pasque flower Archives - NorthStarNature

Darkness Brings Promise

May 2, 2021 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

Spring sunsets look like promise to me, which seems backward—one would think sunrises bring promise with the beginning of a new day. So I’m not sure what it is exactly that makes me think that, but I do know promise arises from some very dark situations.

Fire-scorched earth greeted a friend and I when we arrived for a morning walk at St. John’s Arboretum. It’s rather shocking to see acres and acres of blackened prairie and wetland. There were no more smoldering embers, but the acrid smell of smoke and ash swirled into the air and into our nostrils with the stiff breeze. The trail was the line of demarcation as we walked—on one side was the black earth, on the other side the brown and greening prairie.

Among the old, brown grass and new, green shoots, we found a clump of Pasque flowers—early bloomers of the prairie. The pale purple flowers were closed; the long, silky white hairs that covered the whole plant shone in the sunlight. The state flower of South Dakota, Pasque flowers are dear to my heart. They are known by some as May Day Flower.

Prescribed or controlled burns of prairies are a common tool to manage the land. Fire destroys invasive and woody plants, thus improving the native plant community. It quickly returns nutrients to the soil by way of the ash as opposed to years of decomposition of accumulated dried grasses.

A yellow-stemmed willow, a woody plant, is out of place on the prairie. While the matted, dried grasses provide protection for perennials over the cold Winter, it takes much more time for the prairie to ‘turn green.’ The black, burned side soaks up the sunlight, which warms the earth, the root systems, and the growth crowns of the grasses and wildflowers that remain. As stark as the burned side looks now, it will be lush and green before the other side. There is promise in fire.

So although it doesn’t look like it, much remains after the fast-burning prairie fire.

Since it was a relatively dry Winter without much snow, and early Spring was also fairly dry, the ‘wetland’ of cattails and rushes could also be burned this year.

But on the other side, the old, brown stalks of cattails and rushes gave cover to the nesting waterfowl. This young-looking Canadian Goose was frozen in her long-necked posture when we walked by on the boardwalk. At first I wondered if she was injured, but later I realized that she was probably just alarmed for her nest of eggs.

Her mate flew in as we walked on, so we backtracked to see that the female was in the cattails, probably at her nest. A nest full of potential.

As we left the prairie and wetlands, we entered the forest and saw what I was hoping to see—blooming Leatherwoods! The tubular yellow flowers hung from the tough, flexible branches of the understory shrubs.

This little Leatherwood tree looked like a child to me—fresh and bright, strong and pliable beside the tall, mature forest trees. The embodiment of prospects and hopes.

A fallen tree had scattered across the trail. It was unusual in that it had been so far-decayed while standing. Usually a dead tree falls and most of the decay process happens on the ground. The light amber wood of this tree was dry and crumbly, like a Jenga tower tumbling to the ground.

Bright, vibrant Fan Clubmoss and Shining Clubmoss grew from the old leaf litter, like miniature Cedars and Pines. Evergreens keep hope alive even through the longest Winters.

A small hanging nest, last year’s nest, was visible on the bare, budded branches. There will be new nest building and some re-use of old as the Spring promise of new eggs and new baby birds unfolds.

Nature embraces and expresses duality in most every aspect—the dark of night and the light of day, fire and ash and new, green growth, exposure and protection, decay and flexible growth. Should we think our lives would be any different? We are a part of Nature, her sons and daughters who start from eggs and grow and develop with protection and vulnerability. No matter what scorches us, our roots remain, and we can rise like the Phoenix from the ashes. That’s how sunsets show us promise, how first flowers display hardiness, how the young goose reveals potential, how Leatherwood demonstrates flexibility, and how the Jenga tree explains the cycle of Life.

No One is Exempt

May 3, 2020 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

There is a collective suffering in the world right now. We can’t ignore it like we have conveniently done in the past—when the suffering didn’t affect us or threaten us or kill us or shut down our businesses or make us lose our jobs or change the way we lived our lives. But now…now all of those things are possible or happening. No one is exempt. Some are better off than others, but no one is exempt.

Suffering is personal, even as we do this together as a world. It hurts our bodies, our spirits, our resolve, our bank accounts, our hearts. In the throes of our personal suffering, we slip into survival mode—we become less social, more focused on ourselves. We may lash out at those around us—the very ones we love and adore who are standing up in the shaky boat with us. Or we may project our pain and suffering onto ‘them,’ the ‘others’—the ones making the ‘rules’ to try to keep us from dying, the media who are informing us, our neighbors who aren’t following the ‘rules,’ the ones who think, act, look, or believe differently than we do. ‘They’ are to blame for the pain.

