Come walk with me in the peak Autumn beauty of the Northwoods. To say that I love this time of year is an understatement. Most everyone can appreciate the colorful falling leaves---it reveals the 'true self' of a tree when its leaves are no longer producing chlorophyll. Their true colors are revealed, and there is something simple … [Read More...]
The End (sort of) and a New Beginning
We left Austin, Texas, left our dear daughter and new son-in-law, left the fun and excitement of a wedding week, and traveled North. The drive home is always longer–anticipation that speeds time on the trip there is replaced by thoughts and reflections of everything that happened, and time drags to a crawl. Are we still in Texas?!
We drove home through Dallas, Denison, and Durant, veering east in Oklahoma, passing oak-covered hills and the seemingly endless waters of Eufaula Lake, a reservoir on the Canadian River.
As I stared out the window, I noticed an undulating black column in the cloud-filled sky. Thousands of blackbirds moved in a synchronized dance in their annual fall flocking behavior.
We spent the night in Fort Smith, Arkansas and got up ridiculously early to start our trek back to South Dakota. Darkness obscured the Ozark Mountains, and I was sorry to miss their beauty. Mist rose with the sun as we traveled through Missouri.
Miles and states blurred by as I dozed and woke. Harvest time–two words that encompass so many things to rural people–was coming to an end.
Finally I saw the bare giants of cottonwood trees that cluster together in the prairie pastures of South Dakota.
And we were back to the Andersen homestead…like we had never left. The geese still swam in the slough, grazed in the pastures, and circled in the foggy air.
The cattle still grazed quietly in the neighboring pasture.
It was the end of our trip–sort of–as we spent a few days with my family before heading back to Minnesota. I felt like I had much to process–a married child, a new family member, an ailing father, distance between me and some of my children–both physically and emotionally, and the let-down after months of planning and the wonderful excitement of the wedding week. I longed to get home to my own bed, routine, and familiar surroundings where the processing would be easier.
The end (sort of) in marriages with children is marked when they leave home. College life eases the transformation when you see them for most holidays, summer transitions, etc., but there comes a time when they are gone, when someone else may help them move, share holidays with them, and listen to their problems. This ending of the ‘family’ marriage is often a difficult period when expectations change, and time and energy morphs into something different from what it was. At the beginning of a marriage, we learn how to be you, me, and us–at this end, we learn the same thing in a much different way. We re-learn us as a couple with no kids, and we re-discover you and me after twenty or thirty years of life has imprinted itself on our bodies and souls. It is not a journey for the faint of heart. Some do not make this transition with marriage intact, some feel like they have gained their freedom, and some move easily to the next stage with near-by children and grandchildren who re-ignite the wonderful parenting gifts without the staggering responsibilities. Whichever way it works, there is one thing that has been hiding behind the busy life that starts to edge its way into our consciousness. We see parents, grandparents, and even friends un-couple because of death or divorce who then live a single life for years or decades. We see and feel that even though we are one of the flock or one of a couple–and our dance has been in synchrony for a very long time–we have to start embracing our one-ness.
So the New Beginning can be cloaked in many different colors of which we have the freedom to choose! We need the slow time of reflection to move us gracefully into the next stage of life, and as we begin to re-discover our one-ness, we return to the homestead, like we had never left.
Welcome to the Season of Preparation
Moving a household of five people after nine or twelve years in one spot takes some preparation. Even more so if one does not easily get rid of things from the past–“But I love this picture she did when she was four–remember how early she held a pencil just right?” or “This showcased her musical talent–she played it so easily when she was little” or ” These plastic snakes were his favorite things when he was three–we should keep them for grandkids.” So, we did this twice in our lives–and we still have the picture, the instrument, and the snakes. I was fairly good at the preparation–I loved the neat stacks of boxes that accumulated against the wall as the closets and cupboards emptied, and I even felt a swift satisfaction with the large give-away and throw-away piles. But as moving day was in sight, I would hit a wall. Like a stubborn horse who will not move forward, I would find myself sitting back on my haunches and stiffening my neck–all of a sudden, I didn’t want this to happen! My mental preparation hadn’t kept up with my physical preparation.
Of the four seasons, Fall is the season for preparation. Spring brings many changes as it tumbles into Summer, but it seems joyful and effortless. Autumn slowly, methodically prepares us for Winter. And with that preparation comes paradox. Harvest of apples, pumpkins, potatoes, carrots, beets, and squash showers us with abundance and food for the coming months while drying and dying vines and grasshopper-eaten leaves wither and eventually freeze.
Brilliant beautiful leaves inspire us and make us breathe deeply of the clear, crisp air–before they fall from the trees leaving bare branches and emptiness.
Animals prepare their nests, bodies, and food piles for Winter, and some become food for us.
Three months of waxing and waning, harvest and loss, work and rest, brilliance and decay.
Preparation–a proceeding, measure, or provision by which one prepares for something. Mother Nature prepares us, the animals, and the plants for Winter and all that comes with that in the North of North America. A proceeding, step by step, into the lenten season of dormancy.
My balking when the moves became inevitable illustrates my sudden realization of the losses I was about to incur–the loss of good friendships and family get-togethers, the loss of our home, jam-packed with memories of the kids growing up, the loss of every bit of work we did to make our place better than it was when we got there. My quarter-moon readiness illuminated the boxes and empty rooms, yet the darkened part, the side not seen, was not prepared and was struggling against what was to come. We work hard to prepare ourselves for certain things in our lives…and yet, sometimes, we just don’t get it all done. As my husband reminds me quite often, ‘You can only get ready for so long–pretty soon you have to leave.’ And we did leave–with loaded U-Hauls and vehicles stuffed to the brim, with tears and anticipation, with sadness and joy. The preparation carries us forward to what lies next. The time comes for us to lay our heartaches down (with all due respect to Emmylou), and we walk into the next Season of our Life.