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Gleanings from June—How the Time has Flewn

July 2, 2017 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

How did it get so late so soon? It’s night before it’s afternoon. December is here before it’s June. My goodness how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon? –Dr. Seuss

This is how I feel about the month of June. It’s one of my favorite months, made all the better this year by the fact that we spent the beginning of the month in Kansas City with our daughter Anna and the other Brake relatives, had our daughter Emily home for vacation and work days, and had SD relatives, Aaron, friends, Emily and Shawn together for celebration days. How the time has flewn, as Dr. Seuss said!

June is the most precious month of the summer—here in Minnesota the temperature is summer perfect–warm days and still-cool nights, few bugs and mosquitoes impede outdoor work and fun, and there is plenty of sunshine with abundant rain to keep things growing, blooming, and thriving. Sooo good! June is when my favorite Perennial Blue Flax blooms—so very lovely. Do we take the time to appreciate the incredible beauty of a single flower?

Fuzzy, thick-leaved Mullein unfolds like a rosebud—how do we unfold the many layers of our gifts and talents so we can stand tall with our brilliant display of color?

Prairie grasses bloom in June and wave in the wind, while prairie wildflowers begin their complementary display. How do we stand out in the crowd and love and accept the very things that make us unique?

Talk about fleeting time! The exquisite poppy, so delicate yet strong, blooms for such a short time before the crinkly petals fall off, leaving the bulbous seed head. How do we cultivate strength of body, character, mind, and soul?

The blooming Mock Orange shrub with its sweet fragrance was a magnet for Swallowtail Butterflies, both yellow and black. How do we gather the sweetness of life and share it with others?

A June evening on the lake with good friends is made even better when we see or hear the resident loons. I believe the ‘bumpy’ feathers towards the tail are hiding a young chick, enabling travel and protection for the offspring. Do we protect and nourish our offspring and all the ‘children of the Lord?’

Some ingenious spider built its web on the dock, basically over the water—a construction feat for food and shelter. How do we work to build a safe home and provide food while also maintaining creativity and inventiveness?

Water, lily pads, greens and blues—this Monet-like work of art is a reflection of a birch tree in the lake! I love it! How do our actions reflect our true inner self? What work of art are we creating?

I also love this photograph of a Yellow Pond-lily—the floating leaves, the yellow sphere of flower, the reflection of the blossom, and the spill of water on top of the leaf. How do we keep our heads above water with poise, beauty, and peace?

And finally, June in the Land of 10,000 Lakes—a couple of people and their dog, out on a boat, fishing at sundown. How do we relax in this hurried, harried world? How do we embrace silence and our own thoughts and feelings?

June slipped away far too fast—I wanted to hold it steady, keep it close, prevent it from moving on. I wanted to do the same thing with the time I spent with my kids. Instead, in the moments I was with them, I was intentional about looking into their faces, not only to see their beauty and uniqueness, but to notice the outward reflection of their inner state. Are they happy, at peace, using their gifts and talents? I quietly noticed their strengths of body, character, mind, and soul. I fretted silently that they may have learned some of my qualities of being hard on myself, of not loving myself quite enough. I also confirmed my intention and commitment I had from day one as a parent to protect and nourish them in the best way I could, to show them the sweetness of life, to instill in them a love for God, for Nature, for creating and learning. And here they are—two and a half to three decades later! How I love being in their presence! And here I am—throwing out a line in the peaceful silence of my own thoughts and feelings. “My goodness how the time has flewn.”

Imminent Failure

June 25, 2017 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

Warnings are posted for a reason, but sometimes the message is rather cryptic, and one is left wondering the exact meaning of the short notification. I guess it helps when one knows the language and context—which I don’t when it comes to computer talk. “Smart hard drive detects imminent failure.” It doesn’t sound good, no matter the language and context. Imminent and failure are two words that don’t belong together if a person wants to feel good about what’s to come.

