our garden fence and eat the beans, beets, and peppers.  The first half of the month was hot and sticky—and I realize that relative to the rest of the country, we have it easy.  Just as I was wondering how to navigate the humid days of summer, we got a blast of welcome relief from cooler Canadian air.  The last two weeks have been glorious summer days—days I am not wishing away!  Looking over my photographs of July, I realized that our month could be told in a series of little stories.  There is the two-sided story of the deer—the nemesis of Chris and his ‘fight’ to save our hostas, trees, and other plants from being devoured by our cloven-hoofed friends as opposed to the beauty of spotted fawns with their mamas.

I saw one small fawn by itself one evening, just standing in the driveway, looking back and forth between the barking dog in the house and the sound of people walking down the street.  No mama was in sight.  Another day, a fawn hid behind the grass by the blueberries—again without its mama.  It’s unusual to see such a young one without its mother close by, and I wondered if she had been killed somehow.  Poor, cute baby.

July holds the story of blooming things.  The garden vegetables—peppers, tomatoes, green beans, and cucumbers—are flowering and beginning to grow their fruit.  Hosta flowers are in wild abundance, much to the happiness and satiety of the hummingbirds.

Carpets of thyme are covered with purple blooms, and annual zinnias are bright and inviting to the butterflies.

There is the story of time on the lake with friends—delicious in-the-moment time when the look and feel of the water and wind make every cell in your body feel alive.  It is the story of Minnesota where pines and loons represent our state.

The story of the Lake is not complete without Cattails, Yellow Pond Lilies, and spiders who take advantage of a corner of a dock to capture a plethora of insects that hover around the water.

There are the summer stories of friends and relatives around a fire on the patio.

The stories of Sunlight and Moonlight fall on the moss of trees, the burbling creek water, and the tall oaks of the forest.

 

July stories told in snapshots are added to the album of Summer and then to the bigger albums of our year and life.  I like how the photographs open those albums, how they illustrate a part of the story, and how they reveal elements that may not have been noticed before.  So often—like the deer story—there is a little story within the bigger one.  It also illustrates how there can be different feelings and thoughts about a situation, not only from different people, but even within one person.  Our personal stories, seen through the snapshot of a photo or memory, are limited, however; we don’t see what’s happening off camera or have all the pertinent information.  But a photo and story are also gifts to every one of us—they remind us of the beauty and goodness of life.  They make us remember not to take people or things for granted.  They instill in us the preciousness of time.  What are your July stories?  What delicious moments in time have you had this summer?  And are you ready for a new story to unfold in each new day?  

The Light in the World

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“Where there is darkness, light…”   –from the Prayer of Saint Francis

There were two times in my life when I was in profound darkness.  The first time was when I was very young—before many memories were etched into my brain, and when my brain, in all its wisdom, sequestered that darkness into a walled-off place so I could continue to smile and run and explore and be a child.  The second time was forty-three years later when the walled-off place suddenly burst open, spewing all the feelings and emotions of that earlier time into my mind, my body, and my soul.  I could no longer smile, I could barely move, and my soul felt like it was dying.  There were other times in my life—between those two times—when I peered into the darkness of the abyss, when I stood precariously on the edge fearing any misstep that would plunge me into that place I did not want to go, could not yet go.  During the second darkness, there were a few amazing beams of light that guided me through—my therapist, my pastor and friend.  There was the warm, caring light of Chris who pulled double duty with the chores and work, even when it all felt confusing and overwhelming.  And there was the brilliant light of my children—one who was already gone to college, one who was on the cusp of leaving for school, and one who still needed my day-to-day presence.  

I am acutely aware of the toxic darkness that resides in our world—where children are intentionally separated from their parents, where violence permeates homes and lives, where people are going hungry and sleeping on the streets, where illnesses are unable to be treated, and a list too long goes on.  But I am also joyously connected to the light in our world—the life-giving sunshine in our daily lives, the hope and comfort of spiritual belief and practice, and the day-to-day words and actions of good and kind people.  The early morning and evening sunshine has been lighting up the landscape around our place, noticeable as we sit on the porch or walk through the yard.  The coming or going of darkness is emblazoned by sunlight as it reaches from the horizon through trees and leaves.

It illuminates the seedheads of grass, transforming the natural color to pure white light.

Ninebark shrubs flower and fruit in little clusters that often get lost among the leaves.  The sunlight reveals some hidden fruits.

Wispy needles of a Larch tree dance green and white in the light, casting narrow shadows on themselves.  We are all a combination of light and shadow.

