spring ephemerals Archives - NorthStarNature

Walking in Sun Sparkles

May 8, 2022 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

Me making decisions is an excruciating exercise for most of the people around me who do so ‘normally’ or God forbid, quickly. This decision-making can be about buying something or doing something or getting someone to do a repair or whatever. It takes me a long time to decide. It’s part of the fall-out of my perfectionism, I think—I’m afraid I will make the ‘wrong’ decision. So I look at things, read endless reviews, think about it, wonder if the quality is ‘good enough,’ question the future utility of the object, look at it again, think about the pros and cons, wonder if I have enough energy to do something, think about the ramifications, and the craziest of all, wonder what other people would do or will think. It’s exhausting just reading about the process, isn’t it?!

Mother Nature seems to have been in my indecisive mode when it came to Spring this year—she allowed the snow to melt, then made it snow; warmed things up, then froze things; showed the tiniest bit of green, then brown, brown, brown. But we no longer have to search for Spring—Mother Nature is all in on the Spring decision! It was a long time coming, but Spring is bursting forth everywhere! With the snow melt, ice melt, and Spring rains, the Mississippi River has overflowed its banks. When it comes to wildfires and floods, though we most often think of them in negative ways, there is a time and place for each of them. Fires and floods have been an integral part of our ecosystem since the beginning and bring benefits to the plants that inhabit the places that are affected. A floodplain is low lying ground around a river that periodically floods. It is rich with river sediments and nutrients and has a diverse and abundant plant population. As I walked along the River at Mississippi River County Park, I could see the flooding of lowlands and islands.

With the water and nutrients from flooding, and the warm sun of Spring, vegetation was springing from the ground. The trio of leaves of Trillium were unfurling on their long red stems—soon a single flower with three petals will emerge from the foliage for a short period of time until the whole plant dies back for the rest of the year.

The early-blooming Spring Ephemerals have an accelerated growth cycle, taking advantage of the sunshine that filters down before the trees produce their leaves. Dutchman Breeches like to grow on the drier embankments by the River.

Bloodroots were in their full glory! Their single leaf with scalloped lobes wraps like a blanket around a single flower. Often the flower blooms before the leaf unfolds.

Gooseberry shrubs are one of the first to leaf out, and the spotted leaves of White Trout Lilies carpeted the forest floor, where a week ago it was brown.

A few had begun to bloom, and the bees were already gathering pollen and sipping nectar from them.

Hairy Wild Ginger was also unfurling from its underground sleep. The low-lying red flowers were still in tight buds.

The backwaters of the Mississippi—those ponds and streams that often stay filled year-round—were also flooded. I crossed a bridge that had streams of water on both sides that I jumped across. Turtles had their sunning logs poking into the water, and when I got too close, they plopped into the pond leaving only air bubbles behind.

I thought the inland trail would be passable, but very soon after the bridge, water spilled over it. The first ‘puddle’ had an edge of vegetation and a stick that helped me pass with only a little mud on my shoes.

I spotted a Great Blue Heron in the flooded area beside the trail and knelt down to get his picture—what a handsome bird! He walked among the sun sparkles and red Maple flowers that floated on the water.

When I stood up, he flew a bit farther away where I could see his long legs, and I realized how deep the water was where he walked in the flowers and sparkles.

The next trail ‘puddle’ was long and too deep to skirt by. I realized that I wasn’t going to get through without getting my feet wet—so into the flood water I walked. It was warmer than I expected at this time of year. I must have walked through four or five flood puddles before I got to higher ground. I had walked this path many times before but never in water up to my knees!

At the end of the last flood puddle, I found a downy feather, half white, half gray, among the debris and Maple flowers. Smiling to myself, I joyfully celebrated that Spring was really here!

My indecisive decision-making is time and energy consuming, and I had an ally in Mother Nature this Spring. But like Mother Nature’s all-in commitment to Spring this week, once I make a decision, I rarely change my mind or regret the choice I made. I’m still trying to hone down my process. In certain areas of my life, I am able to make faster decisions with confidence—like the Great Blue Heron, I stepped into the flood waters without deliberation. There is a time and place for everything under heaven. In our limited thinking (compared to the Universe), we often judge things as good or bad, wise or foolish, right or wrong, and yet we don’t see the whole picture—that fire can rejuvenate, that flood waters can fuel growth and sustain lives, and that we can joyfully celebrate all the seasons of our lives.