What I do feel good about is the week we spent with our oldest daughter Emily and her husband Shawn—no computer needed! It had been three years since they were here for a visit, a year and a half since we saw them in Texas—much too long for a mother not to be in the presence of her child. We went hiking at Charles A. Lindbergh State Park one day this week in Little Falls, Minnesota—570 acres that included the boyhood home of the famous aviator Charles A. Lindbergh, Jr. who completed the first solo nonstop trans-Atlantic flight on May 21, 1927. The family donated the land for a park in 1931 in memory of Charles A. Lindbergh, Sr. who was a lawyer and US Congressman.

Pike Creek runs through the park and meets up with the Mississippi River. Charles Lindbergh, Jr. spent most of his time as a youngster outdoors exploring the woods, creek, and River. He collected rocks, butterflies, feathers, and other natural objects.

“When I was a child on our Minnesota farm,” Linbergh wrote, ” I spent hours lying on my back in high timothy and redtop…How wonderful it would be, I thought, if I had an airplane…I would ride on the wind and be part of the sky.”

The forested area of the park has many old white and red pines. Imminent failure struck this 280-year-old white pine when it was hit by lightning in 1986 and died the following year.

Have you heard of Forest Bathing? Shinrin-yoku or ‘taking in the forest atmosphere’ originated in Japan in the 1980’s for its health benefits. Studies have confirmed that being in the presence of trees lowers cortisol levels, lowers pulse rate and blood pressure, improves immune system function, and increases overall feelings of well-being.

The beauty of flowers like this blue flag iris…

the calming smell of a pine forest…

the intricate essence and relationship of flowers and insects…

and the unassuming presence of old, stately trees all contribute to the forest atmosphere that calms our bodies and improves our well-being.

At the hydroelectric dam on the Mississippi River not far upstream from where Pike Creek empties into it, there are warning signs and barriers to keep people from imminent danger.

Torrents of rushing, splashing water tumbled from the spillways, hitting rocks, causing chaos, stress, and danger. It’s not hard to interpret these warning signs to stay away when the destructive power of the water is literally hitting you in the face.

I am sure there were many times in Charles Lindbergh’s life when warning signs of imminent failure flashed before his eyes—during his childhood raft-building days floating on the Mississippi, during his barn-storming days, his trans-Atlantic flight, his military flight training and midair collision, Air Mail routes, and combat missions during World War II. Imminent failure also presented itself in 1932 when his 20-month old son was kidnapped from their home, ransomed, and killed. How does one go on after the gruesome loss of a child and years of public attention in the wake of ‘The Crime of the Century?’ What saves us from imminent failure?

Lindbergh and his wife Anne Morrow fled to Europe with their second son in December of 1935—a hiatus from the spotlight and turmoil that had engulfed them after the kidnapping of their son, a time apart from the normal routine of life, a sequestration of the body for the healing of the soul. I’d like to think that his forest days in Minnesota, his riding on the wind and being part of the sky days helped to save him from imminent failure, though his subsequent years of questionable political beliefs and secret double life with three European women and seven children he fathered point to an acting out of destructive wounds. “Life is like a landscape. You live in the midst of it but can describe it only from the vantage point of distance,” wrote Lindbergh. If life is stressing you out, get some distance from it by immersing yourself in a forest, by surrounding yourself with children and loved ones, by exploring trails and collecting memories, and by forgetting about phones, failing hard drives, and imminent failures.

Location, Location, Location

May 21, 2017 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

I love this time of year! After a bare, white and gray winter, the greenness seems amazing to my eyes. From one year to the next I forget how many of our flowers bloom in May. The colors, shapes, and fragrances are delightful to the senses. This location we call home suits us well right now amidst the trees, among the flowers, and along with the wild creatures.

