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Crossing the Threshold

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There are many times in our lives we encounter a threshold where time seems to slow down with the weightiness of our next step. We become aware of all that has transpired in the past, and depending on the facts and our mindset, it may be tinged with negative feelings or with feelings so positive we are reluctant to leave it behind. And yet, the unknown landscape before us is calling our name in whispers both alluring and compelling. We are standing at the point of no return. No matter how comfortable or beautiful or sad the past has been, there is no going back—we must take that step, cross the threshold, and continue forward.

I am the worst when standing on the threshold. I can barely bring myself to leave the comfort I have grown into and around, so thoroughly enmeshed in the steadiness I have built into my past. I can be looking forward to the next adventure with excitement—whether school or a new place to live—and still I have a knot in my stomach, tears in my eyes, and fingers clenched on the door jamb in a dare to time and loved ones to move me forward. I fail miserably at adaptability.

I usually argue with Mother Nature at this time of year as the warmer temperatures of Spring start to melt Winter’s beautiful snow. I don’t want to see it go. I adore the ‘snow light’ that permeates the house. I love the crisp crunch when walking on the miraculous crystals. The cold feels so good on my face and body. But this last week, I have (mostly) graciously conceded to time (it has been five months with snow on the ground), temperatures (how can it be 78 degrees?), and my loved ones (who can’t wait for warmer days and green grass.) Mother Nature has shoved us through the threshold into Spring!

On Easter Monday Chris and I hiked our last snow hike of the season at Greenleaf Lake State Recreation Area. The tracks on the slushy ice of the lake were vestiges of ice-fishing capades. There is no going back there this season.

Old cattails with bulgy, lightened seedheads were ripe for dispersal of the fluffy seeds. Soon they will fly away to their new homes to make new plants in the cycle and circle of life.

The trail was a combination of sunshiny bare ground and soft, sinky snow where the warm temps had released the solid structure of the frozen molecules.

The Red Oaks and Ironwoods were liberating the old leaves they had carried all Winter, and the beautiful amber color of them was littered along the wooded trail. The beautiful Spring-is-here litter in the dirty snow!

We saw trees in all states—fallen soldiers who now protect a waterway from erosion, a decaying tree that gives a focused vision of the lake, a towering Oak with the power of the sun behind it activating the bud-popping sap, and the bark-stripped, weathered wood of a standing piece of art.

There were trees stuck in the ice, leaning or fallen into the lake but still alive, connected to roots, and getting ready to grow in their unorthodox positions.

Long-fallen trees in the midst of decay sported colorful little shelf mushrooms, along with lichens and moss. There was life among the death.

The spiny caterpillar-like stem of a gooseberry branch will be one of the first to open green buds beside the sharp thorns.

And the vibrant scarlet stems of Red-twigged Dogwoods are setting their pointy-leaved buds on the threshold of Spring.

A holey tree with a halo of golden Ironwood leaves has seen many decades of the past and has fewer years of life before it. It is probably gripping the threshold with roots and branches, too. How does one leave such a beautiful, holy life?

But then I spot a constellation of stars in an old Oak leaf in the dirty snow. Water and sunlight, in just the right way, created a new cosmic entity! There is so much in the world that we don’t see and don’t comprehend. We are like tiny new buds in the timeline of our ancient world.

Mother Nature gave me a reprieve today on my threshold of Spring. We woke up to white and will have six inches by the end of the day. But it will most likely be gone again tomorrow. There’s no going back—Spring is here. There is always life of a new season after the death of an old one. The threshold time is a pause for looking back, for gathering the good that gave our hearts comfort and joy, but also for listening to the siren calls of our souls that entice us onward. What whispers do you hear? What constellation of stars do you see?

The Goodness Takes Over

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Have you ever not wanted a day to end? A day like riding horseback with good companions in warm sunshine? Like an amazing wedding day? Like a longed-for celebration after years of endeavor? Have you ever not wanted a time in your life to end? A time like the carefree college years? Like the close, nurturing time with a baby? Like the busy, fun, crazy days of kids’ high school activities? Have you ever not wanted a season to end?