Life-giving food made from life-giving sunlight and soil is part of the process of transformation for a caterpillar eating Milkweed and becoming a Monarch butterfly.

How does sunlight impact a rock?  It beams light energy into the hard, seemingly impervious surface—some gets reflected, making the rock look brighter, while other gets absorbed and transformed into heat.

When a place looks dark, light can shine on unexpected places making the whole picture look different.  Often our help, our light, comes from people and places we never expected.

A constant source of pleasure for me is the ever-changing way the evening sunlight radiates through the leaves of a Banana tree on our patio.  The red edges turn to fire, the veins are unveiled, shadows deepen the green color in areas, and drops of pure white light drip from and through this living, breathing organism.

Sometimes the sun doesn’t shine on our face, but enlightens and enlivens our heart where we need it most, so that later our true beauty will be revealed for all the world to see.

Light also exposes dangerous, harmful, or annoying things that go unseen in the shadows and darkness.  Red aphids on a sunflower stem glowed in the sunlight, and vines and webs were clearly seen in the light of the sun and the lens of the camera.  Sometimes one has to look closely with unflinching courage in order to eradicate the harmful things.

The result of being aware of the light and the darkness, of looking honestly and closely at our own heart and soul, of asking or allowing or finding the help we need, is the revelation of an inner and outer beauty that displays our true essence.

 

Our brains are amazing structures that protect us during overwhelming events by sequestering sensations and emotions to a walled-off place so we can continue to function at some level.  But they never disappear, and time does not abate the intensity of our feelings.  Sometimes the walled-off place is touched or triggered by a sensation or situation, and we react instantly, unconsciously, and we or someone around us wonder where those words or actions came from.  That’s why the second darkness is so important—to slowly know and release the sensations and feelings that have been clouding our life, so we are no longer afraid of the dark abyss, because it is gone.  We all need help at times with our shadows and darkness, and we are all called to be sowers of light.  A Minnesota author Kent Nerburn wrote a book Make Me an Instrument of Your Peace—Living in the Spirit of the Prayer of Saint Francis.  He wrote how Saint Francis went forth in the world to give his light to others, how at times it was an act of pure will, and how fervently he believed that every small gesture of light was needed.  Nerburn wrote, “We must remind ourselves that, though our lives are small and our acts seem insignificant, we are generative elements of this universe, and we create meaning with each act that we perform or fail to perform.”  He continues this compelling call to action with “All our actions on this earth have eternal life.  It is up to us to determine whether our actions have a life that increases the light in the world or adds to the darkness.”  May we know our shadows, may we light up the landscape of our world, and may we let the luminescence of our true essence shine on. 

Summer Solstice Snapshot

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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!

 

Zero to Sixty

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In two weeks’ time, we have accelerated from Spring to Summer.  The normal progression of leafing out and blooming has been disrupted this year—things seem rather confused.  The very warm temperatures of these last days have pushed some things to bloom, while at the same time the early bloomers are just catching up from the delay a late snowstorm produced.  So now the daffodils, honeysuckle, lilacs, crabapples, viburnums, flag irises, and anemones are all blooming at the same time!  Instead of Spring slowly unfolding in its progressive, orderly way, it’s been like a tire-spinning Ferrari going from zero to sixty in 2.9 seconds!

On Mother’s Day two weeks ago, we took a short hike around Rockville County Park.  The leaves were just emerging from the trees, which made bird watching easier.  We saw a Baltimore Oriole and a Rose-breasted Grosbeak and heard their beautiful songs.

An adult Eagle floated in the sky above us looking for food to feed the two hungry ‘babies’ in the nest.  They have a few years until they grow into the elegance of their parents.

A tall, showy Serviceberry was blooming in the woods, looking almost out of place with the other bare, brown-with-green-tinged trees.

Later, back at home, a lone turkey wandered through the front yard.  She circled around the garage, then was scared by a tractor going down the road.  She ran to the backyard and flew up into the oak trees, defying her size!  She stayed there for quite a while, cautiously looking around to determine her safety.  Finally she opened her wings and glided to the ground.

We had a few rain showers in the last two weeks, though it still seems very dry, especially as the temperatures have gone so unseasonably high this past week.  The rainy days helped the Purple Leaf Plum leaf out and bloom, helped the Purple Flag Irises open their tissue-paper-thin flowers, and gave the Baltimore Oriole a shower.