In a bird’s world, our yard and woods are a pretty good location to set up house, also. There are eight pre-made houses to choose from, trees of all sorts in which to build a nest, a river nearby and various bird baths for water and bathing, and an endless supply of insects, seeds, and nesting material. Unfortunately, in the bird real estate business, we have a tenacious bully. The House Wren is an aggressive competitor for nests and will destroy eggs and young of other birds in order to take over that nesting spot. Wrens are tiny birds, about five inches from head to tail, weighing only as much as two quarters. Their exuberant, gurgling song is loud and persistent. The Wrens show up a couple of weeks after the Bluebirds, who have already staked out the location that suits them best. Wrens are the main source of nest failure in some areas for Bluebirds, Tree Swallows and Chickadees, but we witnessed some bold resistance to the real estate bully. One of the wren houses hangs from the maple tree outside our dining room, and we happened to see a flurry of bird activity around the little house. A male Bluebird chased the Wren into the house, then perched on the roof, seemingly daring him to come out again.

Then he even peered into the house.

Eventually the Bluebird left to attend to his own nest, and the Wren cautiously popped out of the house onto the ‘porch.’

A minute later, another flurry of wings–this time from a Tree Swallow defending its nest from the scalawag.

The male Wren will find a number of nesting spots and add twigs to them when he first stakes out his territory; later the courted female will inspect the nesting spots. With all the negative reinforcement to stealing the others’ nests, the Wrens decided to build their nest in their hide-away place. Both busy Wrens gathered twigs to add to the nest.

The ground below the house is scattered with small sticks that didn’t quite make it to the inside.

One of the most interesting nest-building practices of the House Wren is adding a spider egg sac to the final nesting materials. It is speculated that after hatching, the young spiders eat any mites or parasites that tend to invade the nest when the young birds inhabit it. Once the Wrens lay their eggs, the real estate battle abruptly ends; meanwhile, the Bluebird stands watch.

I’ve lived in a number of locations in four different states during my life so far. Two of those states are birthplaces—mine and Chris’ and the kids’, which make them inherently special. Each place also has a unique culture—Scandinavian, Pennsylvania Dutch, crossroads of America diversity, and German Catholic. Each location has a beautiful ecosystem—prairie, foothills, rolling farm country, and lakes and woods. Truthfully, I have loved them all. Sometimes it’s not so much living in a place that suits us well but rather to become who we are supposed to be. And places, cultures, ecosystems, and the people we meet there help us to do that. We learn to attend to our own nests, to defend the things we hold dear, to stand up to bullies, and to watch over this beautiful, green Earth.

This Glorious Day!

May 11, 2017 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

Dear Nature Lovers,

Just wanted to share this glorious day in Minnesota with you! Spring is now bursting out all over the place in our yard and woods!

Love, Denise

Hostas, Ferns, and Lily of the Valley

Brunnera

Hosta leaves

Virginia Bluebells

Maple leaves

Purple-Leaf Plum

Iris

Apple blossom

Pagoda Dogwood

Crabapple

Foam Flower

Jonquil

Ajuga

Larch tree

Dandelion

Epimedium

Ostrich Fern

Candles on White Pine

Bergenia

Oak flowers and leaves

Spring work is going on with joyful enthusiasm.

–John Muir

The Courtship of Spring—Love Letters to Us

April 30, 2017 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

Courtship consists in a number of quiet attentions, not so pointed as to alarm, nor so vague as not to be understood. –Laurence Sterne

Downstairs there are two cardboard boxes full of hundreds of letters from our courtship—one marked Letters to Denise, the other, Letters to Chris. In this era of smartphones and other technology, who can even imagine such a thing!? We met one May night, one one-in-a-million chance meeting, one would-you-like-to-dance swirl around the dance floor. He was headed back home to Missouri from a northern fishing trip with his Dad, and I was out with my friend Patty talking about her upcoming wedding. He gave me his temporary fishing license with his name and address on it and said if I’d write to him, he would write back to me. So I did. That began our two-year, 400-miles-apart courtship.

Letters are slow—slow to be written with pencil or pen and slow to be delivered by the US Postal Service. But I still recall the excitement of opening the mailbox to find a letter from Chris, unsealing the envelope, reading his words and turning over the pieces of paper in discovery of this man. Many things we wrote about were mundane—the weather, what we ate for supper, what tv shows we watched. But letter by letter, slowly and surely, his character and values emerged. Most of the time when we did see one another in person, we stayed at our parents’ houses. I spent time washing dishes with his Mom, held the ladder for his Dad as he put up Christmas lights and told stories, met his four older brothers, their wives and children, and spent precious time with his sister. Chris went duck hunting with my Dad, brought gifts of plants for my Mom, and made my siblings laugh. Our courtship was slow and lovely and difficult and richly exciting as we anticipated each new discovery and the life we would have together.

