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...]
A Return to Balance
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.
Church on the Lake Wobegon Trail
Last Sunday was a beautiful, blue sky day. The early morning temperatures were cool enough for me to don a fleece pullover and a Buff over my ears and under my bike helmet. It was a great day for riding the Lake Wobegon Trail! My bike riding would try the patience of any get-from-point-A-to-point-B-as-quickly-as-possible rider, for I will stop on a dime if I see something interesting along the trail. Luckily Chris is patient and good with the brakes.
Our destination/turn-around point was the little town of Avon. They have a nice picnic area, look-out tower, and restroom right beside the trail. As we neared the stop, we noticed groups of people carrying lawn chairs and blankets towards a newly built pavilion. This was the same spot we had seen Garrison Keillor perform his show a number of years ago for the people of Lake Wobegon. Today, in the new pavilion, a large wooden cross stood behind the microphone and music stands–it was church on the Lake Wobegon Trail! We stood with our bikes as the pastor greeted the outdoor crowd and gave a prayer of thanksgiving, and the small band of musicians and singers led the congregation in an uplifting song of praise. We didn’t stay for the whole service, as we had nine miles to ride back and a stop at St. Ben’s before the noon hour, but church on the trail stayed on my mind.
One of my sudden stops along the trail was when I saw an exquisite blue flower shining amidst the green grass ten feet or so from the bike path. What was this glorious wildflower?
It looked like it was in the bud stage, ready to open, like a Balloon Flower. But my after-ride searching found that it was Bottle Gentian, a native perennial that blooms in August and September–and this was full-bloom. The fused petals never open and are pollinated by bumblebees, one of the few insects strong enough to pry open the closed flowers.
Luke 12:27 Consider how the wildflowers grow; they don’t labor or spin thread. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was adorned like one of these!
Another wildflower in its full glory was Joe Pye Weed, along with its companion Goldenrod. We have a small patch of Joe Pye Weed in our woods, but it was wonderful to see it in its native state–in the boggy areas along the trail.
The flowers shone like amethyst and gold in the morning sun.
Psalms 103:15 A person’s life is like grass; it blossoms like wild flowers.
As I was looking side to side at the flowers, Chris had his eyes on the trail ahead and halted us both with a quiet exclamation of “Deer!” I have been so used to seeing does and fawns that it was surprising to see the velvety antlers of the young buck.
Psalms 18:33 He makes my feet like the feet of a deer and sets me securely on the heights.
Another unusual sight stopped me in my tracks. Hanging low from a Linden branch not far from the trail was a papery nest….
…with a whole congregation of Bald-faced Hornets!
Spotted Jewelweed loves boggy areas and shade. This wild impatiens is an annual and often grows in large clumps. It blooms July through October and is said to be an antidote to poison ivy and a treatment for other skin disorders.
Proverbs 3:13-15 How blessed is the man who finds wisdom, And the man who gains understanding. For her profit is better than the profit of silver, And her gain better than fine gold. She is more precious than jewels; And nothing you desire compares with her.
“God writes the gospel not in the Bible alone, but on trees and flowers and clouds and stars.” This quote is commonly attributed to Martin Luther and acknowledges that intimate connection between God and Nature. Frank Lloyd Wright said, “I believe in God, only I spell it Nature.” The Bible uses Nature to speak to us about God, and it is in Nature–with the flowers, wildlife, and insects–that God speaks to us. Church on the Lake Wobegon Trail happens all the time–are we willing to see the splendor, to hear the prayer of thanksgiving, and to sing an uplifting song of praise?
May the God of peace grant us understanding and wisdom so we may be blessed with the fullness of Life more precious than gold or jewels. Amen.
I Accept This Gift
I live with a person who finds it very difficult to accept the gift of a compliment. He will downplay his role in the experience or banter about the stars being aligned or me needing new glasses. I see the same tendencies at times in his brothers. I know their mama told them not to be prideful, for nobody likes a boastful person. Pride is at the top of the list of the seven deadly sins and is synonymous with conceit, egotism, and vanity. C. S. Lewis called pride ‘the spiritual cancer’ which blocks love, contentment, and even common sense. Yet pride has many definitions–from ‘a high or inordinate opinion of one’s own dignity, importance, merit, or superiority’ to ‘pleasure or satisfaction taken in something done by or belonging to oneself’ or ‘the most flourishing state or period.’ The later two definitions sound like a good thing!
