milkweed Archives - NorthStarNature

Trekking Through Trauma

February 28, 2021 by Denise Brake 4 Comments

If you have ever been through therapy, you know there is not a line drawn down the middle of your life with good things on one side and bad things on the other. And I say ‘through therapy,’ not ‘in therapy,’ as ‘in therapy’ implies that you can be ‘out of therapy.’ When I was going ‘through therapy’ after a spiritual crisis, it felt like I was going through one of those old-fashioned wringers on an old tub washer—my old life was being crushed, wrung out, flattened. I felt like the energy and purpose of what I thought life was all about was being snuffed out of me. There was no ‘in therapy’ then returning to ‘normal life’ when I left a session—it affected every aspect of my life and left me exhausted, crumpled, and changed.

Having a very strong line of demarcation between right and wrong when I was young was a coping mechanism for me to feel like the world was orderly. It helped me feel more safe, more in control. Things were easier to sort—either you’re with me or against me, it’s good or it’s bad, it’s black or it’s white. And I was the arbitrator of those judgements. My world view was narrow. That worked for a while. But as I got older, there were things that clashed with my categories. If I love this person, how can I vanquish this part of their life to the ‘bad category?’ Wait, the person I voted for did what?! That’s not acceptable. If this action helps one person and harms many others, what does that mean? Things weren’t an easy call anymore. Things were confusing. The huge gray area between black and white opened up my narrow world and threw me for a loop.

In order to process the gray area of our larger lives we must process the black, white, and gray areas of our own personal lives. The line of demarcation was strong down the middle of my own life, in my own head and heart. I rejected parts of myself. I made up stories in my head to try to make sense of my categories. I embraced the actions and people that made me feel like my point of view was the ‘right’ one. I ignored my individual desires, then projected those grievances onto others. How could they?! Not how could I not? So going through therapy exposed all of those thoughts, feelings, and actions that I grew up with. It showed me that I very smartly did those things to feel safe and to feel some control. It opened up different ways of thinking and different possibilities. My life through therapy became a giant puzzle, not a bin of good or bad. Each reaching back into my past retrieved a piece of the puzzle that clicked into place. Oh, yes, that makes sense. Holy cow—yes! Oh, no, really? Such sadness. Parts of my present life fit perfectly with the pieces that I had assembled from my past. The picture of my life was coming together—it was finally beginning to make sense. And it was my life, with all the good, bad, indifferent, compelling, benign, happy, grief-filled, hard, and satisfying parts of my life—all in the big picture of who I am.

That was almost fifteen years ago. Therapy never ends. Once you go through it, it tends to stay with you. You ask the questions to yourself. You try to figure out if any of the puzzle pieces were in the wrong place, even if they looked like they fit back then. The past year, no, make that two or more years, has kind of messed up my puzzle again. I have a ton of questions about our world, about the divide in our country—that black and white divide, about the actions of elected leaders, about people making up stories to fit the wished-for narrative in their head and heart. Believe me, I get it. But it has shaken my sense of safety and rightness. So I do what I have always done when I feel shaken or lost or scared or upset—I get outside. Mother Nature soothes me. My world becomes bigger than the mess that scares me as I immerse myself in the small details of the Life that intrinsically holds the seeds of creation. I find things that make me happy.

From shadow to potential and creativity. Like butterflies.

Why would anyone choose therapy that seems so hard and harrowing? Not everyone who chooses is in the midst of a crisis like I was, but at the time, I just needed some relief from the pain of the crisis. I didn’t know how hard the journey of relief was going to be. But even in the midst of the difficulty, there was relief as well as exhaustion in the artesian well of tears that flowed from my eyes. There was relief when another puzzle piece clicked together where before there was a numb emptiness. There was relief in developing an awareness of myself where before there was an outsized fear of what could happen. There was also an immense sense of holiness I felt during the process and certainly looking back at it. It was hard, holy work. God was with me then just as God was with me during my young years when fear controlled my narrative. The harrowing trek was worth it. The crisis was there for a reason. It pushed me to action, it pushed me to truth, it pushed me to awareness. I didn’t have to reject any pieces of myself or of my life anymore. The black and white sorting bins were gone. And with that reconciliation came more order, more control of my life, and more safety—all of the things I yearned for when I was young. My adversity led me towards fruition. It’s not like I have arrived—I’m still on the journey. Things can still shake me and make me want to go back to hiding in fear. But Nature helps me breathe deep relaxing breaths again. She shows me how shadows can become butterflies. How curiosity partners with knowledge and truth. How treasures can show up on our doorstep in routine life and when we least expect but need them the most. Nature shows us how Goodness is restored.