On another trek to Eagle Park, we saw Purple Martins sitting on the porches of their house.  Just as we got out of the car, they all flew away, and I saw a Hawk capture one in the air, going zero to sixty!  He flew to a branch of a tree with the Purple Martin in his claws.

Then he dropped it!  He looked down at his fallen prey but did not fly down to get it as we watched!

 

It seems like we waited so long for Spring to come this year, and then when it did finally show up, it zoomed into summer—what crazy weather!  I remember when the kids were younger how we waited for milestones—when they walked, talked, tied their own shoes, started school, and dozens of others.  While the waiting seemed long, when they finally passed a milestone, things started to move faster, and we looked back thinking how time had zoomed by so quickly!  How could ten years, twenty years, now thirty years have passed since we held these dear babies in our arms?  Crazy time.  These children of ours—we try to keep them safe, provide food, shelter, learning and love, help them to bloom, and teach them to fly.  Sometimes desires and dreams fall from their grasps—from our grasps—and we look down and decide whether or not we will pick them up again or let them go.  We all take a couple of years or a lifetime to grow into our elegance.

To All Those Who Came From Mothers

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Our very being, essence, health and happiness depend on Mother Earth.                    –David Suzuki

Where and how do we begin?  What is our essence?  To whom do we owe our health and happiness?  Yikes!  These are deep questions!  On this Mother’s Day, there is no need to overwhelm ourselves with an endless pool of existential inquiry, but maybe we should at least dip our toes in.  Only some of us are mothers, but all of us came from mothers.  We all know at least half of the equation.  We were all mothered in one way or another—the judgement of how that turned out is only for each one of us to determine in the journey of our lives.  Of course, that journey changes if and when we become mothers (and fathers) ourselves and when we lose those that brought forth our life.  And so it goes…

The essence of life is Springing forth.  The change that happens in one week’s time is mind-boggling and mind-humbling—we are dealing with a force so much bigger than ourselves.  The greening of the grass seems simple compared to perennials pushing up and unfolding from the earth and dormant trees exploding with flowers and new leaves.  We really are fortunate to witness such miracles, do you know?  Look at the fresh flowers and tender leaves of these two types of Maple trees:

Blue Jay mates were foraging for food this week, vocalizing their pleasure of Spring mating and nest-building.

Linden leaves began the filling-out process of changing the trees’ skeletal silhouettes to geometrical shapes.

The Rabbits were in a frenzy one early morning, darting here and there, perhaps for no other reason than Spring is finally here!

Tiny new Wild Strawberry flowers opened up as the only-days-old Magnolia flowers wilted, browned, and fell—a miniature birth and death cycle that leads to the next step in the biological process—the formation of fruits and seeds.

Two surprises showed up this week that had me rushing for the camera—it’s exciting to see something that one has never seen before!  We have had many types of woodpeckers frequent the feeders, but I had never seen a flashy Red-headed Woodpecker until this week.

Another morning flash of color attracted my attention—a Red-breasted Grosbeak.

Mayapples, Epimedium, and Lily-of-the-Valley arose, appeared, and unrolled from the earth, from where there was nothing visible before.

Standing at the kitchen sink, looking out the window, I see the ‘Prairie Fire’ Crabapple has a white cloud of Wild Plum blossoms surrounding its dark burgundy leaves and flower buds.

 

Spring marks the beginning of a full cycle of emergence, growth, development, seed formation, offspring, transformation, decline, and death.  It’s the new time, an exciting time, a time that makes one frenetic with energy for no good reason other than Winter is over and Spring is here!  Mother Earth’s pregnant potential showcases beginnings and alludes to the essence of Life.  She provides sunshine and vitamin D for our health and brings us smiling happiness and wonder.  In the midst of all of this, there is each one of us and our half of the equation.  Our being, where once there was nothing, was brought forth by an egg and a sperm, was developed in the nourishing cloud of a womb, emerged into this mind-boggling, mind-humbling world, and then developed and filled out into the shape of our essence.  We are mothered by mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, grandmas, grandpas, friends, teachers, mentors, and others—we deserve to be cared for, respected, listened to, and loved and to give those things in return.  If we determine that we have fallen short of that, we must remember that we are dealing with a force that is so much bigger than us—the God-force of Life itself, where all things are possible.  As we live into our half of the equation, let us give thanks for all the caring Mothers in our lives.  We really are fortunate to be such miracles.  

No Holding Back

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“No matter how long the Winter, Spring is sure to follow.”