I took this photograph of a Dragonfly at the beginning of July. He rested on the Perennial Pink Salvia long enough for me to run back into the house for the camera. There are so many things I love about this picture–the see-through stained glass of his wings, the one brown patch near the tip of each wing, the long segmented tail, his huge, multifaceted eyes, and how he is holding the opening flower blossom with his legs. Dragonflies are carnivorous, eating their own body weight of gnats, flies, and mosquitoes in just thirty minutes! They fly forty-five miles per hour, can move in all six directions, can hover like a helicopter, and only flap their wings thirty times per minute (compared to 1000 times a minute for a housefly.) These acrobatic flyers need to keep their flight muscles warm, so will bask in the sun to warm up.
I’ve sat with this photograph for over a month now. It didn’t seem to fit in with anything else I was writing about–not even the Gleanings post. Then it came to me: this photo, this Dragonfly, was a gift! And my next thought was: I accept this gift! With great gratitude I contemplated capturing the images of deer, birds, the little fox, insects, flowers, trees, water, and all of Nature’s beauty as a gift to me that I can pass on to you.
Dragonflies symbolize change in the perspective of self-realization, change that has its source in the understanding of a deeper meaning of life. I’m glad Chris is not boastful or egotistic, as that kind of pride is destructive to relationships and prevents us from knowing the truth about ourselves. Yet I urge my humble husband to accept the gift of my compliments with a simple thank you, to feel the satisfaction and pleasure of it. How many gifts are all around us that we don’t perceive, receive, and accept? Whether it is a Dragonfly, Grace, a beautiful Lily, Mercy, a spotted Fawn, or Love, let us accept the gifts of our lives so that we may live in a most flourishing state of being.
Gleanings from August 2015
August has almost always been a month of transition for me–a transition from summer back to glorious school! Don’t get me wrong–I love summer–but I have always loved the excitement and anticipation of a new school year. Maybe that’s why I have twelve years of post-secondary education under my belt. Perhaps that is why for twenty-three years we have had back-to-school parties for the kids. But this August is different–nobody’s going to school. No school supplies, no parents’ night, no new classes, no move-in days….
I have been privileged this August to be in contact with two educators of a different sort. Neither is employed at a school, but both educate children and adults alike. Both are writers and speakers who embody the message they bring.
At the beginning of the month we were lucky enough to spend time in the far north at the Steger Wilderness Center.
Will Steger was one of the first people in the world to experience the effects of climate change in his Arctic expeditions, but recently he wrote, “We are all eyewitnesses now.” While we see and experience extreme weather events like the drying and burning of our western lands, flooding rains in eastern and midwestern regions, and erratic and unusual temperatures, do we know what climate change means to the moose or the tree frogs in northern Minnesota?
photo by LAn
Do we realize what impact it has on the aquatic life of our rivers….
or the wildlife and plant life in the old-growth forests?
How does climate change and human destruction of habitat affect the intricate ecosystems of the world? And how does all of that, in turn, affect our survival?
This is where the second educator comes in–we have to teach our children to love the natural world–even the people who are not directly exposed to it. At the end of August we attended a concert by local author and musician Douglas Wood. His books are well-known–Old Turtle, Grandad’s Prayers of the Earth and dozens of others for children. He has written inspiring little handbooks for adults, too. As a musician and song writer, Doug Wood also expresses his love for Nature and our Earth to the people who hear him sing and play beautiful acoustic instruments.
August brings flowers that are striking for their beauty like these Black-eyed Susans…
and for their beauty plus function, such as Purple Coneflowers (Echinacea) that have been used as an herbal remedy for flu and colds for hundreds of years.
August supplies us with food from our cultivated gardens and food from the wild Plum trees.
Mother Nature somehow uses temperature and humidity to synchronize August ‘nuptial flights’ when winged princess and drone ants leave their colonies and take to the sky to mate. The patch of grass in our yard seemed to be shifting and moving as the ants crawled to the tip of the grass blades to fly away from their nest to ensure outbreeding. The females store the sperm in a ‘sperm pocket’ that will eventually fertilize tens of millions of eggs over her lifetime, the male drones die after mating, and the survival of the colony goes on.
August is the month of new school years and new beginnings. Education is the foundation for our lives–the more we learn, the better able we are to understand the balance that Nature brings to our lives and to the lives of all the plants and creatures on the Earth. Doug Wood educates with his books and music–he teaches us to know and love the natural world. Will Steger educates with his explorations, writings, and living example–he reminds us that it is our moral responsibility to be good stewards of our Earth and to build a sustainable future for our children. We take care of the things we love. Learn to know and love Nature, for it is when we love something that we can move beyond ourselves in caring, in responsibility, and in action. And then, as Douglas Wood wrote in Old Turtle, Old Turtle and God will smile.
