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Work Well Done

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I’m not a betting person. I like a sure thing, not the maybe–potential–good day–bad day–luck–fate thing that seems to juice the adrenaline of gamblers on any kind of betting opportunity. Too much drama for me. That’s why I love the changing of the seasons—it’s a sure thing. And yet, there are humans who want to make even that a little more dramatic! When will the leaves be at peak color? Don’t miss your chance to go North to the place where the Fall color will be the most spectacular at this particular time! We even want to game Mother Nature. (I guess that’s nothing new.) Don’t get me wrong—I love the spectacular colors of Autumn leaves at peak times. It really is the epitome of storybook Autumn, especially when paired with pumpkins, hot cider, fingerless gloves, red cheeks, cozy sweaters, and Uggs. But I also love the process of Fall—the subtle shift when plants stop growing and pour all their energy into the production of fruits and seeds, when there is ripening and fullness and deep color to the produce, when waning energy production is noted in the loss of gloss or slight color change in leaves, and when a morning temperature in the low 40’s produces a heavy coat of dew on the warm, sun-soaked earth of the previous day.

Thursday was officially the first day of Autumn, but signs of the process of Fall have been showing for weeks now. Last Sunday Chris and I hiked at Oak Savanna Park in Sherburne County. 140 acres of the park were gifted to the County by Bill and Margaret Cox on the outskirts of Becker. There was a hint of coolness in the cloudy air when we began our hike from the parking lot of Sherburne History Center whose signage reminded us of ox-cart trails, Indian land, and settler farmers who tried and often failed at making a living on the sandy soil. In essence, they urged us to go forth on this land with the knowledge of who and what came before us.

At this park, as at the Sherburne National Wildlife Refuge to the south, there are acres and acres of wetlands.

The rolling hills above the wetlands were home to an impressive Oak stand that is being managed as an Oak Savanna as invasive species like Buckthorn are removed.

Sumac is one of the first tree/shrubs to display their brilliant Fall colors and even show the process of how the leaves change from the outside tips to the central vein of the compound leaves. Aren’t they beautiful?!

Poison Ivy is coordinating its Fall colors below the Sumac.

Certain plants are stand-outs at this time of year—purple-stemmed Raspberries with carnival striped leaves, pale purple and albino bracts of Spotted Horse Mint, and the spiny brown balls of Cockleburs.

The park has horse trails and an extensive disc golf course, so at times we found ourselves on someone else’s turf.

Ash trees are one of the first hardwood trees to change color, and again, the leaves show the Fall process of losing chlorophyll.

And Gooseberries, one of the first shrubs to open their leaves in the Spring, have turned a rosy color along with the Virginia Creeper growing at their feet.

There is a subtleness to Autumn along with the spectacular color. It’s like a sigh after work well done.

Mother Nature has worked hard all Spring and Summer to grow, reproduce, develop, mature, and produce—the work of all our lives in one way or another. It takes a tremendous amount of energy (thank you photosynthesis and Sun) along with imperative resources like soil nutrients and water in order to get to the point of ‘work well done.’ Sigh…

I think we have a tendency to want the ‘good stuff’ right away—the spectacular peak colors, a great paying job as we start our career, a well-furnished ‘dream’ home—the epitome of American life. But when we embrace the process, we don’t ‘wish away’ the time it takes to get to the ultimate experience. The proverbial ‘life’s a journey, not a destination’ holds true in Nature and in our lives. If one only lives for the ‘hit’ of peak colors or for the money jackpot, what happens next? The apex experience only lasts for a minute or two, then we strive to reach the next ‘hit.’ There is wisdom and satisfaction in the process—growth and development comes one way or the other, the embraced way or the hard way. We can go forth on our journeys, satisfied with ourselves and what came before us to get us to this moment, enjoy a time of rest, then move forward into a new season of growth, development, and production. Enjoy the process!

Another Time, Another Season

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I remember those times in my life when change was abrupt, when my life on one side of an event was completely different from the other side and when there was a glimmer of knowing that life as I knew it would never be the same. Some of those events were life-changingly wonderful—the day I met Chris and those three December days I gave birth to our children. Joy was the gift of those days. Others changed my life with gut-wrenching sorrow and disbelief when even the thought of getting through it was untenable, let alone any possibility of healing. How slow the hours drag by when one is in pain.