I may be in the minority, but I don’t want Winter to end—not so early and not so quickly, that is. It’s been an easy Winter. After some early October snow, November and most of December were snow-free and relatively warm. We had a mild January with a few fits of snow here and there. Granted, we had one week of biting cold temperatures in February, and truth be told, it gave me hope that Winter (as I wanted it) was finally here. But the pendulum swung to the other extreme, and the melt was upon us. Temperatures burst above freezing, then crept into the 40’s—in early February, I exclaimed?! My Winter hope was revived with a snow last weekend, just one week ago today—a good four to five inches! Beautiful! I love how the snow hugs the trees.

I love the blue tree shadows on snow, both sun shadows and moon shadows. I love how the cold feels on my face, how the snow crunches under my boots, and how I can ‘track’ the animals that share this world with me.

But very soon the new snow settled and melded together with sunshine and above-freezing temperatures. Each day this week got warmer and warmer. Grass started showing around trees and by the edge of the road. Large patches of grass grew as the snow melted.

Yesterday the thermometer read 50 degrees—was I seeing things? But the evidence was there; there was no denying it.

Most people, I would guess, don’t want to let go of the hot, flip-flop days of Summer…or the blossom-laden, cool hope of Spring…or even the crisp, apple-picking days of Autumn. I meet those seasonal transitions with aplomb, so why am I so reluctant to give up Winter?

It’s like those days, those times, that we don’t want to end. Winter looks good, and more importantly, it feels good to me. There are twinges of regret that we didn’t do enough or even do the things we had planned in our heads. I had two more places where I definitely wanted to snowshoe this season! The good times slip away and often we don’t even realize it’s ending. But what is it exactly that we don’t want to let go of? I think it’s how those days and those times and those seasons make us feel alive. When we lose ourselves in the very moments we are living. When the temperature or the difficulty or the busyness is not even a thought in our head, let alone the headline of our day. When we love the people we are with and the activities we are doing. The Goodness takes over. The giddy, smiling, heart-full, satisfying Goodness that we are blessed to experience. I will feel my sadness as Winter slips away, but with Goodness are miracles. The melting snow uncovers and makes room for the miracles of Spring. Each of those days and times and seasons that we don’t want to end, fills us with Goodness for the next part of our journey towards our next heart-full day in our miraculous lives.

The Mess is Real

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It’s been kind of a tough week. One of those weeks when there seems to be an ice dam blocking the normal flow of life, flooding places I don’t want to be flooded with things I don’t want to deal with—it’s been a reflection of what’s been happening in physical time in the upper Midwest. My heart goes out to all who are dealing with the literal ice dams and floods—the damage is extensive; the mess is real.

Meanwhile, on our hill high above the River, Spring has arrived in a calm, quiet form. The warmish days and cold nights have slowed the snow melt after the rapid accumulation of rain and melting snow that have unleashed the fury to the south of us. We are beginning to see the ground.

With melting of the snow comes a revelation of the debris of Winter. Piles of sunflower and safflower seed hulls mound on the ground under the bird feeders as the snow disappears from the layers of Winter.

The Fall-raked lawn is now scattered with pinecones, sticks, and pine needles that Winter’s harsh snows and winds dislodged from the high branches of the mature trees.

The garden is considerably less filled with snow than a week ago but still quite a ways from Spring planting.

The deer have left some debris in their Winter pathways—we just watch our step and wait to see what grows in that fertilized space.

But the Spring stirring has started in the Maple trees! Flower buds have emerged from the branches, poised for exuberant activity to come. On the warm, sunny afternoons, sap is flowing, darkening the bark as the upward flow leaks out and flows back down.

Beneath the snow, there are millions of blades of green grass arising from dormancy, getting ready to carpet the world with life.

The patio is emerging from mounds of snow, the sun-warmed rocks being the first to push back the snow.

The remains of Fall still decorate the background of snow but will soon be lost in the riotous, new green growth of Spring.

Fall, Winter, and the potential of Spring collide in this first week of the Vernal Equinox.

With each day, the grass patches are getting larger, and the snow patches are shrinking. We prepared for Winter by getting everything cleaned up, tidy, and put away. But even in the dormancy, lots of things happen, and some of them are messy. In other words, we have to clean up after Winter, too. What of this dormancy and incubation time of Winter for us? I think this time of quiescence is actually a gathering of old, fall-like ideas and beliefs that rumble around under the insulation of our consciousness. What is uncovered come Spring? It’s kind of messy. It creates blockages in the flow of our ‘normal’ living. New ideas spring forth and flood the way we once thought or planned. We see the ground (thank goodness), but the seeds are not yet sown. I will watch my step. I feel poised for exuberant activity to come.