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...]
In Love with This Green Earth
I am in love with this green earth. –Charles Lamb
Do you remember the feelings you had when you first fell in love with your beloved? A euphoric happiness settled over me. I thought about him all the time. I couldn’t wait to see him again, though months would pass since we lived 400 miles from one another. I happily spoke about him, sharing stories of who he was as a person. I read and re-read the letters he sent and immediately answered them. I marveled at his handsomeness, his politeness, his kindness to family and friends. I felt lucky or blessed or pinch-me-I’m-dreaming that he felt the same way about me.
May turns a corner for us into the fullness of Spring, and I have to say, I am quite smitten. The green-ness and new-ness of this season should not come as any surprise–it happens every year! And yet, I find myself thinking, “Was last Spring this beautiful?!” I can’t get enough of looking out the window at the lush green grass and the emerging leaves.
I happily wander through the yard and woods, delighting at the swiftly growing ferns and the spring-blooming perennials.
There is an overabundance of growth, a population explosion of buds, flowers, and plants coming back to life from the dormancy of winter. (Go to North Star Nature Facebook page to ‘Like’ and see more May flowers and photos of nature.)
I am in love with this green earth. The changing seasons have a way of opening our minds to development and the cycles of Life–like falling in love with your beloved. Spring flushes the winter dormancy and old ideas from our minds and bodies to be replaced with possibilities and reliabilities–like having faith in Goodness. Renewal fills our souls with explosions of hope for the greener, growing, greater days ahead–like living in a Sanctuary. We are blessed to be living on this beautiful green earth!
The Beginning
Her bouquet was made with flowers and grasses gathered from Minnesota, South Dakota, Missouri, and Texas–all parts of her history, her upbringing, her living and learning. Each place held a part of her heart and had shaped her into the loving, accomplished young woman who stood before us all.
We began our trip as the Maple trees shone with dazzling colors. What brilliance from a once-green tree!
Frost colored the edges of bent-over grass and dry leaves as we left Minnesota in anticipation of the Texas wedding!
Urban living and Wilderness camping were her two Minnesota loves. I used to marvel that she could coexist with either environment with the same confidence and at-homeness. She went from St. Paul college life to living in a tree house or canvas tent or log cabin for the summer. She organized and guided canoe trips and camper trips and served United Methodist Camping. Her maid of honor spent three summers with her at the Boundary Waters camp–kindred spirits of adventure.
We headed southwest to South Dakota to pick up G-Lo. We arrived as the sun was sinking in the western sky and the geese were grazing in the pasture that once supported the white-faced Herefords raised by my grandfather and then my parents. Generations of our Scandinavian relatives worked the land and are buried in the rural cemeteries where the churches no longer stand. Our history runs deep in this land.
The next morning, in the perpetual new beginning of a new day, we loaded the Buick and headed south.
Moving to a new school and state in the middle of Middle School is a daunting task at best, but she handled it with her typical take-charge attitude and organized a ‘Backpack across Brookings’ hiking trek with her new friends. She went on to compete in debate, develop her artistic abilities, serve in Student Council, and volunteer with South Dakota politics. Her three bridesmaids shared her interests, time, and energy–kindred spirits in creativity, service, and determination.
We traveled through Iowa to Missouri. The I-29 drive was familiar from the many times we drove north and south between the Missouri Brakes and the South Dakota Andersens. We followed the River Bluffs that had tiny farm places tucked into the hillsides. The trees showed the beginnings of fall change, and huge Sycamores rose above the others–I had forgotten how magnificent they were!
Missouri was her birthplace, her early childhood playground, her creative beginnings, and the place where her Daddy was born and raised. Her Brake relatives surrounded her with love, played backyard games and instilled a love of sports, co-created Christmas plays and shared a thousand laughs. Some of her aunts, uncles, and cousins traveled to Austin to honor her and share her special day, a childhood friend styled her hair, and her best friend from birth was there–kindred spirits in the love of Gram and Gramps, friendship, and all things Chiefs and Royals.
We jogged west into Kansas, zooming past milo fields and oil wells until we came to the vast, beautiful Flint Hills.
My prairie-girl heart felt at home in the sea of grass dotted with an occasional windmill, herds of Angus, and a coyote sighting. This was cattle country, and it was grand in size and glorious in nature.
Dusk shrouded the grassland in a rosy-hued cloak as we got another day closer to Texas.