Personal suffering feels like living all alone in a hermit hut in the wilderness—and the roof leaks when it rains—and the cold wind blows in through the cracks—and there’s barely room to lay down—and the food is scarce—and there are creatures lurking about outside and inside the tiny hut….

…and looking out, the world looks bleak and bare.

Chris and I hiked at Saint John’s Arboretum last weekend. We were not very far into our walk before I saw a sight that made my heart so happy—a cluster of Pasque flowers! Lavender sepals with delicate stripes, bright yellow stamens, soft, fuzzy stems to insulate them from the still-cold nights. Pasque flowers are the first prairie flowers to bloom; they signal the end of Winter, as they can bloom surrounded by snow. They are a sign of Spring and hope. (The word Pasque is derived from the Hebrew word for Passover.) So lovely!

Yellow and red-twigged Willows with yellow-flowering catkins burst into life around the lakes.

Red-winged blackbirds sang their joyous melody from their precarious perches on old Cattail stems.

Another early-blooming grassland plant is Prairie Smoke. I scarcely caught sight of the pinkish-red flower buds in the old and new growth of the prairie grasses.

The waterfowl birds were in the predictable, peaceful process of nest-building, mating, and raising a family. The seasonable cycle, the circle of Life. New life among the remains of last season’s life.

Trees at the Arboretum had just begun to bloom—the pinkish-red cloud of Maple tree blossoms…

…and the delicate yellow blooms on my favorite flexible little tree, Leatherwood!

No matter the length or harshness of Winter, when the warming sun of early Spring hits the bare, leaf-covered ground in the forest, the Spring Ephemerals burst into bloom! They grow, flower, and fade away quickly, but they are an important part of the ecosystem being the first food for pollinators.

Life was coming to life again after a cold, seemingly lifeless Winter. It is the way of Mother Nature. The bleak and bare world was an illusion—the life force was hidden for a while, resting, quiet, gathering nutrients and strength, preparing itself for the growth and renewal of Spring.

Mother Nature brokers in miracles.

An acorn germinating to become an Oak tree

What if no one was to blame for the pain and suffering of this virus? Not China or Trump or Democrats or Republicans or immigrants or Pelosi or that woman governor or fill-in-the-blank. That’s not to say that no one has responsibility or that no one has made mistakes or even that no one hasn’t purposely tried to injure or subject another group of people to hardship. In leadership there is accountability, responsibility, and consequences. Blame is a useless act of projection based on trying to get rid of our own very real pain. Suffering is the illusion of a bleak and bare world. It is the winter of our lives. It is living in a hermit hut and hating every minute of our existence. It is lashing out at those we love and those we oppose. What if pain and suffering are actually harnessing our virtuous qualities to pull us away from the perils in the old life? What if we are resting, a needed rest, in order to burst into new growth? What if right beyond our suffering is a blooming, melodious, life-creating world? Nature is the harbinger of miracles. No one is exempt from the Grace.

Earth, Teach Us on this Earth Day

April 22, 2018 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

EARTH, TEACH ME

An Ute Prayer

Earth teach me quiet—as the grasses are still with new light.

Earth teach me suffering—as old stones suffer with memory.

Earth teach me humility—as blossoms are humble with beginning.

Earth teach me caring—as mothers nurture their young.

Earth teach me courage—as the tree that stands alone.

Earth teach me limitation—as the ant that crawls on the ground.

Earth teach me freedom—as the eagle that soars in the sky.

Earth teach me acceptance—as the leaves that die each fall.

Earth teach me renewal—as the seed that rises in the spring.

Earth teach me to forget myself—as melted snow forgets its life.

Earth teach me to remember kindness—as dry fields weep with rain.

Let the words of this beautiful prayer float around you as they are sung by this talented choir.

Earth Day is a special day to remember and celebrate all that is good and beneficial about our Earth. We are the stewards of this Home to us all. And just as caregivers to children or elders know, the cared-for also teach us in profound ways. The Earth and all of Nature—our Mother Earth, our Mother Nature—can teach us qualities we need to know. Are we receptive? We can learn listening skills from the quiet of grasses in the morning light. We can learn resilience from the suffering of our earth and rocks from exploitation and apply that to the heavy stones we carry of our burdensome memories. Like a child, we can cultivate wonder and humility as we watch the miraculous unfolding of flowers. We can learn responsibility and how to nurture vulnerable creations as we watch animal parents care for their young. The solitude of a lone tree can offer us a model of courage and fortitude in the face of harsh conditions. When we feel small and inadequate, we can remember how the ant lives with limitations, and in that reality, can actually perform great feats. An eagle in the sky models freedom and possibilities. We can learn acceptance and peace from the cycle of life. There are yearly lessons of renewal and rejuvenation with each Spring. We can learn about transformation and transcendence as we watch snow melt to water, water turn to vapor, vapor fall as rain. And as that rain provides the very basic need of water to dry plant life, we can learn about kindness, philanthropy, and grace. There, but by the grace of God, go I. Imagine our world, our Earth, our lives if everyone learned these eleven lessons. Happy Earth Day!