A Snapshot of Our Lives

October 7, 2018 by Denise Brake 4 Comments

What would a snapshot of your day look like? How about snapshots of your life? There were many times when the kids were growing up that we took them to outdoor events celebrating a variety of holidays, animals, and seasons—a butterfly festival, May Day celebration, harvest festival, etc. We have a few candid snapshots of some of those events—when cameras were extra things to carry around with all the paraphernalia needed for three kids of various ages.

Last weekend we attended the Wildlife Festival at Sherburne National Wildlife Refuge. It was a chilly, raw day—as we walked from the car, most of us wished we had more and warmer clothes. Babies were wrapped in snowsuits and cute fleece hats. An outdoor fire and an indoor gift shop were popular places to warm up. Tents and tables with snakes, birds, furs, and photographs engaged the kids and adults alike. We had two of our adult kids with us, plus one, reminiscent of the events in years past. Following are snapshots of our day with captions from some of the five of us:

Morning surprise 2. A Walking Stick before our walk in the sticks 3. Stickin’ around

Eagle eye 2. Injured glory 3. Head and shoulders above the rest

Feathered friend 2. Small but mighty 3. Bundled up

Who?! 2. Feeling owley 3. Here’s lookin’ at you, kid

Busy beavers 2. Construction zone 3. I could sure use a toothpick

Not mush room 2. Unstoppable 3. Mushrooms are having a moment

Hipsters in red 2. Roses for next year 3. Hips don’t lie

Feel the burn 2. Tree-mains 3. Vertical coal

All the sad prairie 2. Cactus of Minnesota 3. Prairie sentries

Mess ‘o Milkweed 2. Fluff in the wind 3. It’s time to sail

Hanging on 2. Feathered and tethered 3. Clinging

Missouri memories 2. The circle of life 3. Bittersweet goodbye

A snapshot is a quick record of something or someone; a brief appraisal or summary. My photos and our captions are snapshots of our day together. They can stir memories of past times and connect us with a quiet part of ourselves that we may not be aware of. How do we walk through life? What do we see or not want to see? How do we carry ourselves? Who are we really? What is the work of our lives? What’s stopping us? How do we want our future to look? How do we look at things from a different point of view? Who do we surround ourselves with? How do we realize our mission? What do we do when we get stuck? How do we gather the sweet fruit from our memories? We are all entwined in this circle of life—each of us only a snapshot in the huge panorama of our Earth and its history. But each snapshot is important, and this time is our time. The mushrooms and all of us are having a moment.

A Total Eclipse of the Eclipse

August 27, 2017 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

I had high expectations of Monday’s eclipse. The media had prepared us well with scientific information, beautiful illustrations and photos of previous celestial wonders, and Amazon had plenty of viewing glasses to purchase. The Great American Eclipse was to make its way across the heart of our country in its totality. Minnesota wouldn’t see complete darkness, but an almost total eclipse is exciting, nonetheless. The sun was shining on my Monday morning walk…then the clouds rolled in. As E-time approached, thunder rolled and rumbled, and rain fell, along with my high hopes.

One of our Bluebirds of happiness flew to the Maple just outside the window, perching on the side of the tree, reminding me that blue skies would come again. (Tuesday’s sky was blue and cloudless.)

Even in the midst of my dashed eclipse expectations, there was tropical beauty right outside my door in the rain—a banana tree and the pretty pink flowers of Mandevilla.