An orange sunrise greeted us as we left Kansas and rolled into Oklahoma.
Oklahoma shocked my northern eyes with its red soil, shrubby greenness, and oil wells.
We saw the Arbuckle Mountains, oldest known formations between the Appalachian and Rocky Mountains.
We saw Taylor Swift–okay, three semi trailers of her stuff–on the way from Nebraska to her next concert in Arlington, Texas!
We saw prickly pear cactus, high ridges of windmills, and crossed the Red River into Texas.
Fort Worth and Construction are the only things I remember about Texas until we got close to Austin. I was amazed how many miles and how extensive the construction projects spanned. Never would a northern city undertake such a feat in our short window of unfrozen time.
As we made our way to Austin, we were engulfed by 95 degree temperatures and wildfire smoke from the Bastrop County fires, not too far from the wedding venue. Welcome to Austin, Texas!
After college, she traveled to Marble Falls, Texas to work at The Outdoor School, instructing school-age children in outdoor recreation and the natural environment. It was there she cultivated many friendships and where she fell in love with Texas. It was there she met her husband-to-be–kindred spirits in life and love. Surrounded by their families, far-away friends, TOS and Austin friends, they began a new adventure together.
The world looks rosy in those heady, dazzling days of the beginning of a romance when we anticipate seeing and spending time with that special person. When the infatuation falls away, like the shimmering leaves of autumn, the real work begins. We examine our roots, our values, the things that matter to us, and we verbalize our wildest dreams of what we want in life. Then the big questions: Is this the person who will walk with me in love and respect, who will be his own person and allow me to be mine, who will commit to the hard work of partnership, who will hold my hand and guide me out of the woods when scary things happen? Is this love sustainable through a lifetime of choices, the huge commitment to parenthood or not, the really hard things in life that make your insides feel like a blank space of despair? Can this person make me laugh and feel truly loved year after year, forgive my mistakes and limitations, talk it out and shake it off? Do we make a good team, do we serve others, do we embody the things we hold dear? And when we realize that we have constructed a long list of Yeses to those big questions, we can move in bold style down the aisle in front of our people who love us and God who sustains us. No longer do we murmur, I wish you would…, but we profess with conviction I do, I will, and we walk together into the perpetual new beginning of each new day.
To Love and Be Loved
To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides. –David Viscott
Working at Living
When we stepped into September, we entered the meteorological season of Fall. We are most familiar with the traditional astronomical seasons that change at the equinoxes and solstices based on the position of the Earth in relation to the Sun. Meteorological seasons change every three months and are based on similar temperatures. This different and more natural way of defining seasons began in the early to mid 1900’s, making it easier for the weather scientists to compare data and weather patterns.
It is beginning to look like Fall in central Minnesota! The poplar and ash leaves are turning yellow and falling to the ground.
Wild plum trees and creeping poison ivy are displaying beautiful autumnal colors.
Wild grapes are ready for harvesting–by humans, birds, foxes, turkeys–whoever gets to them first.
Asters and sunflowers are blooming in the ditches…
along with abundant goldenrod.
The insects and animals are busy gathering food. The squirrels have been working hard from morning til night, collecting acorns from our woods and buckeyes from the tree up the street. The Buckeye tree is one of the first to change color and lose its leaves.
The squirrels carry the nuts to a place in the yard, dig a little hole, put the nut in, cover it up with dirt, and pat it down with their front paws. How they ever find them again is beyond me–but I do know they don’t find them all, as we see oak and buckeye seedlings growing in places far from the mature trees.
The little red squirrels in particular love the white pine seeds and have labored ceaselessly to clean them from the cones, leaving a pile of debris under the tree.
Some of my work lately has been like the squirrel–I have been gathering produce from the garden and preparing it for later use. There is great purpose and satisfaction in growing, tending, eating, and storing our own food. Traditionally–at least after the industrial revolution, we have equated work with a job. But think about the work of the settlers or the native people before that–their ‘work’ was ‘living!’ And much of that work had to do with the basics–shelter, safety, food, and clothing. Of course, these days, jobs provide the means to those very same basics. I hope on this Labor Day we can look at work in different ways–people who go to jobs, moms and dads who stay home with their children, those toiling just to survive and find a safe place for their families to live, students striving to educate themselves, people who devote time and energy to inner work, those who struggle daily with addictions and illnesses who work hard to live one day at a time, and animals and insects who work at ‘being’ what they are. Blessings to all the workers of the world!