Gleanings from June 2015
And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever come perfect days….Whether we look, or whether we listen, We hear life murmur, or see it glisten. James Russell Lowell
The long, light days of June have slipped by, and we really have had some perfect days! The combination late Spring/early Summer brings warm, wonderful weather, incredible plant growth, exquisite flowers, and animals intent on nesting and raising their young. Life murmurs and glistens all around us, subtle yet extravagant, common yet miraculous.
Wild Geranium is a delicate woodland flower that graces the paths through our woods.
False dandelion grows in our woods, though I have also seen it in full sun along the road ditches. A cluster of small, dandelion-like flowers sways atop a two-foot stalk.
Our sun garden displays the glorious Penstemon digitalis ‘Husker Red’. It has dark maroon foliage and shining white flowers on tall stems. You can see why its common name is Beard tongue; the sterile stamen (one of five stamens) is lined with tufts of small hairs.
One of my prairie garden flowers–Amsonia or Bluestar–looks perfect in front of the wispy prairie grasses and the Western South Dakota petrified wood.
One of the critters that walked through our June yard was a Western Painted Turtle. She quickly ambled through the dewy grass until she saw me–then she stopped as I got pictures of her. She was likely on her way to her nesting place where she digs a hole with her hind feet and deposits her clutch of leathery white eggs. Incubation time is 72-80 days, and since we live so far north, the hatchlings stay in the nest until the following spring!
Tiny wild strawberries and our larger cultivated ones turn a shiny red in ripeness–a sweet treat for whoever finds them first.
Outside the screened-in porch, the chive blossoms line up like children at the schoolyard.
And speaking of the screened-in porch, my re-do project is on bird delay! A robin thought the unscreened cross beam would be a perfect place for her grass and mud nest. There are three hungry baby birds in the nest in spite of the sawing and hammering going on below. Staining and re-screening will have to wait until the young ones fly from the nest!
A couple of other creatures seemed to want a glimpse of human life inside the big wooden box with windows. I observe Nature every day–do we ever think about the creatures observing us?
All I can say to the little critters is that I definitely need to wash windows!
I liked this photo of Leopard’s Bane against the Norway Spruce tree. The flower is spent, on its way to decay with petals drying and falling off and with ants crawling on it. It is up against the supple new, green growth of the spruce tree. A study in contrasts.
But there is beauty in the ‘spentness’ of flowers, too. Dried blue blossoms of the pretty variegated Jacob’s Ladder reminds us that the bridge between heaven and earth includes the worn out and expended of us who are just a little farther along on our journey.
Perennial Blue Salvia in its ‘spent’ state provides food for a pair of American Goldfinches. It is in its prime time of nourishment for others, though its peak visual beauty is past.
So June encompasses the fresh, invigorated newness of plants, flowers, and creatures and also those in decline. Like all the seasons of Nature and of Life, change is always happening, whether barely discernible or a drastic metamorphosis.
Perhaps the rarity of a perfect day in June is not so rare after all. Perhaps every common day holds miracles waiting to be seen and heard. Where ever we are on our journey, whether ready to fly from the nest, in the perfect place, or in a spent state, we have gifts to offer the world and one another. As the murmur of angels ascending and descending beside us, escorts us on our journey, it is our faces that glisten on each perfect day.
Listening to the Silence
My middle growing-up years were in Pennsylvania on our little acre of hilly land, out of sight from everything, but within earshot of the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Most every summer, we would pack up the Mercury wood-sided station wagon with us four kids, our little brown suitcase of ‘things to do’, and a Johnny Cash eight track tape and head west on that turnpike. Most often we would leave on Friday night after my Dad got home from working at the shop, and my parents would take turns driving, straight through, to my Grandparent’s place in South Dakota. We would arrive early Sunday morning before my Grandpa headed off to church and my Grandma put a large beef roast in the oven. It was always good to be back Home!
