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...]
Celebrating Love
What makes a celebration? Balloons, presents, and cake? A Christmas tree, church, and candlelight? A dinner for two? Fireworks and picnics? A crowded parade with hundreds of thousands of people all dressed in red? So many different ways to mark or honor a special event, person, or team! A little over two weeks ago we had two celebrations within two days of one another. Both were in Kansas City. One was planned, the other hoped for but unknown until the last minutes of a game. On Super Bowl Sunday, we knew we would be in Kansas City at the end of the week for Chris’ sister Mary’s Celebration of Life. We didn’t know at the time that we would be there in a few days to celebrate the winners of the Super Bowl—the Kansas City Chiefs! There were three life-long Chiefs fanatics who wanted to be among the throngs of other red-clad fans to see and celebrate their favorite football team. So on Valentine’s Day, we picked up two of our kids, and the following day, Chris and the kids added their cheering voices and red attire to the Chiefs’ celebration!
Two days later, before Mary’s celebration, we hiked at Minor Park in Kansas City where the old Santa Fe trail crossed the Blue River. We followed a trail beside Little Blue Creek that feeds into the bigger Blue. It had been below freezing the night before, which brought a dusting of snow to the area.
But the day was clear and chilly with bright sunshine that reflected off the water of the creek—a crystal circle of light, itself so bright it was hard to look at without squinting.
It was strange to be without snow while in Missouri after months of white-covered ground back home. But the cold night had created a temporary ice wonderland in Little Blue Creek as the water flowed over and gurgled around the rocks—like diamonds in the dark sky.
The bright blue sky highlighted the American Sycamore trees with their light gray, mottled bark and abundance of seed balls hanging like mod 60’s earrings from the branches. It’s always good to see them again, these sturdy, long-lived giants, since they don’t live in our part of Minnesota.
The rock is different here also—mostly sedimentary limestone and shale. It forms rock walls and outcroppings that can be moved and formed by water. A series of waterfalls or cascades dotted the little creek, including the block fall (wider than it is tall) that created a plunge pool at the bottom. The cold night had induced the formation of ice stalagmites, icicles, and delicate, lacy sheets of ice—shiny ribbons and sculptures celebrating the fleeting days of Winter.
The sun lit up the ice and the old, golden leaves of a young Sycamore. It melted the snowy frosting from the evergreen moss. It shone its light and warmth on the face of an enormous Oak tree that looked to me like a ‘singing tree’ with its open mouth and outspread arms.
At the end of our hike, we crossed the Old Red Bridge, the third installment of the famous red bridge that originally spanned the Blue River. This one was built in 1932, christened by Judge Harry S. Truman, and is now a pedestrian bridge celebrating Love. Over 5,000 locks have been connected to the bridge by couples symbolizing their everlasting love.
That evening, we walked into the large gathering room at the group home where Mary had lived for almost forty years. The tables were decorated with purple tablecloths, potted flowers, pictures of Mary (many with Santa), and purple and pink balloons. All of her friends, co-workers, and caregivers were there to celebrate the life and love of Mary Brake. There was a table of pictures of our family celebrations and of festivities with her friends and housemates. A DJ played background music. There was a slideshow of the full and varied life she had lived. Some of her friends shared their feelings—“I miss her,” “I worked with her; she was my friend,” “I loved her,” and a sweet comment by a young man who worked with her, “She’s alive in heaven.” We shared her favorite meal—tacos, chips, and Dr. Pepper, and for dessert—waffles, ice cream, and sprinkles. And then the DJ turned up the dance music, and people of every ability hit the dance floor. Mary would have been one of the first ones out there. We danced to the Macarena, Cotton Eye Joe, YMCA, and All I Want for Christmas is You! It was the perfect celebration of our dear Mary. For a person who didn’t say very many words, Mary had captured the hearts of a multitude of people. She was something special, and she blessed us all with her life. We will miss her dearly, but she remains a bright, shining diamond in the dark sky.
Blessings and Crack-ups
I know a blessing when it presents itself to my life, and I can even spot a few that are in disguise. I know how to count them, accept them, savor them, and be grateful for them. I’ve had a few plaques hanging on my walls over the years proclaiming the goodness of blessings and offering that sentiment to anyone who sees it. I am equally familiar with the crack-ups, the break-downs, the pile-ups, and the mishaps. No Thanksgiving or any other day, for that matter, has one without the other.
Last Sunday’s hike at Mississippi River County Park was chilly and windy. The temps had dropped into the teens the previous few nights, and ice had formed on the River in record time. (We had hiked at the park across the River two days before, and the River was open.) A layer of snow had fallen after the ice formed, and then the wind blew! The wind and current sent the River ice into a crack-up! There is a dam a couple of miles down river from the park where the water becomes still and full. When the water slows down, the ice forms more smoothly. At this stretch, the north winds stirred up the current and the chaos, breaking up the ice that formed overnight. The River was a mash-up of smooth ice, piles of chards, open, flowing water, ice floes, and ‘warm’ spots that had melted and re-froze. Does any of that feel familiar?
We left the River bank and followed the trail ‘inland.’ The trail had already been groomed for skiing, and ski tracks intermingled with the footprints of humans, dogs, and deer.
The bright sunlight filtered through the trees, lighting up the ‘snow arches’ of the bent trees that live incognito during the summer.
The backwater pond, even and shallow, had smooth ice with a layer of snow that revealed the tracks of some brave animals that had already ‘tested’ the ice. I wondered how they knew they could make it across.
The beaver has been busy felling trees. I have yet to see where his lodge is, and I wonder if he is new to the neighborhood. His industriousness is impressive! Chewing down the tree isn’t even the hardest part—‘cutting up’ and dragging the chunks of wood to his building spot is the most labor-intensive.