Three weeks ago we had a foot of snow.  But Spring will no longer be held back!  On Monday, two turkeys foraged along the road pecking at emerging leaves of green grass and tender new buds.

It was so wonderful to see the grass finally turning green and the chives pushing their way up!

Two visitors passed through on their way North—a White-crowned Sparrow and a Yellow-rumped Warbler.

April’s end-of-month full moon illuminated buds on a tree, and a colorful sunset shone through the silhouette of trees where soon leaves will occlude the splendor.

The Bluebirds returned this week!  Their swift, swooping dives and chattering songs fill the front yard as they check out the nesting boxes.

On Thursday, I finally got to my annual Earth Day ditch clean-up.  Once again, with most of the trash being plastic, I urge everyone to ‘ditch’ plastic shopping bags and use paper or reusable bags.  It will make a difference!  I also found this unfortunate creature who didn’t make it through the winter—one of our resident opossums who waddle back and forth from the quarry to the woods.

By Friday, the Forsythia and Bergenia were blooming!  The lemony yellow Forsythia flowers shone in the morning sun along with one orange fall leaf that had held on through the winter.

The Bergenias send up a study flower stalk between green leaves that have weathered the winter and those that dried and died.  No holding back.

Ferns with their rolled fiddleheads emerged by warm rocks, casting shadows just as intriguing as the fiddleheads themselves.

The most amazing bud to me is the terminal bud of a Buckeye tree.  I’m always incredulous that such a huge amount of leaves can be coiled into one bud—and they are beautiful as they unfurl!

One sign of Spring that I always look for is the ‘green blush’ of new leaves on the Aspen trees down by the river.  Thursday, no green blush, but Friday morning, it was there!

The floppy, fragrant petals of the Star Magnolia opened on Saturday.  So beautiful!

For the first time, I saw a Baltimore Oriole come to our feeder!  No holding back the Goodness of Spring! 

 

I think most of us up North would agree it’s been a long winter, but Spring sure has been sweet this week.  It’s as if all the power and potential can no longer be held back, even as the last piles of blackened snow melt and the frost recedes from the ground—Spring has come bursting forth!  There are many times in life when we feel the holding back and comfort of what is known along with the pull of a new adventure.  A baby is happy to sit or crawl until the urge to walk implants itself in mind and body—there is no holding back.  Children are eager to learn and ‘do it themselves’ after years of parents doing it for them and teaching them motor and mind skills.  Adolescents oscillate between being a dependent child and pushing their way to adult independence.  At some point, there is no holding back the desire to live one’s own life.  A similar thing happens in mid-life after decades of striving, achieving, raising children, putting plans on hold, paying bills and doing the necessary matters.  We wonder if we have lost ourselves, if there is something more to life, if we have fulfilled our potential—we forage for new ways or remember something from the past that we have carried with us like a lone, orange leaf.  Some parts of our lives die—by our own hand or by the hand of a higher power.  We explore intriguing shadows that lead us back to our own intriguing selves.  No matter our age or circumstance, we are beautiful as we unfurl. 

Shifting Gears

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We were still newlyweds when Chris taught me to drive a vehicle with a manual transmission.  We had just bought a used 1981 Chevy C-10 1/2 ton pick-up truck.  It was a bold red color—the only choice for a truck, according to Chris.  The single cab and long bed (the standard back then) looked sleek and utilitarian and housed a ‘three on the tree’—a manual three-speed shifter on the steering wheel column!  He drove us to a way-out-yonder gravel road north of Bates City where no extraneous traffic would interfere with my concentration, and then we switched places.  He was a patient, methodical teacher, and I tried to be the good student that had carried me through all my years of schooling.  But studying books and operating clutches are two different things!  I don’t care to remember how many times I killed the engine before I even got going.  There was gear grinding, bucking action, nervous laughter, and many “I’m sorrys” when I thought I was wrecking it.  Trying to get the hand-foot timing down—letting off the gas, pushing in the clutch, moving the gear shift to the right position, then letting out the clutch slowly and giving it gas—was hard and frustrating.  And how do you even get braking in there, too?

Fall is a time for shifting gears—luckily Mother Nature has done it more times than we know and does it smoothly and seamlessly.  The growing, producing season is in decline; the fruits of that season are gathered or hanging heavily on the vine, ready for harvest.  Internal systems in trees take their cues from the external world—length of daylight and temperature—to stop production of chlorophyll, which unmasks the carotenoids and anthocyanins that give leaves their fall colors and eventually causes the leaves to drop off.