One evening–maybe that very first one after our long drive–my Dad was sitting on the porch stoop. I opened the door, walked out onto the porch, and asked him what he was doing. He said, “I’m listening to the Silence.” I can’t remember how old I was at the time, but I remember thinking that was a crazy thing to say! How can you listen to Silence?! He patted the cement beside him for me to sit down. He told me about hearing the crickets and frogs, the cows lowing in the paddock as they came up from the pasture to the round, wooden water tank, how the windmill squeaked as the breeze moved the blades, and how the geese chattered in the slough over the hill. We sat there together for a while, and I really started to listen for all the different sounds of the Silence on the farm.
Today is Father’s Day and the First Day of Summer! I smile when I realize it’s 10 o’clock in the evening, and there’s still a hint of light outside. I love it when I can go outside with no coat and no shoes! I laugh at our dog when we go out to get the mail, and she rolls in the warm grass and watches me walk to the mailbox. I marvel at all the bird mamas and daddys who are flying, hunting, and taking care of their babies.
Summer is…my most favorite flower–perennial Blue Flax…
blooms and birdhouses…
rain…
bumblebees…
and birds.
Summer is being outside with Nature, toes in the grass, head under the stars, fish on the line, sun on skin, and listening to the Silence.
Thinking back on those 1500 mile trips with four kids in the car, the constant buzz of turnpike traffic at our house, and the din of diesel engines working as a truck mechanic, it’s no wonder my Dad wanted the calm and quiet of an evening on the farm in South Dakota. That special memory of me and my Dad has stayed in my mind and heart for decades, and I continue to appreciate the quiet sounds of Nature. Happy Summer to all of you, and if you can’t be with your Dad today, I hope you can call to mind a special memory of him while listening to the Silence of Nature.
The Dragonfly, the Fox, and Me
Yesterday morning I opened the living room door which faces the back of our house. It was a sunny and warm morning with only a slight breeze–one of those mornings when you breathe in deeply and proclaim Life is Good. Part of the yard was in the shade with cool, dewy grass, but the sun shone hot on the area in front of the door. I could see the mosquitoes rising up from the grass in the sun in their daily commute to the cooler, more protected woods. All of a sudden a dragonfly swooped by and ate the mosquito I was watching! Then I witnessed the aerial breakfast maneuvers of a number of dragonflies. The mosquitoes would rise from the grass, the dragonflies would dive down and hover underneath them for an instant, then gracefully and easily eat them. I foolishly thought I might be able to get a picture of them, but they were far too fast. This was one of those times when my attention was all that was needed. Three or four of the dragonflies patrolled the area I was watching, and it was evident that it was a stealthy attack–I never saw them miss. Soon I was wondering how many mosquitoes one dragonfly could eat!
Later in the day when I walked out the driveway to get the mail, a dragonfly landed right in front of me. As I got closer, he flew just a few feet ahead of me and landed again. He really didn’t want to move from his resting place, and I thought he must be feeling the Thanksgiving Day effects of his gluttonous meal! I was able to go back to the house and get the camera while he rested on his camouflaged napping place.
A few weeks ago, another moment happened that I was unable to capture on camera. I was sitting in the living room enjoying a cup of tea and looking out our picture window. It was not yet dusk. In the same place that I watched the dragonfly hunt, I saw a fox trotting across the lawn, not five yards from where I was sitting. She was red with black legs and a black stripe down her back and bushy tail. Her coat was shiny and in prime condition, most likely from the black oil sunflower seeds she had feasted on in early spring under the bird feeders. She had probably already given birth to her pups and was out on a hunt. She trotted slowly, but steadily. She was on a mission. We had seen her various times before–crossing the road from her path in the woods, eating the birdseed at night, and in early morning mouse hunts. The seconds I watched her trot across the yard were slowed down. She was so beautiful. Her world and my world merged for a moment. I could have so easily missed that moment.
Why are we witnesses to such moments? With both the dragonflies and the fox, I felt privileged to see them and experience the short time with them. It made me realize the huge, complex world outside of ourselves that goes on around us, most often without our knowledge. The mama fox has a story all her own, yet not unlike ours, of making a den for her young pups and spending time and effort to feed and care for them. There are two components of being a witness–one is to be an observer or eyewitness, to be present at an event. The other is to attest or substantiate that something occurred. To be present and attentive in such moments takes away the past and the future, and time “takes care of itself.” We are drawn into a serendipitous place that is fulfilling and whole in and of itself. But as witnesses, when the event is over, we are called on to confirm or authenticate what just happened. In essence, we need to do a little evaluation. Why are we witnesses to such moments? Because they feed our souls, they make us realize the bigger picture, they help us put things in perspective, and I, for one, can attest to the wonder and glory of God.