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Threading the Needle

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This spring I participated in a Lenten book study at our church on conflict. The book was ‘Redeeming Conflict’ by Ann M. Garrido. As a conflict-averse person, it felt a little like stepping into the flame (okay, make that the fire). It was not at all comfortable or familiar to me, (but isn’t that what the Lenten season is supposed to be?) As a middle-child peacekeeper, I would much rather everybody just all get along, and then we wouldn’t even need this book or have these difficult conversations! The premise of the book is similar in that people may think there isn’t conflict in churches—that everybody all gets along in Christian love—but the author and the pastor who led our class knowingly pointed that out as a fallacy. Both also argued that conflict could be a ‘good thing!’ (Anybody else feeling uncomfortable?)

As a scientist, the subject of conflict was never on my list of classes. I readily believed that science is science is life—there are ideas (hypotheses), methods, protocols, experiments, data, results, and always those tentative conclusions with ‘further study is needed.’ There could be disagreement on the integrity of the hypothesis or the methodology, but it just meant that things needed to be honed and adjusted. And that there would always be more experiments! (I would like to acknowledge my naivete on conflict-free science with due respect to those of you who know that I am wrong about that.) As uncomfortable as the book topic was, it was also fascinating to me! I was stepping into a new universe of awareness. One of my favorite parts of the book was the idea that we tend to conflate the problem with the person we are having the problem with—the problem then becomes the other person or the other side, as in politics. Blame is a cheap and easy way to inflict pain and not take care of the issue. But we can step out of that by identifying the problem (which is often the hard part) and standing side by side with the person in unity to solve the problem. (I have shared this fascinating concept with a dozen people…and now all of you…in my enthusiasm that this should change the world!) But how do we thread that needle?

Last Sunday Chris and I went up to Crow Wing State Park by Brainerd. Most of the parks by major rivers in the state are still dealing with flooding, and when we checked the website, it said the south trails and the Red River Oxcart trail were impassable. We hadn’t been on the north trails for quite a while, so we set out to do that. We parked at the campground that had recently opened and headed north. The needle-like, green-as-can-be Sedge grass was blooming, as were the Bloodroots with their protective capes of curled leaves. Both are perennial pioneers of Spring.

After following the ridge for a ways, we began to descend the hill towards the Mississippi River….and found that our trail had ended in the floodwaters. This was a problem even the bridge couldn’t resolve.

We backtracked, then took a trail by the River that led to the boat launch. Another Spring pioneer, Prairie Buttercup, shone its little ray of sunshine in the brown leaf litter.

The River was full (of course, out of its banks), but the current had slowed from the fury of the tumultuous ice and snow melt. The puffy white clouds and the dark tree shadows were reflected on the water.

And then we got to the boat launch and parking lot. Both were full of water.

We backtracked again. We talked about how the River looked fairly calm, and suddenly Chris said, “Let’s walk out on that log.”

My first reaction was “You can do that” and then I looked more closely at the fallen tree the rushing water had unmoored.

At the base of the tree was a Garter snake stretched out in a patch of sunlight. The wind was cool from the northwest, so we were all enjoying the sun!

We tried another trail from the campground that connected to the Paul Bunyan State Bike Trail. We successfully navigated a low spot that had wetlands on either side. The Spring Peepers were singing loud and strong—it sounded like a million of them! But I could not spot a single one of the singers as I zoomed and scanned the marsh.

We hiked on the bike trail up on the ridge for a little while but knew we wouldn’t be able to loop around on the trail by the River, so once again we turned around. The valley below held the flood waters that spanned a half a mile or so from the bridge we couldn’t cross.

We took a trail that ran parallel to the flood waters to see how far we could go. Willow blossoms were perches for Red-winged Blackbirds, and trees that literally could not stand another flooding tipped and fell into the water.

Then in the brush of Willows, Red-twigged Dogwoods, and old, exploded Cattails, I saw the ‘eye of the needle’ embodied in a fallen log and its reflection. Anyone who has threaded lots of needles would recognize that shape.

The valley was vast when viewed from the reflections of the flood waters—it was another natural place that accepted the extra Spring water from the Mississippi River. I wondered how many places along the 2,340 miles of the Mighty Mississippi have been the overflow areas for all these millennia.