I would like to thank you for reading my posts. I work to bring you images of Nature and words that may inspire, teach, and promote contemplation. Many thanks to those who like, share, and comment–it is the primary way for my posts to reach new people. Nature can teach us about ourselves and make us better people–it’s a great way to work at living a wonderful life.
The Unfolding
The last few weeks I have traded my camera and computer for a nail-puller, hammer, and drill. Our screened-in porch is in desperate need of a make-over. The chipmunks have chewed holes in the screens, and the decades of rain have rotted the sills, cross beams, and lower siding. Between the uncooperative weather (rain and cold) and the longer-than-expected time to dismantle the old, the project will be taking much longer than expected. Isn’t that the way it always goes?! Lead project manager was my Mom who is a very competent carpenter. She traveled from South Dakota to celebrate her grandson’s graduation from college and to help me for six days.
May in Minnesota is the Unfolding time. It begins with buds of every style, size, and color–the environment is expectant with the lushness of what is to come. It is exciting and humbling all at the same time. It never fails to amaze me that huge compound leaves and spikes of flowers can begin their transformation from such tiny buds! And the wonder of ferns, hostas, and other perennials emerging from the previously snow-covered ground is so Life affirming!
Maple leaves emerge like wet-winged butterflies, wrinkled and folded. As they mature, they change from a light bronze color to the solid, oxygen-producing green of the chlorophyll packed cells.
Linden tree leaf buds look like tiny bouquets of flowers on gray stems until they unfold to the serrated, heart-shaped leaves.
The Unfolding of the shiny red leaves and flower clusters of the Norway Maple is spectacular! As the leaves mature, the red color fades into green.
Striated Birch buds look like tiny boutonnieres along the flexible branches. The fully developed leaves are glossy green against the white of the birch bark.
The stick trunk of a young Kentucky Coffeetree undergoes an amazing transformation as the rounded buds unfold into long clusters of compound leaves.
Elongated, twisted buds of Virginia creeper vines open to five-fingered, dark green leaves that grow along the ground or climb up trees and other objects.
Oak leaves are one of the last to emerge from their buds. The young leaves are pale green and tender, yet develop into strong, deeply lobed leaves of rich green.
Many of the oaks bloomed prolifically this year with green pompoms hanging from the branches. The leaves on the blooming trees were even smaller and more pale than the other emerging leaves. As the flowers dried and fruit production began (there should be abundant acorns this year), the leaves continued to develop more slowly as the trees’ energy went to flower and fruit production.
Locust trees are late bloomers, distinct in their yellow-green foliage.
The old seedheads of sumac are soon engulfed in the vibrant spring finery as the new unfolds around the old.
In three weeks’ time the Unfolding is dramatic!
In twenty years’ time this Unfolding is no less dramatic, but much more heart-stirring. How can our youngest child be graduated from college?!
Life is unfolding around us, and we greet each day with expectation of what is to come. Often we only stop to reflect when we reach a major milestone or when faced with a life-changing event, and then we wonder how the time could slip by so quickly. Did we savor enough minutes along the way? Did we make the moments count for ourselves and the loved ones around us? It is humbling, exciting, and a little sad as our ten years of being parents to college students comes to an end. We need to let go of the reins–and I am reluctant to do so. The years and decades of my energy going to our flowers and fruit has slowed my development in certain ways but has enriched and transformed my life in so many others. Each one of us–my Mom, Chris and I, the girls, and Aaron–steps into another day that unfolds before us. We learn, mature, transform, respect the old, cherish the gifts, and make way for the new.
Gleanings from October
October is the month we get serious about winter. Though it starts off relatively green and warm, it ends with killing frosts and leafless trees. We had a glorious blast of color throughout the month, however; it was one of the best years in memory! Asters and mums dominated the floral landscape of this transition month.
But the crown of glory goes to the deciduous trees as they stopped production of chlorophyll and let their colors shine through. The maples and oaks were spectacular this year with just the right combination of moisture, temperature, and wind to allow for a splendid show.
Seed production and dispersal is ongoing in its quiet and less showy manner. The lollipop balls of purple allium dry and rattle in the wind, and the tiny, black seeds dislodge and fall to the ground.
The winged seeds of the Amur maple hang clustered together among the fiery leaves and remain for a while longer after the leaves fall.
The white, delicate Queen Anne’s Lace flower closes as it dries and each seed is encased in a stickery covering, ready to hitch a ride on the fur of a passing animal.