The courtship of Spring is also the slow emerging of a wondrous season. Weeks after the calendar Spring, tiny, golden leaves unfold from a Ninebark shrub.

Rhubarb, the delicious, tart fruit of the North, is pushing its way up out of the ground…

…while seeds of abundant greens wait for warmer weather and germination.

Setbacks happen in even the best of courtships—we were smiling from the warmth until a wave of cold air moved in this week, icing over the birdbath and constricting the leaves and flowers that were intent on opening.

Even the bluebird, all poufed up from the cold, was wondering what had happened to Spring.

Setbacks are temporary, and early bloomers like Epimedium and Lilacs can tolerate the cold better than others.

Day by day, Spring reveals new surprises—blooming Vinca vine and fairyland Mayapples.

Ferns unfurl tête à tête…

…and Mourning Doves and other birds pair up in courtship.

Spring delivers a plethora of quiet, slow unfoldings as each tree and plant comes ‘back to life’ after a dormant winter, as each pair of birds and animals prepare for mating and raising young ones. The courtship cannot be one-sided—it takes the attention and appreciation of a beloved for the other to be seen and understood. Each Spring we are privy to thousands of tiny miracles right before our eyes. Do we see them? As we swirl around the dance floor of Earth, tête à tête with Spring and with the beloveds of our choosing, it behooves us to remember that courtships include more than just the pair. We are part of a family, a friend group, a community of like and unlike, and finally, a small part of the entire Whole. While in our mundanity, during our chilly setbacks and mistaken attentions that alarm, let us notice the quiet miracles, the revealing values and character, and the discoveries that let us know we’re on the right track, that’s there’s no turning back, that we’re all in this together.

It’s Kind of a Big Deal

March 26, 2017 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

What is a Big Deal in your life right now? I remember when the kids were much younger, birthdays were a Big Deal—even half-birthdays were big! My brother- and sister-in-laws will be celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary this summer—that’s a really Big Deal! Grandchildren are a Big Deal to our friends who have welcomed another generation into their families. A health crisis is an all-consuming, scary Big Deal in one’s life. Graduating from college, starting a new job, getting married, having a baby—all are Big Deals in the lives of the people involved and to concentric circles of loved ones and friends who care for them.

I know that nearly everyone loves Spring, but here in Minnesota, Spring is a pretty Big Deal! We’ve had another fairly ‘easy’ winter in terms of snow and cold, but there is a collective ‘Hallelujah’ being raised up nonetheless, even if it is in a Minnesota nice and stoically quiet way!

The Past

This is the third year in a row that we have been snow free on the Spring Equinox—the two years before that we still had snow up to our knees. So in those terms, we are way ahead of the game. But besides a few green blades of grass (and wild strawberries) and some swollen tree buds, it doesn’t look very much like spring out there yet.

The Present

It doesn’t really matter though—we know it’s coming—the calendar told us so! The thing that makes Spring so sweet is going through the ‘hardship’ or work of winter. Snow shoveling, walking and driving on snow and ice, the daily chore of bundling up in boots, heavy coats, hats, and mittens, keeping the house at a cozy temperature, and daily walks with the frigid north wind are the realities of Winter—neither good nor bad. But Spring, as it unfolds, is a relief from all those things. On Friday, even though I was still bundled against the cold and wind, I saw and heard a choir of Robins flitting joyfully about in the neighbor’s yard! That’s a Big Deal!

The Future

Big Deals is people’s lives are often milestones of time and effort put into an event that is dear to someone’s heart. Other Big Deals—like birthdays and babies—are celebrations of absolute gifts we are blessed to experience. Yet others are heart-breaking moments that threaten our lives, livelihoods, and purpose. The common denominator seems to be the heart—what we hold dear, what we work hard to preserve, what means the most to us, what gives us joy.