We hiked up the ridge cross-country to the campground when the trail became covered with water.

We drove to the south trails parking lot to see what the River was doing there. It is where the Crow Wing River meets the Mississippi River as they merge around the island of Crow Wing.

This convergence of high water from two rivers takes over the lowlands on the peninsula that is circled by the Red River Oxcart Trail. The trails were blocked in two directions, not far from the old townsite.

But the waters had receded from their highest mark, leaving behind a mat of debris.

So we headed for higher ground again, above the old townsite, above the flood waters, into a peaceful, sun-dappled pine forest. It seemed like a good place to stop and rest and breathe in the wonderful pine smell.

Threading the needle, besides the literal meaning, is defined as skillfully navigating between conflicting forces or interests; to find harmony or strike a balance; to find a path through opposing views. In football and other sports, it means throwing or hitting a ball through a narrow gap, all of which take an abundant amount of practice and dedication. On our hike, we were trying to find a path through the woods but were stymied in almost every direction by Mother Nature’s floodwaters. Even the bridge of connection had been washed away. Sometimes the power differential determines the path (and therein lies much of ‘the problem’). Conflict is the same way, despite my desire for fairness and mutual cooperation in identifying and solving a problem. Redeeming conflict may not work with those who have no desire for redemption. In facing the flood, we backtracked and tried again and again. We took the high ground to find peace for ourselves. We were happy with our day regardless of the setbacks. Redemption is the act of making something better or more acceptable. We can all do conflict better when we know better and dedicate ourselves to harmony. We can be perennial pioneers pushing towards a better life with our protective capes, sunny faces, and the ever powerful grace and mercy of God.

Refresh Your Soul

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How did you welcome in the New Year last month? It was another pandemic year that the collective community of the world was glad to let go of to pursue high hopes for a better 2022. Austin, Texas held its 42nd annual Polar Bear Plunge on New Year’s Day…and we were there! Calling it a Polar Bear Plunge is a misnomer to me, coming from a state where they actually cut holes in the thick ice for people to plunge into truly frigid water! But that’s okay—it’s all relative. Austin’s Polar Bear Plunge is held at Barton Springs Municipal Pool, a natural, spring-fed pool with limestone walls, green grassy banks, and clear, turquoise water. The spring-fed water stays at a very respectable 68 to 70 degrees year round. On this New Year’s Day, the air temperature was in the 70’s (a common summer’s day temp in Minnesota) and hundreds, if not thousands of people were out jumping into the New Year and washing off the old.

After my family swam and played in the tepid waters, we walked along the well-used trail that follows Barton Creek from the pool to Lady Bird Lake. There were people running, walking, strolling, biking, etc. on one side of us, and on the other side, creatures of all sorts were swimming, sunning, resting, and plunging into their new year also. Turtles were everywhere! A group of turtles is called a ‘bale’—we saw many bales of turtles!

All along the Creek and Lady Bird Lake were huge Bald Cypress trees who love to have their feet in the water. The slow-growing, long-lived trees help prevent erosion along the banks during flash floods. The knobby protrusions at the base of the tree are called cypress ‘knees.’ They grow from horizontal roots and are theorized to transport air to the water-laden roots, along with anchoring the tree in its often precarious waterside position.

Aaron, our ever-vigilant snake guy, was the one to notice the big reptile lounging on a fallen tree branch. The Diamondback Watersnake is the largest nonvenomous water snake in North America. They like to lazily dine on fish and amphibians by dipping their heads into the water from their tree branch perches.

On another tree branch overhanging the water was a white Muscovy duck, a unique waterfowl originating in South America. They prefer to spend time in trees and less time swimming, compared to other ducks. They are more sensitive to cold than Mallard-related ducks, and they hiss instead of quack!

As Barton Creek merged into Lady Bird Lake, we saw many kayakers, paddleboarders, and rowers, along with a commotion of American Coots.

Blooming water plants floated on the Lake along with the humans in watercrafts and all sorts of waterfowl. A gorgeous, exquisitely-feathered Wood Duck greeted the New Year in his winter home.