The seedhead of Queen of the Prairie turns a rosy red before drying and flaking off the paper-thin seedpods.
The reproductive process of the fern starts with the production of spores instead of seeds. Dotted casings full of spores can be seen on the underside of the leaf.
The animals also prepare for winter. This pair of spring fawns, now without their mother, filled their bellies with apples that had fallen from the tree.
For the squirrels, it was a bad acorn year, so they are happy to try out the new bird feeder.
The turkeys also discovered the birdseed that had fallen from a feeder in the front yard.
October means leaf raking, tree watering, and perennial pruning. The potatoes and carrots are dug, the apples are picked and the apple butter made. Bird houses are put away and the feeders are hung up. Small evergreens are wrapped in burlap. Tree guards are put on small trunks. Clay pots of spent annuals are cleaned out and put in the shed. Pots of oak seedlings are covered with straw. There’s still more to be done.
The reason we do so much work each October is two-fold. First off, you don’t mess with Old Man Winter in Central Minnesota. There are no guarantees that the extreme temperatures and drying winds won’t kill the trees and perennials that we have planted, so we help the best way we can. Ironically, the snow cover is beneficial for the plants, but makes life harder for the wild animals to find food. They need to be prepared by storing fat and having a sheltered place to live. Secondly, much of what we do is because of stewardship. We appreciate and love the natural world and believe it is our responsibility to care for our small piece of it. So as Nature has given us a spectacular show of Fall color, as the seeds for next year’s plants have been dispersed, and as the animals prepare for their cold, harsh season, we work hard to protect, prepare, and care for the creation around us. After all, it’s what we all do for the things in life we love.
A Change in Perspective
What if we saw our world from the perspective of a bald eagle soaring high above the land? We would definitely see the ‘bigger picture.’ We would also want the eagle’s excellent vision so everything wouldn’t be a blur. I saw a different perspective of our place on Sunday when I was on the roof painting the chimney. We live on a bluff of the Sauk River, though we usually can’t see the river because of the leaves and trees. But from the roof I could see the River widening into the Chain of Lakes and cloaked in Autumn finery.
It was fun to see the woods from the one story roof of our house. The curtain of maple leaves had dropped from the nearest trees, and I could see some of the colorful, stand-out beauties that are usually lost in the forest of green. I’m glad they have a season to be seen and awed over.
My rooftop view displayed the amazing amount of progress we have made in our war on buckthorn. What used to be a dense, homogeneous wall of green with mature oaks and cedars rising above it, is now a real woods with diverse plant life and paths to enjoy it.
But through the boldly branched oaks, I could see a patch of bright green–an area of buckthorn seedlings that had grown to four feet tall–and I made a mental note about that being our next place to work.
The eight foot tall Nannyberry Viburnum tree, splendid in orange and the focal point from the ground, looked small and insignificant from the rooftop. The magnificent oaks and the distant River captured my eye and attention.
On the other side of the house, maple leaves were falling like rain. The day before, we had raked huge piles of yellow leaves and mowed and mulched to a carpet of green.
And when the last leaves drop, we will have another day of the same.
We tend to see our lives from one perspective–from our two feet on the ground, historical, corrected vision. It’s only natural. But what would it look like from an eagle’s eye? What would your life look like from the rooftop? Do you see the progress you’ve made? Do you make a note of where you need to do some work? Or are the leaves and the trees getting in the way of the beauty and potential that lies beyond sight? Is the daily, repetitive work clouding the vision of your future? You don’t have to get on the roof to see your life in a different way–just let Nature change your perspective!
Bobber or No Bobber
I’m not a fisherman. But the handful of times that I have tried fishing, I liked having a bobber on my line. It is a good Indicator of Success for one who does not have a ‘feel’ for having a fish biting on the bait. Bobber going under the water equals a fish on the line. Set the hook and you have a fish. It makes fishing so much easier! But with the exception of one long ago fishing experience at a Varner Brothers farm pond in the great state of Missouri, when the fish were literally jumping on the hooks, I don’t even remember catching a fish–bobber or no bobber. But I still like the idea of an indicator, a marker, a helper when it comes to fishing–or anything else, for that matter.