Beyond the hype and excitement of the eclipse this week was the reality of the waning days of summer. First day of school pictures filled my Facebook feed. Cooler than normal temperatures necessitated bringing out the fleeces and sweatshirts. The tomatoes are finally ready to eat! The apples are turning red. Sumac leaves are beginning to turn crimson. Wild plums are ripening.

And our first ever hazel nuts are forming under the curved leaves and inside the fringed husks!

I never say summer is sweet on the humid, hot days (I mean, what do I expect?!), but as August winds down and Summer Sweet blooms and releases its fragrant scent, I am reminded that summer is indeed a sweet time of year.

On the other side of dashed expectations and humid-drenched disappointments is surprise and possibility. What is eating our Milkweed? Monarch caterpillars, of course. Not this time! The hungry, similar-colored caterpillars are the larval stage of the Milkweed Tiger Moth (a very drab, gray-colored moth.)

And look at this delicate web of water droplets I found in the grass below the milkweed!

At the junction of old and new soil and grass around our patio, a fungus grew that looked like a worn, well-oiled leather catcher’s mitt. Where did that come from?

Then there is the delicate surprise of a common object seen in a different light—the bird’s nest bundle of seeds of Queen Anne’s lace and a pincushion center of Black-eyed Susan.

There’s a book titled Expectation Hangover by Christine Hassler. I haven’t read it, but she defines Expectation Hangover as “the myriad of undesirable feelings or thoughts present when one or a combination of the following things occur: a desired outcome does not occur; a desired outcome does occur but does not produce the feelings or results we expected; our personal and/or professional expectations are unmet by ourselves or another; an undesired, unexpected event occurs that is in conflict with what we want or planned.” I’ve had a few of those in my lifetime and know very well the toll it takes on time, energy, and self-worth. My high hopes of experiencing the eclipse were tempered by the meteorological predictions that didn’t favor clear skies on that day. It’s important to keep our expectations grounded in reality—what’s the science behind this or what does the history of this person show us or what can we really afford? I’m not sure it’s our expectations per se that get us into trouble, but our attachment to them. Those attachments can run deep and profound to the very soul of who we think we are. But Nature teaches us that even in the certainty of summer morphing into fall, we can discover new surprises and see things in a different light—like we’ve never seen them before. Expectations and possibilities with a grounding of reality—it’s a recipe for an awe-inspiring eclipse (or not), a sweet summer, and an authentic life.

Lead Into Gold

August 20, 2017 by Denise Brake 3 Comments

“Every human being has gone through a tragedy of sorts. And the idea is that you have two paths you can take. You can find that alchemy that turns lead into gold, find that magic where you can see the loss as an entry point for learning and grow from it and become wiser and stronger.” —Jillian Michaels

A small meadow that I walk by every day had been mowed a while ago. The grass was not growing back very fast as we had had dry weather until recently. But something caught my attention earlier this week—a Milkweed plant had grown knee-high above the shorn grass and stood out in stark relief from the dry, brown grass.

I was curious whether a plant had been cut down or if this was a new plant. When I looked closely, I saw that one stem of the Milkweed had been mowed off, and in its place, three new stems had grown.

As I looked around the meadow, I saw other plants that had been mowed down that were now tall and blooming! Red Clover, Daisy Fleabane, the tough, persistent Canadian Thistle, and others.

It was not the first time the meadow had been mowed, and I knew for sure the Milkweed had not had its chance to bloom yet. The Red Clover, like Alfalfa, grows fast and had probably bloomed before each mowing. The grass had already gone to seed before it was mowed the second time—its life cycle for the season was complete. But the Milkweed had still not bloomed or produced pods full of fluffy seeds. It seemed to have accelerated growth to compensate for the set-back of being mowed down.

In 1995, Lawrence Calhoun, PhD, along with Richard Tedeschi, PhD, coined the term post-traumatic growth (PTG)—when our biggest life challenges can offer opportunities for meaning and growth. While the term ‘post-traumatic growth’ is relatively new, the theme of suffering, meaning, and growth has been prominent in ancient spiritual and religious traditions, literature, and philosophy for eons. Resilience is bouncing back to ‘normal’ after a tragedy or challenge, whereas with PTG, we bounce back higher, so to speak. We learn to make meaning of our suffering. We learn a new way of being. We grow, bloom, produce seeds and fruit, and complete our life cycle. We turn lead into gold.