My Big Deal today is celebrating three years of taking photographs and writing messages for my NorthStarNature blog. I have published 206 posts with thousands of photographs in those three years! It has been an experience of the heart : to showcase the incredible beauty of Nature, to share parts of my life story in an attempt to connect us with our world and with one another, to examine how Nature can teach us about Life, and a way for me to contribute in some way to the greater Good. Every time I go out into Nature with the camera, looking for the Beauties and the Gifts, I become just another one of Her creations in that whole Circle of Life. My body is calmed, and my spirit is lifted. Writing this blog has unmuted my voice. It has gotten this shy wallflower out into the dance of the world a bit—the cyber-world, no less! I want to thank you for joining me on this journey—I appreciate you reading and sharing my words and photographs. Blessings and Goodness to you all!

The Gift of Affection

February 14, 2017 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

Affection is responsible for nine-tenths of whatever solid and durable happiness there is in our lives. –C.S. Lewis

I love gardening. I love raking the flattened fall leaves off the perennial beds after a winter of snow and cold and watching the new shoots rise up out of the warming earth. I love making tiny straight troughs in newly-tilled earth and deliberately placing vegetable seeds in them, covering them, and patting down the soil. I love harvesting the abundant crops that grow from those tiny seeds, marveling each year at the miracle of it all. But gardening can be hard…and messy. Those stubborn sumac roots that creep into our vegetable garden are a pain to pull out. Mosquitoes and humidity in the depth of summer combine to drive the most tolerant gardener to abandon ship in quest of a weed-free zone. Even in the best of conditions, pulling weeds can be tedious and never-ending work.

It reminds me of Love. I believe in the power of Love to heal, comfort, and grow a person into a better human being who is capable of sharing abundant gifts with the world. I believe that pain can be contained in a trough of Love, covered over with compassion, and transformed into something miraculous. But Love can be hard…and messy. Anyone who has been in a family or a relationship knows this truth. Sleep-deprived nights and chore-filled days marked by dirty diapers, colicky crying, and minimal adult conversation can test the mettle of new parents. Years of marriage and routine and kids and jobs can strain the vows that bind us. Heartbreak and tears that seep from the depth of our souls threaten to uproot all we have worked so hard to plant.

Under the large and multifaceted umbrella of Love is a quality that sustains the integrity of that Love. It is a moment, an action, an interaction, and even a look—it is Affection. Affection opens our hearts, makes us feel warm, induces a smile, relaxes our bodies. It happens when I look at a beautiful flower or find an extraordinary creature in an ordinary moment of my day. It is the delight of biting into a home-grown tomato and the peace of a fragrant pine forest. Affection is the warmth of holding someone’s hand, the gift of offering our time and energy, the tenderness of pushing back a strand of hair from a tear-stained face. Affection demonstrates our attachment to the most important things in our lives.

On this Valentine’s Day, I wish you Love in all of its glory and difficulty, but I especially wish you Affection. May you give and receive a moment, a smile, an action, a gift, a whisper of love, the extraordinary beauty of Nature, and the peace that passes all understanding.

Gleanings from November—Seeing Clearly

December 4, 2016 by Denise Brake 4 Comments

To see clearly is poetry, prophecy, and religion all in one.

John Ruskin, English art critic 1819-1900

This November was a strange month. Not only was the weather erratic and unprecedented but so was the election and the political climate. (Sigh) All of it is confusing and confounding with smokescreens of battling tweets, false news sites and hacking, entertainment-fantasy-lies versus reality, and those who say to the seers, “See not.”*

The bright-headed Pileated Woodpecker caught my attention in the gray, exposed landscape of early November. His large body of steely gray feathers could easily have been camouflaged, but the red crest of feathers and stripes of white, red and gray on his head and neck created a bull’s-eye through the circular branches of an old Oak. I’m so intrigued by this huge, shy bird. Most often I hear the distinctive, raucous call before seeing the undulating flight and clumsy landing. His strong, pickaxe bill can send chunks of wood flying as he searches for insects.