To Have and To Hold

May 16, 2021 by Denise Brake 8 Comments

I’m breathing a sigh of relief. Fourteen months into this pandemic and Chris and I are vaccinated. I saw my Mom for Mother’s Day. The CDC is saying vaccinated people don’t have to wear masks. Venues and organizations are outlining plans to ‘return to normal!’ We survived a pandemic! Chris and I have also survived thirty-nine years of marriage as of this weekend. It doesn’t really sound very good to say the word ‘survive’ when speaking of your marriage, but it is the truth. When we said our vows, we had no idea what our future would hold—for better, for worse. The year of the pandemic was not the worst year of our marriage—in fact, there were lots of ‘betters’ sprinkled in among the oddities, losses, and unknowns of the ‘unprecedented’ pandemic. But we have navigated other unprecedented events in our years together that have fallen into the ‘worse’ category—things we couldn’t plan for, things that broke our hearts, things we could never imagine would happen—and it is those things that we have survived.

As a naïve young bride, I thought marriage would be simple—as simple as the name Spring Beauty for these delicate ephemeral flowers. To love and to cherish sounded simple to me, for I fiercely loved this man, and I was pretty good at cherishing things.

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What I didn’t know how to handle was the first time I realized that in this moment I hated him, which, as we learn, says much more about me than him. By that time, we had had over twenty-seven years together, so like the Leatherwood shrub, I learned to be more flexible, more forgiving, of him and of myself.

We discovered over time what side of the creek we were on—the Democrat married a Republican, the sports-lover married a sports-dare-I-say-hater, the horse-loving country girl hitched up with a city boy. But we also waded across the clear, cold creek to see and feel what it was like on the other side—he learned to ride horses, and I eventually learned to like football!

Sometimes things were a little murky. We kind of knew what was going on, but there were things we either didn’t know or we just didn’t have the mature skills to navigate with finesse. We bumbled through it. First-child parenting comes to mind. Okay, make that all-child parenting. All house buying and selling. All job changes. How many murky moments in thirty-nine years?!

We learned about perspectives. What’s real? What’s just a shadow? Which one is taking up the most space? The shadow of fear took up a ton of space in my life and darkened far too much of our relationship and my ‘being’ in the world. In sickness and in health. In shadow and in light.

There were mysteries unveiled of bodies and minds, of past and present, of life at large. God’s holy ordinance allows for mysteries, embraces them, and lifts them up for our participation and our wonder.

We learned to be rocks for one another. It always seemed like Chris was my rock, as I talked so much, cried so often, hurt so deeply, but over the years I realized how steady I was for him—in making a warm home, in explaining the science of things and the emotional aspects of relationships, and in always having topics to converse about. To have and to hold.

There have been so, so many bright spots in our life together, especially our three children. It is an honor to bring other human beings into the mysteries of life and relationships.

And yet, beauty and goodness can be caught in a tangle of rubble, unreachable and unpreachable. There are hard, messy things in life that are beyond our control. For richer, for poorer.

There are trees, and there are forests. There are details, and there are ‘big pictures.’ There is the here and now, and there is the future. We have learned who is the tree person—the detail person, and who is the forest person—the ‘big picture’ person. And we have learned the exceptions to the rule.

How long can one hide, and what is the reason for hiding? There’s almost always a reason, a very good reason. For a very long time the very good reason is often hidden from the person who is hiding. This riddle is the journey of our lives.

As young marrieds, we knew little of death. Then a puppy died, and another, and then a young dog, an old dog, many cats, my beloved horse. We chopped off heads of chickens to put in our freezer, butchered a pig we named and cared for. An infant nephew died, my dear friend, an uncle, an aunt, my Grandma, Chris’ parents, my Dad, Chris’ brother….We know about death now. It is a lesson that brings many lessons. Till death do us part.

There is spirit in marriage, there is science, and there is art. I think you need all three to make it thirty-nine years, to survive, to thrive, to become the person you are meant to be. Thereto I pledge thee my faith.