Winter’s Beauty

January 24, 2015 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

I am enamored with the common milkweed. We are in the middle of winter and still the strong stalks and seedpods are beautiful to behold. The beauty is different from the vibrant, fresh greenness and pinkness of the July flowers.

It’s different from the beauty of the summer home and food source of the Monarch butterfly egg and caterpillar.

As the green seedpod grows–one for every 60-150 flowers–the seeds inside develop slowly. By September and October, the pods begin to dry and open.

The sun and wind can empty the seeds from the pods before the snow flies, but my particular January obsession grew in the shade and developed later than its sunny cohorts. The pods dried and opened slowly, and as winter and snow fell, it still held on to most of the white-tailed seeds.

The rough, barbed exterior of the seedpod protects the seeds.

Inside the pod, the seeds are packed around a septum in an orderly, overlapping manner. There is an average of 226 seeds per pod. The seeds themselves are relatively large and heavy with a corky covering that allows them to float in water. Each seed is attached to a silky parachute called a coma. The comas are hollow and coated with wax, making them six times more buoyant than cork. In fact, during World War II, the fluffy silk was used to fill Personal Flotation Devices when the usual material was in short supply. It is also used in comforters as a hypoallergenic filler and can be used as tinder to start fires. But the main purpose of the coma is to disperse the milkweed seeds far and wide via the wind.

Each two-toned brown seed, overlapped on one another like the scales of a pinecone, is amazingly attached to the silky, pure white fluff that lays thin and straight in the pod. The tough, fibrous pod cracks open to reveal this biologic engineering feat (of which there are millions!) that transforms into an aviation wonder! Beautiful to behold!

Seeing beauty is easy when flowers bloom, grass is green, leaves are colorful, and water is flowing. Winter’s beauty is harder to see and appreciate. It reminds me of people driving through the western prairie lands of South Dakota, Nebraska, and Kansas–many think there’s nothing to see or that it’s boring or drab! We just have to look harder, change our parameters of beauty, and open ourselves to the subtleties of form, color, and function. There is beauty, exquisiteness, and wonder in all the seasons of Life.

From Hungry Caterpillar to Beautiful Butterfly

September 16, 2014 by Denise Brake 5 Comments

We lived in Missouri when the kids were little, and we had black walnut trees on our acreage. Messy as they are in autumn when the green nuts fall from the trees and turn tarry black, they are the host tree for the eggs of a magnificent moth. The kids and I found a silken wrapped cocoon among the leaves one day in late summer and brought it into the house. The cocoon resided on the end table under the brass lamp, and for months we didn’t give it much thought. One day I heard a noise–a rattling, shaking noise–coming from the cocoon! And it was moving! In a number of days, the activity inside the cocoon increased until one morning, a wet-looking, bedraggled moth emerged and crawled up the lamp to hang on the lampshade to rest and fill its wings. The wings were bright green with eyespots and long tails on the hind wings. It was a big, beautiful Luna Moth! The kids were so excited that their cocoon had ‘hatched!’ The moth flew around in the house for a few days, then laid rows of brownish eggs on the lampshade. The adult moths do not eat–they mate, lay eggs, and die within a week of emerging from the cocoon.

The whole transforming process of butterflies and moths–from eggs to hungry caterpillars to flying adults–is intriguing and inspiring. It is the iconic metaphor of changes in life–beginnings, development, growth, rest time, transformation and struggle, and the beauty of the emerging self.

I have collected a few photos of butterflies and caterpillars over the summer–others, like the Yellow Swallowtail, teased me with their frequent visits to the flowers, but I just wasn’t able to get their pictures.

The familiar Woolly Bear caterpillar, known for the folklore of predicting the severity of the upcoming winter, is also called the Hedgehog caterpillar because it curls up and ‘plays dead’ when disturbed.