We stopped at Warner Lake County Park this past weekend on our way back from Lake Maria State Park. It was our first time there, and we wanted to explore a bit. We parked at the boat dock, and the first thing I saw when I walked down to the lake was this:
Bobbers floating in the cattails–an indicator of hooks stuck not in a fish, but in the sticks and weeds! How many foiled fishing experiences had happened here?! I left the two true fisherman in my family at the boat dock to catch a fish or lose a lure as I walked along a path in the woods to another part of the park. An interesting mix of large cedars and oaks grew between the trail and the lake shore.
At the other side of the park, there was a fishing dock, picnic pavilion, playground, and swimming beach. The clearing had room for volleyball and running games. Tracks in the dirt and paths in the grass indicated it was a popular place for bike riding. Hiking paths disappeared into the woods. It was a charming place. Two boys and their dad fished off the dock, and the younger, bespectacled boy had a fish story of catching a large northern pike that fought like crazy. Such was the tiring fight that the young fellow had given up on the fishing and was happy to tell his fish story to passersby.
Evening announced its arrival with a chill in the air. The lake was calming down. We saw a lone kayaker out on the water practicing Eskimo rolls. Again and again he would roll over, going under the clear water and righting himself. Practicing. Being prepared.
The setting sun then lit up the far shoreline, igniting the autumn leaves in a blaze of color.
This small park just off the interstate highway was a jewel of Nature–a perfect spot for the interaction of people and the elements of Nature.
When we are surrounded by Nature and our senses are on high alert–in a good way–we are changed. Our eyes can scarcely take in all the beauty of the autumn trees, the smell of cedar trees and fallen leaves pheromonally entices us to stay and explore, the soft lapping of the water on the sand and the quaking leaves on the trees hone our hearing, and the touch of wind, water, or scaly fish makes us happy to be alive. It takes practice to let the rest of our busy worlds go for a while, but the practice is relatively simple–just go to Nature. And Nature takes it from there. Being in Nature gives us an opportunity to ponder what the Indicators are in our lives. It changes our very physiology–in a good way–just by merely coexisting. It gifts us with a fish, a good fish story, or patience. So whether your bobber indicates a great catch or a snag in the sticks and weeds, practice being in Nature–it will prepare your soul for the work of your life.
The Trees Were Glowing
The trees were glowing on our recent hike through Lake Maria State Park, a 1500 acre park of rolling terrain, old-growth forests, small lakes, and woodland marshes. Chris gathered a beautiful array of Bigtooth aspen leaves that carpeted the trail near the sunlit edges of the forest. The huge, old maple trees that elevated this woods to forest status had turned a brilliant golden color and shimmered in the autumn sunlight, causing an ethereal glow of the shaded trail.
The immenseness of the trees was brought to ground and sight with those that had fallen. They must have made earthquake rumbles and sharp cracks of breaking wood as they fell to the forest floor, crushing the young trees that grew along the axis of their path. Some fallen giants still had leaves from this year’s growth; others were decayed and covered with moss.
We spotted a little acorn bandit, cheeks full of plunder, backed into an awkward frozen position of potential fight or flight.
Bjorkland Lake reflected the blue of the sky and bore a circular wreath of cattails and common reed grass. It was quiet and empty of birds–perhaps they were hiding in the reed grass, but it seemed they were missing out on a glorious swimming day!
The quivering golden aspen leaves were singing the last refrains of their seasonal song, dropping note by note to the ground below.
Their audience of sumac, goldenrod, and gone-to-seed asters swayed with the song of the breeze, and for some reason, it reminded me of Christmas.
Neatly packed milkweed seeds lay exposed to the wind in a dried pod that had cracked open, while the fluffy stragglers from another pod clung to the rough casing.
A living arch invited us into the chapel of gilded maples, and we hushed as we walked the hallowed ground beneath their glory.
We drove to another area of the park, passing through a low wetland area where a yellow sign warned of ‘Rare Turtle Crossing.’ The Park is home to Blanding’s turtles, a threatened species in Minnesota. I spotted a turtle on a log in the tree-reflected lake, but this sunbather was a common painted turtle.
A common painted turtle living in an extraordinary autumn-painted world.
So often we take our world for granted, and yet, every single day we walk on holy ground. We want the hugeness and history of what came before us to stretch out in front of us for our children’s children. We are small, common creatures living in an extraordinary domain. In your tree of life, what song are you singing to the world?
Let Your Cares Fall Away
Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into the trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while care will drop away from you like the leaves of Autumn. –John Muir
No matter where you are this weekend, take some time to spend outside, gather up the glories of Nature, and let your cares fall away!