So, we have made it this far together. The fir-cone strewn path stretches on before us. We see the trees and the forest. We know precious new life and have walked with death. We respect the simplicities and complexities of life. We have experienced love and hate, fear and peace, sorrow and joy. We appreciate beauty and mystery. We go on. From this day forward.

Forest of Fame

April 25, 2021 by Denise Brake 4 Comments

“All is ephemeral—fame and the famous as well.” –Marcus Aurelius

We should all be famous for something, I think. Perhaps it’s for a delicious potato salad, or a penchant for perfectly coifed hair, or a subtle, truth-telling sense of humor. Fame is one of those things in life that is bestowed by the audience, the onlookers, the admirers, the wishful want-to-be followers, or in this day and age, even the haters. The intrinsic nature of fame is attention from the outsiders.

The park we went to last weekend had a claim to fame that was mentioned on a website, the signage, and the map—the highest point in Wright County, Minnesota! Yep, all 1232 feet! Two official markers embedded in cement were in place beside the trail, one with an arrow that pointed to the other. We were confused if the 1956 was the altitude or the year, then realized the map said we were 1232 feet above sea level.

As we looked around from the highest point in Wright County, all we could see was trees—brown leaves and trees—brown leaves, blue skies, and trees. My fame fandom moment slipped away.

It was actually quite a beautiful forest of Oaks, Maples, and Basswood, even though the leaf buds were barely showing. At this time of year I appreciate seeing the topography of the land—the hills, lowlands, and gullies. One can get a sense of the ‘lay of the land’ when only gray trunks and brown leaves populate the landscape. And then we began to see signs of Spring—a glimpse of things to come that will change the landscape into a growing, vibrant, green oasis.

It is startling to see a butterfly so early in the season, but the Mourning Cloak hibernates in hollow trees and logs during the Winter and comes out on warm days to feed on Oak tree sap. They are called “Harbingers of Spring!”

A decaying, uprooted tree looked like a work of art in the barren landscape. Nature teaches us that all stages of life and death are valuable and beautiful in their own unique ways.

We took a spur of the trail to an outlook and picnic area. Under the brilliant blue sky and fluffy clouds, we ate our picnic lunch and warmed ourselves in the sunshine—human butterflies perched on a picnic table.

We only saw a few people the whole time we were there, so we shared the woods with the trees and the Spring Peepers who serenaded us during most of our hike. It’s such a sweet sound!

They are cautious little Peepers, because when we finally got close to the lowland water where they lived and sang, they silenced themselves when they heard our voices!

We saw more woodland art on a boulder. I suspected the origin of the etchings were from a machine that blazed the trail, but that didn’t detract from the fact that it was interesting.

There were a few stands of Pines throughout the deciduous forest that rose in green to the blue sky. They whispered and sang in melodious concert, orchestrated by the wind.

Bloodroot flowers had been unfurling in small patches or singularly by warm trees all along the trail. They are amazingly pretty white flowers that bloom while still cloaked in the curled leaves that protect them from the cold. The sap from the plant is red-orange and has been used as a natural dye. The seeds of this early-blooming flower are spread by ants, Mother Nature’s tiny workers.

While Bloodroot is probably the first woodland flower to bloom, I was looking for other Spring ephemerals, too. About two-thirds of the way along the looped trail, I finally saw the gorgeous Sharp-lobed Hepatica bursting from the leaf litter! Like many other early-blooming flowers, Hepatica has fuzzy stems to protect them from cold nights and occasional snowy days.

On the woodland floor, the leaves of Hepatica are usually hidden under the old leaf litter, but beside the warmth of a large tree trunk that is flowing with sap, the flowers are displayed with old and new leaves.

Fame is something many aspire for, perhaps even more so in this YouTube/TikTok age, but many who have acquired fame lament how it impacted their lives. Albert Einstein said, “It is strange to be known so universally and yet to be so lonely.” Elvis Presley is quoted as saying, “Fame and fortune, how empty they can be.” When fame comes from the outside, whether that is from media coverage of George Floyd’s death or millions of followers on social media or the latest, greatest singer (both of which I have no idea who that is since I don’t follow things that way), the story is written by the outsiders. Imagine for yourself a life of fame from the inside.