Fall flowers provide needed nectar to insects that may be migrating, hibernating, or laying eggs for the last cycle before winter.  One last hurrah of the repeat bloomer Stella D’Oro Lily entices a Monarch butterfly to linger and feed.

The beautiful ‘Fireworks’ Goldenrod attracts bees and wasps of all kinds.

Showy purple Asters bloom vibrantly as one of the late season stars of the perennial world.

A shift happens with the bird population.  The summer birds have mostly migrated away—we no longer see the graceful swoops of the bluebirds or hear the incessant chatter of the house wrens.  It is rather quiet on the bird front, though we heard a flock of geese just this morning.  A quiet little guy visited the bird bath recently and seemed to be wondering where everybody else was also!

Spring fawns are losing their spots to a winter coat and are almost as big as their mothers.  They are the reason we must be so diligent in guarding young trees and shrubs.

The male spotted fawn shifts to a ‘button buck’ as the pedicels form into small hair-covered bumps at 4-5 months of age that will grow into antlers next April or May.

 

With the patient tutelage of Chris and lots of practice, shifting gears with a manual transmission was soon second nature to me.  The old ’81 Chevy was a stalwart worker for us for many years.

 

Fall not only shifts gears for plants and animals, but for us also.  Some of us harvest and preserve food for winter.  We start craving hot soups, pumpkin anything, and apple pie.  We slowly and effortlessly morph from outside evening activities to reading or tv watching.  Daylight and temperature influence our internal systems and our external choices, showing that we are an integral part of Nature that is often overlooked.  Yet we also have a huge cortical brain that can override the more animal aspects of our existence.  We can choose to shift gears!  We can choose to migrate to a new place, choose to live in the way-out-yonder quietness or the busy bee metropolis.  We can choose to be bold, choose our schooling, linger in darkness or seamlessly let our Light shine. 

A Return to Balance

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It was a week for the emotional highs and lows record book.  Aaron finished the stone patio outside our screened-in porch, and we had our first guests and first fire in the fire ring.  A new marriage began.  Cancer took a life.  Progress was made to honor my Dad’s life and passing.  There was a fight using old wounds as swords inflicting new wounds.  A baby was born.

It was a week of highs and lows in Nature’s world also.  The pinnacle month of summer brings a great abundance of flowers fit for wedding bouquets, table decorations, or just panoramic beauty.  But the weather was dry—the grass was turning brown, the rains were missing us, and Chris was busy running the sprinklers.  

Last summer our sun garden was dominated by Rudbeckia, but this year is the Year of the Purple Coneflower!

Fragrant Lavender flowers attracted butterflies and bees.  Hummingbirds are also seen almost every day when the Hostas are in bloom.

The top leaf of the Ligularia, a plant that suffers here without plenty of water, is enveloped with a spider’s web and nest for the young ones.  New birth on a tiny, yet prolific scale.

Daddy Longlegs was resting on a leaf hammock, renewing his energy for the continued search for food.

Aaron made a balanced rock sculpture by the path at the edge of the yard.  This will be the location of a new bed of Eastern Blue Star after Chris dug out an invasive white-flowering plant that served us well for a while.  

The heat and dryness has taken a toll on some of the ferns, with parts of fronds or whole fronds drying up and turning brown—Nature’s self-pruning.

The Daylilies are in their full glory; this one is providing a rest stop for a Grasshopper.

The mulched path through our woods is a favorite trail for the turkeys as they browse for food.  We don’t usually see them, but this time one left behind a part of herself.

With all the watering in the dry and sunshine, every once in a while, there’s a rainbow.

 

Mother Nature has a way of providing balance, of bringing things back to homeostasis, of allowing rest and renewal, then energy and growth.  We are made the same way.  Every moment of every day our bodies are regulating temperature, minerals, hormones, water, and blood sugar to bring us back to homeostasis.  It truly is a miracle.  So what happens after days, weeks, or months of being enveloped in a web of worry or suffering from lack of love or realizing that an invasive presence that once served us well no longer does?  The answer is sometimes harsh in the process of saving the whole.  Parts of ourselves dry up, a sort of self-pruning in order to make way for eventual new growth.  We lose parts of ourselves along the journey, often without us knowing but other times with hard, intentional work.  And hopefully the parts we lose are the old wounds that persist in hurting ourselves and others.  Then we add rest, creativity, good food and fun, self-care and self-love so we’re no longer beating ourselves up and running on empty.  And ever-so-gradually, we return to homeostasis, to balance, to ourselves, and to Love.