It is a legitimate human tendency to want to wash away an old year, especially ones that were as confounding as the previous two. We want to be done with the virus, the death, the masks, the rules, and the uncertainty. We want life to be ‘normal’ again. Yet, there is something to be said by having a hardship be the experience of everyone. It helps to level the playing field, because truth be told, large numbers of people experience disease, death, unfair rules, and ongoing uncertainty even in their ‘normal’ lives. There are always ideas, habits, and behaviors we need to let go of in our lives, and the New Year is a favored time to do so. We can pursue our high hopes with renewed vigor. Matt Curtis of the Friends of Barton Springs Pool Polar Bear Plunge said, “This is an exciting opportunity to refresh your soul in the waters of Austin.” Refresh your soul. Perhaps that is the anchor we need in our lives in order to navigate the difficult times and to reach for our dreams.

Over the Edge in Love

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I remember the electricity I felt when I met Chris—could he be more handsome or sweet?  Gosh, he was a good dancer.  He talks kindly of his mother (important!)  He was humble, interested in this unusual prairie girl, and had a sense of humor I had never experienced that kept me on my toes.  I wanted more of him, even as he drove away down 400 miles of interstate highway.  What I didn’t know at the time was that I was falling over the edge in love for the first time in my life.  There were three other times when I stood, with Chris, on the precipice, staring into the face of a newborn child, and I was swept away, over the edge in love, for no rational reason—when you know you are either in the realm of crazy or the sacred realm of Spirit.

We traveled 400 miles of interstate highway last weekend to celebrate Chris’ brother and sister-in-law and their 50 years of marriage!  How does one go from falling over the edge in love to celebrating 50 years together?!  I was also fortunate to once again stare into the faces of my first- and second-born and feel the electricity of the all-consuming love parents have for their children, even when they are adults.  My spirit sang its song of joy.

The day before the anniversary party, we took to the trails like we had done so many times when the kids were little.  We explored Parkville Nature Sanctuary on a blue-sky, hot and humid day. (All relative when coming from Texas and Minnesota to Missouri!)

Most of the 115 acres of the Sanctuary and White Alloe Creek Conservation Area is forested, along with streams and wetlands.

We found some little treasures along the trail—bright red fungi and a wise old turtle.

But the main attraction of the Sanctuary was the waterfall.  Water cascaded and tumbled over rocks, bubbling with activity in places, then calmly pooling in others.

Downstream from the main falls was a bridge where a mom and her kids were watching a couple of Northern Water snakes in the swift current.  The female snakes are much larger than the males and both get darker with age.  Gestation is 3-5 months with a single litter of 30 live snakes in August to October!

The female climbed back up a small debris dam as the male washed down over more rocks and falls.

Nothing says ‘beware’ or ‘stay away’ like this tree.  Honey Locusts have frondy branches with small leaves that turn a brilliant yellow in the fall.  The spring flower is strongly scented, and the fruit is a flat pod, 6-8 inches in length, with an edible pulp that encases the seeds.  Honey Locusts are hardy, resilient, and fast-growing.

The trunk and branches, however, are covered in huge thorns that negate the positive qualities of these trees.  Luckily, cultivated thornless varieties have been established.

 

We all stand at the precipice, at the top of the falls, at some points in our lives.  The air is electric, and the water is urging us forward.  Things look pretty beautiful from our dopamine- and serotonin-saturated brains.  It’s easy to fall over the edge in love.  At first, falling over the edge is beautiful and effervescent and carefree—until we hit some rocks, and we lose our way.  Until we encounter snakes and things that scare us.  Until we are tangled up in a mess of thorns that we didn’t ‘see’ until it was too late.  So how do we avoid a false positive for happy-ever-after?  What gets us through those tough times?  What keeps us connected to the things that matter?

Sanctuary.  Walking stick.  Bridge.  Sanctuary is a sacred or holy place, a place of refuge.  It is for protection, peace, growth, faith, and hope—qualities that sustain us over a lifetime.  Walking sticks are used to more easily navigate a tough trail, to keep us safer, to help us out.  There are many times in the span of 35 or 50 years of marriage when we need something or somebody to help us get through the tough spots.  Bridges allow us to move from one side of something to the other side across a divide that may seem impassable.  Love is a bridge—the enduring, respectful, committed, treasure-filled type of Love when you know in your heart and soul that you are in the sacred realm of Spirit.

 

last photo by Chris