This Huge Nest Called Earth

April 22, 2017 by Denise Brake 4 Comments

Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher.

–William Wordsworth

Last weekend I was off the internet for three and a half days, and I feel ridiculous for even saying that like it’s some big deal, since I have lived two-thirds of my life on Earth without that technology. (And having lived two-thirds of my life without it, I can honestly proclaim that the internet is a-mazing!) I didn’t miss it; though along with not having tv, I did have a slight feeling of missing out on what was going on in the world. But since most of what’s on the news right now gives me a sinking feeling in my stomach, I was better off not knowing. So what did I do? I visited with my Mom who came for the weekend. I cooked food for our Easter celebration. I laughed with my family around the dinner table. I read a little bit of the Sunday paper. And we all went outside to hike, to take pictures, to walk the dog, to bask in the warm sunshine on a wind-cooled day, and to revel in the emerging signs of Spring.

We hiked at our nearby Eagle Park and were disappointed when we saw no movement of gray fluff or adult guardian in the huge eagle’s nest—the second of three years now with no viable eaglets. We wondered whether it was the age of the parent eagles or if the nearby Sauk River food source was contaminated with something that interfered with the egg development. (Happily, the other nearby eagle’s nest did have a couple of gray fluffy babies and a watchful parent.) The bright-light sunshine cast shadows on the tomb-size boulders scattered throughout the park.

A clump of Pasque flowers, also called Easter flower and prairie crocus, bloomed along the trail.

Golden stands of last year’s prairie grasses waved in the wind with hints of green growing up between them.

Nodding heads of Prairie Smoke flower buds hung from early Spring foliage.

We saw the first Bluebird of Spring at Eagle Park, then later delighted that our pair had returned to the yard to check out the houses Chris hastily put up.

Our Spring crocuses were an absolute sight for sore eyes, a shocking display of regal purple, pure white, and purple striped color after a winter of gray, white, and brown. I couldn’t help but smile and marvel at the sight of them!

Every year, as we come forth into the light of Spring, we are inundated with marvelous, amazing examples of creation, renewal, and transformation. The old, golden grasses give way to the growing green. The birds return to their northern breeding grounds and prepare for raising their young. The miraculous perennials push through the chilly soil for another year of growth and flowering and bearing fruit. We are just another part of Nature’s transforming miracle. We are Easter people. We come together with family and friends. We prepare nourishing food to share with one another. We commune around the table with prayer, talk, and laughter. And then we are drawn outside to commune with Nature, with that from which we come and whom sustains us. In September of 1965, President Lyndon B. Johnson signed a bill establishing the Assateague Island Seashore National Park with these words, “If future generations are to remember us more with gratitude than sorrow, we must achieve more than just the miracles of technology. We must also leave them a glimpse of the world as God really made it, not just as it looked when we got through with it.” Through the miracle of the internet, I commission all of us to become guardians of our little parts of this huge nest called Earth. Happy Earth Day to us all!

Gleanings from April 2015

May 2, 2015 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

When I was in grade school there were two boys who rode my school bus who sat at the back of the bus and talked loudly and used foul words that made me cringe. I thought they were knuckleheads. It didn’t stop me from taking my place at the back of the bus where I would verbally spar with them using words they didn’t know. In fourth or fifth grade, I got a phone call from one saying the two of them wanted to come see me on Saturday. I had absolutely no clue why they would want to come to my place, but after saying okay, I started planning our expedition. A beautiful creek wound around our place in the foothills of the Blue Mountains. It was my wilderness passage–from our long gravel driveway to the huge culvert that went under the Pennsylvania Turnpike and was large enough for us to ride our horses through. The boys arrived that Saturday morning. I stood in my rubber boots, saying we would explore the creek. The beginning of the journey was easy and benign–the babbling creek with rocks and crayfish was picturesque and navigating it went smoothly. As we ventured on, the way got more difficult–briars folded thickly over the sides of the creek. One cannot barrel through such brambles without harm–it takes patience and skill to lift the thorny branches and scramble under them. The boys started complaining and wondered why anyone would do this. And I was in my element–each passage through the creek was an exploration of Nature’s wonders. I told them all about the plants and creatures I knew about. After more than an hour of leading the expedition, we arrived at the waterfalls–my favorite place. Boulders built the four-foot high falls, and the water from the mountains cascaded over them into a deep, cold pool. This was the reward for toiling up and down muddy banks, through the briars, and over the slippery rocks! What a great morning! The boys were tired and complaining and called their mom as soon as we got back home. It was the only time they came to my place.