Living in this world has given me an appreciation for the blessings in my life. It also makes me realize that blessings befall us all—they are not just doled out to a favored few. The hardest part is being grateful, humble, helpful, and beneficial to others with the gifts that come our way. The more difficult learning curve of the decades is appreciating the crack-ups, downfalls, pile-ups, and break-downs. They also befall us all. We cannot eschew them if we want to abide in a more peaceful place. The hard part is not getting tangled up in the chaos and the destruction, though that is easier said than done. But slowing down smooths things out and soothes the pain of the inevitable crack-ups and break-downs. So take it all in and be thankful. Be still. Be full of love—for our beautiful Earth, for ourselves, and for others.
Belle Prairie Shows Us ‘La Vie Est Belle’
I am a resilient optimist. Optimists have high hopes for the world around them and high expectations for the people in that world. Actually, I don’t even consider them to be ‘high’ expectations—just good, normal expectations, like ‘don’t lie, don’t cheat, be kind, have compassion, think of and help others, don’t be a bully.’ I think every religious and spiritual text says the very same thing. My optimism has taken a beating in the last number of years; my ‘rising’ with hope and ‘things will be better’ has been more feeble, less adamant, and much less cheerful. My resilience and love and optimism have been melting from my heart and running like a river away from me to some unknown place that I have no map to find.
Last weekend Chris and I hiked at a park ‘up River’ from us—one that we hadn’t been to before—Belle Prairie County Park. What a wonderful name! Beautiful Prairie! I wholly agree with the good and right pairing of those two words! But the park has much to teach us—only a small amount of the 145 acres is prairie land. It is a convergence of hardwood forest, Oak savanna, virgin White Pines, and floodplain of the Mississippi River, along with the prairie. The land was originally owned by the Belle Prairie Franciscan Sisters, and after a few changes in ownership, became the first county park in Morrison County in 1980. It is a small park, but one rich in biodiversity, distinct natural ecosystems, and cultural history. The prairie is actually the first thing to see when turning into the park, though like most beautiful prairies, it seems overshadowed by the trees and the water.
The prairie reaches into the Oak Savanna that contains scattered large Oaks. Just as in so many woodlands and savannas in this area of the country, the noxious Buckthorn had taken over the understory of the Oaks. The large ones had been removed, making it look bare, but a thick growth of young ones were greedily devouring the space and sunlight.
Hopefully in the near future, the Buckthorn can be beat back so the prairie grasses and wildflowers take their rightful place beneath the Oaks.
From the transitional Oak savanna, we entered the forest. There were more patches of snow remaining in places that were sheltered from the sunlight. The sun-warmed Oak leaves sank into the snow, a real-life relief of leaves, footprints—both human and deer, and ‘digging spots’ where squirrels and other creatures had dug up acorns.
We crossed over an earthen dam that arose from marshy places of the floodplain area. Cattails that had burst into a halo of light, brilliant Red-twigged Dogwoods, Speckled Alders with their reddish catkins, and sky-white Aspens colored the late November landscape of Belle Prairie.
Soon the trail came to the River and followed alongside the drifting blue Beauty. The Mississippi River has such a quiet power and presence, whether she is flowing through prairie grasses or forests of conifers.
I always marvel at the tree-laden islands in the Mississippi River, whether long and pencil-thin or compact and round. They take constant pressure from the fast-moving water or from the pounding of Spring ice.
The islands contain their own little ecosystems with animals who use the shelter and food to sustain them.
An ecosystem is a biological community of interconnected organisms. This tiny little island is a reflection of the many ecosystems that make up our world, of which we—you, me, and every human—are a part of, actively and passively.
Floating down the River were patches of slushy ice. Most often we talk about ice melting, and unless one is an impatient ice fisherman, we rarely talk about ice formation. In reading about ice formation, I found a website called the National Snow and Ice Data Center. I’m kind of thrilled there is actually an agency dedicated to ice and snow, and of course, what that means to our climate and world. What I learned is there is an actual ‘ice growth process,’ starting with these slushy patches. They are called ‘frazil ice’—ice crystals that form in very cold water that is moving too much to let the ice form into a sheet. Isn’t that a great name?
From frazil ice, ‘pancake ice’ is formed from the agitated and aggregated slush. Another great name which visually makes perfect sense!
The pancake ice turns and bumps against the other ‘pancakes’ causing a ridge to form along the outside edge, and the motion causes one pancake to slide over another (called rafting). The fourth step is cementing and consolidation of the ridged pancake ice to finally form sheet ice. Isn’t that awesome?!
After we rested on the bank of the Mississippi, in the warm sunshine, beside the frazil and pancake ice, we walked through the old and impressive stand of White Pines that towered over the picnic and play area.
Sunshine streaked through the forest of large trunks and lit up the carpet of pine needles to a soft, glowing gold. The many treasures of Belle Prairie.
Belle Prairie, beautiful prairie, God knows I love the prairie. But Belle Prairie park showcases an amazing assortment of ecosystems and species, all in a small area, thriving together. There is not one entity that holds the power—the River, the Oak, the Pine, the Swan, the Cattail, the Bluestem, and the Ice all hold their own amazing power. And together they create a system that is beautiful, diverse, and functional—a succinct description of Mother Nature herself. As for me, for now I am allowing my Love, my Optimism, and my Resilience to flow away from me—I cannot stop it after all. I will let Mother Nature take them where she will. Perhaps it is an emptying that I needed, a rest of sorts. I will find the map and the trail when I need to—I will find my way, I’m certain. In the midst of that, I found Belle Prairie who taught me to see and find beautiful, not only what I love and hold dear, but all those amazing, powerful creations that are less familiar to me. ‘La vie est belle’ means life is beautiful. It is an expression of a new era and the choice to create your own path to happiness. So be it.