The more interesting fact about this caterpillar is that it overwinters in its caterpillar form, producing a cryoprotectant or natural antifreeze in its tissues that allows it to live frozen all winter. The Woolly Bear caterpillar thaws in the spring and pupates to become the little known but beautifully named Isabella Tiger Moth.

I found a Red Admiral butterfly on a tree up in the Brainerd Lakes Area and a White Admiral right outside our front door.

A Painted Lady graced the Purple Coneflowers at the College of St. Benedict, complementing one another in their colorful beauty.

On a Milkweed plant along the road by our house, a hungry, striped, Monarch caterpillar munched on its food of choice.

At the Butterfly Garden at the College of St. Benedict, a brilliantly colored Monarch in pristine condition alighted on a milkweed flower, while nearby a tattered, pale-colored one rested on buds that were not yet open. What storms and struggles had this faded beauty been through? It must have been close to the end of its 6-week adult life. Only the adults who emerge from the chrysalis in late summer migrate en masse up to 3000 miles to warmer climates.

The transformation of caterpillar to butterfly is illustrated in Eric Carle’s classic children’s book The Very Hungry Caterpillar.

In celebration of two seasons of blogging, I am giving away new 5″ x 7″ board books of The Very Hungry Caterpillar to two readers. ‘Like’ my NorthStarNature Facebook page if you haven’t already, share this post on Facebook or with someone you know, and tell me in your comment if you feel like a caterpillar, chrysalis (cocoon), or butterfly at this time in your life! I will randomly choose two names and let you know the winners on Friday. Thanks to all of you for reading my blog!

A Chilly Morning to See

September 11, 2014 by Denise Brake 4 Comments

It was a chilly morning this morning–cool enough to wear long pants, a fleece, and a windbreaker. The dog and I walked our usual morning route. I noticed how the new mullein plants were growing alongside the road. Mullein or Flannel Plant is an introduced biennial from Europe. The first year the plant grows only the soft gray basal leaves. The woolly leaves have been used as wicks for torches, lining for socks and moccasins to insulate from the cold, as diapers, as a balm to soothe sunburn, and as a tea to treat colds. The plant will overwinter in this state.

The second year, the flower stalk grows two to six feet tall with a spike of yellow flowers.

It then dries to a dark brown at this time of year so the seeds can disperse for the next year’s crop of velvet-leaved, first-year plants.

I saw a grasshopper on a milkweed plant, sluggish and slow moving in the cool air. I noticed he was missing a leg. Perhaps the dog had grabbed at the hopper on a previous walk and caused the mishap, since catching grasshoppers seems to be her new preoccupation.

The spotty-leaved red twig dogwood was beginning to show its color, as was the poison ivy.

Then as I looked past the clover patch that I walk by every day, I thought, “What the heck–is that a boat in the grass down there?!” Through the camera lens I could see an old rowboat.

Why had I not noticed that before? It was on the bank of a small drainage pond that was now filled with cattails.

I realized that someone had probably been able to float it in June when we had so much rain and before the cattails grew tall, but it certainly looked out of place now. Out of place in a lovely kind of way.

I consider myself an observant person, but I realize that we often see only what we want to see. I ‘see’ nature everywhere I go–tiny details to movement to the big picture, but I couldn’t care less about ‘seeing’ fashion. When my oldest daughter was in kindergarten, she would come home and tell me exactly what the teacher wore to school that day–and she still ‘sees’ and loves fashion details!

Sometimes we don’t see things that are in plain sight. Now granted, our brains have to filter out many things that are right before our eyes or within hearing distance or touching our skin just because we would be overwhelmed by stimuli if it did not. But often we put our own filters or blinders on what we see and know. And that can be a deterrent to living a full and wonderful life.

So I’m going to be open to ‘see’ more things in my life. Maybe seeing the boat this morning did that for me. And now that I think about it, I did see a pair of brown leather boots that I liked in the latest Eddie Bauer catalog!

“One way to open your eyes to unnoticed beauty is to ask yourself, ‘What if I had never seen this before? What if I knew I would never see it again?’ ” –Rachel Carson

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