In the middle of April, my friend Ruth invited me to explore the islands in the Mississippi River below her house. With our minimal snowfall and spring rain, the River was low enough to walk across rocks to get to the islands. Our canine companion Coors was eager to investigate and happily ran ahead of us.

We discovered tracks and made tracks of our own in the mud.

Even the main channel of the River was low, and the water swirled around the sandbars poking through.

Walking the islands was like we were navigating a different world. Tall trees, both standing and marooned, inhabited the island wilderness with no regard for the homes that lined the banks of the River on either side of it.

April is an exploration of Spring. New discoveries unfold with each passing day. Creatures of all kinds can be found at any given time. I was surprised to find two squirrels and a rabbit eating together beneath the bird feeder.

When the sap was flowing from the drilled maple tree, I noticed the yellow-bellied sapsucker spending most of his day clinging to the tree, lapping up the sweet liquid.

On a walk one day, we found a tiny, penny-sized turtle alongside the road.

When we returned to the eagles’ nests, we discovered the first nest was empty. Perhaps the eggs never hatched or the tiny eaglets didn’t make it for one reason or another. At the second nest, we were surprised at how fast the two eaglets had grown in a month’s time! They were nearly as large as the parents! And still we spotted the papa eagle bringing food to the young ones.

The young eaglets were standing in the nest when I first got out of the car, but the mama must have told them to lie low when she saw me. The one dark-feathered eaglet is to the left of the male with its head at the fork of the tree trunk, while the other one is behind the mama.

Early spring flowers trailblazed through April with color and magnificence–first bright forsythia, then elegant star magnolia and furry pasque flowers.

April snow and April rain unearthed Spring among days of sunshine and warmth.

Life is like my first photograph of the Viburnum tree–the present is unfolding right in front of us, grabbing our attention and our energy. But there is so much more beyond the opening of the leaves or the expedition following the creek. I never knew why those boys came to my house–perhaps one of them liked me. We never talked about it again, but they seemed to have a new respect for me or maybe for all girls. What lies beyond or behind the present? The oak and cedar trees are an important backdrop to the viburnum–the woods are deep and wide with discoveries to be made. My expedition up the creek had little to do with those boys and much to do with my past and my future. We decide which tracks to follow and which tracks to make. We navigate life like the River and the creek, watching out for sandbars, sometimes getting stuck, sometimes finding treasures. And each year brings Renewal–often side by side with loss and pain. From our nest of protection and sustenance, we are free to explore, grow, make new friends, and drink the sweetness of life.

Pasque Flowers

May 6, 2014 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

Pasque flowers on SD prairie hill by LAn

It is a rite of Spring for my Mom, and I would join her whenever I was home at that time of year. We would walk down the field road, climb through the barbed wire fence, cross the dirt bridge, and follow the cow path around to a hill that faced the southwest. In among the rocks and newly growing prairie grass was the prize we were looking for–the Pasque flower! After the long, cold winters, there was a stirring pleasure in seeing the first blooms of spring. This chunk of land–part of my Grandfather Nels’ farm–was virgin native prairie. It had never been plowed–the rocks, the grass, and the prairie flowers have been there for centuries. No man planted them–they were just there.

The Pasque flower is the State flower of South Dakota. It is sometimes called the May Day flower since it often blooms around that time. Other names include prairie crocus, wind flower, Easter flower (pasque is Old French for Easter), or meadow anemone. Long silky hairs cover the leaves and flower stalks, helping to insulate them in the chilly spring weather. The flower is lavender colored and delicate. Once the petals fall off, the seed head is wispy and feathery.

Pasque flower seed heads by LAn

The Pasque flowers or Mayflowers, as my Mom calls them, are marvelous plants defiantly persevering the cold, snowy springs and relentless winds that sweep across the prairie. Yet their petals are delicate in color and constitution. Chris planted a trio of Pasque flowers in our no-mow grass last year, and one of the silvery, fuzzy plants that pushed its way up unveiled its flower on May 2nd. I was excited and so pleased to see it!

It connects me to the prairie, to my Grandpa and Mom, and to everything it represents. I believe the Pasque flower embodies a generational and cultural hope in the resurrection of Spring life, of new crops and calves, of gratitude for making it through a tough winter, and of new beginnings. My stoic Swedish grandfather showed these flowers on the hill to my mother who showed them to me. Nature does the talking. And quietly, we learn to listen.

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