The mild weather of early November gave us glimpses of colored shrubs and perennials that usually would have lost their leaves via a killing frost by that time. Joe Pye Weed still looked beautiful in its autumn glory, surrounded by red fruit stems of Gray Dogwood and graceful branches of Oak trees.

The last of the golden-leaved trees was the Honey Locust, losing leaves from stems, then losing the yellow sprays of leaf stems from branches. A cascade of loss.

November’s super moon caught the attention of the world, something that gave me great pleasure and hope—that a celestial body could be the focus of attention for a week of time. The moon, stars, sun, and earth—all common denominators for each and every one of us on this planet. But the focus can easily be placed on other things, even when looking at our common subjects.

What is the real subject? What is the real issue? What is the truth of the situation?

Many things can obscure what we’re looking at, what we need to know. Clouds of illusion, reflections of reflections, and influences of darkness can obstruct our vision and muddy our convictions.

On the 18th, our first snow was a blizzard, closing schools and littering the highways with wrecks. Not seeing and slippery slopes have consequences.

But there was this flower blooming outside our window the day before the storm. One stem of this Hollyhock represented all the stages of our lives: a closed green bud full of potential; an unfolding bud showing rich, young, lively color; a lovely, open blossom in its prime; an older, more experienced, slightly faded bloom; a wilted, wiser, wrinkled version of its former self; and finally, a withered, spent flower that was being ‘cared for’ by the rest of the plant. All of them valuable and worthy to be seen.

“I can see clearly now, the rain is gone. I can see all obstacles in my way. Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind. It’s gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright) Sun-Shiny day.” (Gamble & Huff) So, where do we begin? We begin right where we are. We begin by seeing and being aware. There is great value in seeing the environment around us, in being aware of the people around us, but most importantly, I believe, in seeing ourselves. What path are we on?

On our paths, we attempt to see our lives clearly. We want the sweet poetry of joy and love. We look forward to a good and meaningful life. We long to be in the presence of the Holy One. In that spirit, with that Spirit, we have the amazing ability to look at our lives, our thoughts, our feelings and have insight—what a gift! Novelist Jonathan Franzen wrote about insight: “And when the event, the big change in your life, is simply an insight—isn’t that a strange thing? That absolutely nothing changes except that you see things differently and you’re less fearful and less anxious and generally stronger as a result: isn’t it amazing that a completely invisible thing in your head can feel realer than anything you’ve experienced before? You see things more clearly and you know that you’re seeing more clearly. And it comes to you that this is what it means to love life, this is all anybody who talks seriously about God is ever talking about. Moments like this.” I say to the seers, “See.”

*Isaiah 30:10

Not Your Normal November

November 20, 2016 by Denise Brake 3 Comments

It’s not normal to photograph blooming flowers on November 17th in Central Minnesota. The weather has been abnormally warm the last three weeks with daily high temperatures all above normal with most of them ten to twenty degrees higher than normal. On November 5th the high was 72—27 degrees above normal. No wonder the flowers are still blooming! We had cleaned up the garden, pulled and put away the pots of annuals, and done the other fall clean-up in our usual yearly routine. But a small raised bed of spring-seeded annuals and perennials on the southwest side of the house continued to bloom in spite of a few frosts. Cosmos, coreopsis, and hollyhocks of different colors shone on in summer fashion, while most of the fall colors around them had faded to brown.

The only potted plant that was left out in the November warmth was a tropical Mandevilla vine that had produced an abundance of pink trumpet-shaped flowers all summer long. I was sure any hint of frost would have killed it, but the warmth of being beside the house must have protected it from the light frosts.

The next day—Friday morning—rain hit the windows with a strong NNE wind. Soon the rain turned to freezing rain and sleet, and the ice pellets piled up in the grass. By mid-morning, the precipitation was a heavy, wet snow.

We were in a blizzard warning, and schools, events, and college classes were cancelled.

It snowed all day, the temperature fell, and the wind blew strong and relentlessly.