It is at this time of the year when pictures from a week ago can seem like they are from a different season. A week ago the temperature was abnormally high, the ground was dry, and winds were strong enough to warrant red-flag warnings in multiple states, including Minnesota. This week we have had rain every day—steady, consistent showers with perpetual cloud cover and cooler temperatures. The Spring world has soaked it up and responded—grass is turning green, Forsythia are blooming in sunshine yellow, and leaves are emerging from the dormancy of Winter. Change comes swiftly, eagerly, and joyfully.

Our Easter hike with Aaron and Zoe was at Crane Meadows National Wildlife Refuge, southeast of Little Falls. Wherever I hike at this time of year makes me feel like I have come at the ‘wrong’ time. The snow is gone, and Spring has yet to show up except for the earliest, subtle signs. The Refuge seemed stark and empty, despite the beautiful blue sky. We followed the Platte River trail through an Oak savanna, the sunlight streaming through the bare branches to the brown grass below.

The Platte River was surprisingly wide as we continued through the restored tallgrass prairie. I wondered what the prairie and the beautiful big Oaks looked like in summer and noted to Chris that we needed to return to this place at another time, another season.

And then we saw the fire-ravaged trees—the benign mediocrity of the prairie morphed into signs of sorrow. Fire is one of those events that can change life forever, whether for humans or trees.

Crane Meadows is part of the Sherburne National Wildlife Refuge complex where we saw the same fire damage to trees in an Oak Savanna that had been burned. A controlled, prescribed burn for the prairie should not impact the mature trees in such a way, and I wondered what had gone wrong. The loss was immense.

Like at Sherburne, there was a burned tree graveyard, even more stark in the post-Winter, pre-Spring landscape.

The River and cool water gave visual relief from the burned area of trees. A small dam crossed the Platte, widening it into Rice Lake. I wondered if this was a nest of some sort or just debris that had gathered on the rock with high water.

As the River widened into the shallow lake and wetlands, there seemed to be more ‘life’—Pines, Aspens, Willows, and wetland grasses breathed ‘potential’ into the landscape. Soon a green blush will envelop the Aspens, and the Willows will leaf out from the catkins that had emerged.

Rice Lake had a few ducks—a couple showy, black and white Buffleheads and some rafts of Common Mergansers. I was surprised there weren’t more migrating birds, however, and I wondered if we were too early or too late to see them.

Across the lake we noticed an eagle sitting on a point of land that extended into the water. Through a spotting scope at the observation deck, it looked like he was raiding a nest and eating eggs.

On the return trail, we passed by an eagle’s aerie and saw mother eagle sitting on her expertly engineered nest, panting in the afternoon heat.

I think it’s common for us to believe that something happens at the ‘wrong time.’ We even use it as an apology and ‘out’ for doing something—usually by saying “It’s not the right time for me to do this.” Valid truth-telling in the choices we make. But what about the events that are beyond our control? I have waxed and waned about the ‘wrong timing’ of some events in my life—job searching and recessions, health issues and the fall-out, moves and their impact. Valid truth-telling deemed an excuse? Are the ‘wrong timings’ in our lives a nest full of potential or is it debris? Even if it’s a nest full of potential, a predator at the top of the food chain can destroy those possibilities with a swift stroke of power. And when we try to do the right thing to preserve and maintain the ‘prairie,’ things can go wrong and more harm is done—collateral damage is real and abruptly life-changing. Stark, empty sorrow. But there is a difference between burning it down inadvertently and burning it down on purpose. The arsonists of society are too often at the top of the food chain and slip through the cracks of accountability. Was it the ‘wrong’ time for us to go to Crane Meadows? We didn’t see migrating birds or fluttering sweeps of golden Aspen leaves or blooming prairie wildflowers, but we did see the very real and authentic reality of the transition time between seasons. It wasn’t ‘pretty’ or ‘exciting,’ but it was real—like every one of our lives. Scorched trees and dreams. Bland landscapes and routines. Empty wetlands and pockets—or hearts. New saplings and plans. Life-giving water and compassion. Building nests and resilience. A refuge for them and for us. We will return to this place at another time, another season.

Belle Prairie Shows Us ‘La Vie Est Belle’

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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.