The heavy, wet snow was plastered onto the north side of the tree trunks and burdened the evergreen branches. My ‘color’ pictures showed a black and white world.

Saturday dawned clear and chilly—a normal late November day in Central Minnesota.

The brilliant blue sky ushered in the clear, Canadian air. It felt good to breathe it in.

The flowers from two days ago were folded over with ice and covered with snow. A few Autumn leaves stood boldly in the winter wonderland…

and shone like amber in the morning sun.

Fall, in the guise of Summer, has passed the torch to Winter. Temperatures will stay cooler now with a blanket of snow on the ground.

The birds will come to pick the crabapples like they normally do once snow inhibits their food gathering.

And we trek on.

Flowers blooming in 60-degree temperatures is not normal November weather here in Minnesota. Not at all. This wasn’t some rogue outlier warm-couple-of-days in the pendulum swing. This was a steady, long run of much warmer than normal temperatures that stretched the growing season of Minneapolis-St. Paul to a staggering, record-smashing 220 days. The normal growing season (consecutive days without freezing or sub-freezing temperatures) is 157 days. It’s easy to overlook the facts, because who doesn’t love blooming flowers, snow-free driving, and going outside without a coat? Climate change. Extreme weather events that are becoming commonplace—floods, drought, wildfires, earthquakes, hurricanes. Pollution. Water scarcity. It affects all of us negatively in one way or another—some much more personally than others. It’s just very hard to see on a daily basis and easy to dismiss, deny, and gloss over. I’ve worn my own blinders on various occasions—I know that denial can be a loving bedfellow that gives us what we need and want. But soon the promises of the golden eggs are unrealized, and we discover that the excited, noisy chatter coming from the coop isn’t because of golden eggs, but because there’s a weasel in the henhouse.

Gleanings from August–Sunflowers and Humidity

September 4, 2016 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

There are things about August that I love–Sunflowers, the delicious feel of warm sun on bare skin, spotted fawns, and long stems of brilliant Goldenrod.

Humidity and mosquitoes top my list of things I don’t love about August, but we were still fortunate not to have too many days of either pest. What lies between my love/don’t love lists is the subtle reality of the waning summer and tiny glimpses into fall. As the wild plums ripen to rosey-purple, some of the leaves begin to change their color also.

Black-eyed Susans grow underneath Ash trees that begin to drop yellow leaves like secret notes hinting at what’s to come.

August is a later rising morning sun casting shadows on a fallen log.

Whether hiking or biking or walking the dog, Sunflowers greeted us with their cheery countenance. The red-stemmed prairie Western Sunflower…

and the exuberant Maximilian.

The Blueberry bushes have slipped into their coat of many colors, ready for the cooler days and nights.

Swamp Milkweed provides delightful nectar for the Monarch Butterfly that will help sustain it for the long fall migration to Mexico.

Some days of August, with dripping humidity and no air conditioning, I literally wished away. This day cannot get over fast enough, I thought, even as I stared in the face of a dank night with tossing and turning in clammy sheets. I counted down the hours until a refreshing north breeze would sweep the southern heat and humidity back to its home. But as we got closer to September and the cooler nights reminded me that the warmth of summer was waning, I changed my perspective–this may be our last 85 degree day, I thought; I better enjoy it, humidity or no humidity. (Winter looms large in the calendar year of Central Minnesota!)

I remember how I changed my perspective during my third pregnancy. I had more morning sickness with our last child than the other two combined, but I held the thought that this was the last time I would have the extreme honor of bringing a child into the world, to love, to cherish, to teach, to let go. I never wished away a single day, as tough as some of them were. ‘You never miss the water until the well runs dry.’ Aren’t we humans funny that way? Maybe each of those wake-up calls are from the One Who Knows, sending us secret love notes hinting at what’s to come. We need to tune in to the subtle realities and tiny glimpses. We need to drink the sweet nectar of life to sustain us on our journey. We need to appreciate and not take for granted the things on our love/don’t love lists–including sunflowers and humidity.

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Spring work is going on with joyful enthusiasm.

–John Muir

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