“Fame for me is not external, it’s internal. So I’ve been famous for a long time.” –Lady Gaga

What are the origins of our internal fame? Our personalities, our God-given talents, our penchants and skills, and the qualities that were nurtured in childhood all add up to make each one of us an interesting and compelling person. We are each famous in our own unique way, no matter how many ‘fans’ we have. So we have to ‘own it,’ and I’m talking to myself here. The ‘famous’ highest point in the park was the least interesting thing about it! Look closely at yourself. Find your beauty. Listen to your subtle song. Appreciate your gifts. Claim your fame.

Path of Redemption

May 17, 2020 by Denise Brake 4 Comments

This is a story about devastation and beauty, inspired and patient change, art and surprises, and redemption. On Mother’s Day weekend, we skipped our usual morning routine in order to ‘beat the crowd’ at a nearby park—the park that was flooded by the Mississippi River just a month ago. We were curious as to whether the trails were open, if the water had receded, if things were ‘back to normal.’ We walked down the steep trail towards the River, but before we even got to the bottom land, a beautiful sight met us at the path—uniquely-shaped Dutchman’s Breeches wildflowers. The delicate white flowers covered the hillside as far as we could see!

The River was morning quiet, like softly rippled glass, back in the low restraints of its banks. The trees on the other side blushed with pinkish-red and Spring lime green and saw their reflections in the Mighty Mississippi. A few boats quietly trolled the morning water for the anticipated fishing opener weekend. Occasionally, a goose harshly honked a greeting that split the quiet air like a foghorn.

We walked through the woods that had morphed from flood waters to greenery. A small path led us back to the River, to a canoe camp with fire circle, picnic tables, and an outhouse without the house.

A messy tangle of Wild Grape vines that for years have been winding their way in and among a couple of trees, stood out on the leafless bank. It would be near impossible to make this happen, yet here it was. It looked like a piece of art, a sculpture of time and growth.

We backtracked to the main path. The exquisite beauty of a Nodding Trillium—large white curling petals, snowy white pistil, and purplish-pink-lined stamens surrounded by delicate green sepals and large, veined leaves—rose with certainty from the ground, from the ground that had been covered with water and debris just weeks ago.

The abundance of greenery and white flowers continued with large swaths of Wood Anemones interspersed with sedge grass.

Wild Blue Phlox and Wild Violets, in their delicate blue colors, were welcomed outliers in the sea of white blossoms.

Where the last of the flood waters had remained, the ground was still barren and gray, a stark reminder of the devastation of the flooding.

The flood water had washed away the soil around the rhizomes and roots of the Wild Ginger plants, showcasing the ground-level flowers that are usually hidden from view.

And despite the deluge of water, the flood plain was blooming! Growing and blooming in abundance! White Trout Lilies (don’t you love their name?) covered the woodland ground, fields of them among the trees. Ferns grew up like meerkats amid the Trout Lilies, their fiddleheads unfurling in orchestrated movement.

There were millions of spotted leaves and demure pink buds that mature and open to white, then curl back their petals as the sun moves across the sky, exposing the bright yellow stamens of the single-flowering plant. With nightfall, they close once again.

A flower-lined path of redemption wound through the woods where the gray torrent of devastation had taken up residence just weeks before. What if we had given up on this path? What if the gray water from our last visit had kept us away? We would have missed the incredible beauty of this morning, these flowers, these unfurling ferns and leaves.

As we walked the flower-flooded River peninsula, we slowly realized that this land we were walking on was built for this—the flooding was just a natural part of the seasonal evolution. In fact, perhaps the devastation of the flooding was exactly what the plants needed to thrive! We think of flooding as being devastating because we often place things in the wrong place—we build houses where they don’t belong, want fields where Mother Nature has had wetlands and floodplains for millennia (for a reason). Devastation, messiness, and pain precede the growth and flowering. The coronavirus pandemic is making a mess of our collective lives right now. We need to leave behind the idea of ‘back to normal.’ Redemption is the act of making something better. What have we placed in the wrong place? How do we rise from the debris with certainty and blossom into exquisite beauty?

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.

Our Spaceship Earth on Earth Day

April 22, 2016 by Denise Brake 1 Comment

Spaceship Earth is a term popularized in the 1960’s, particularly by architect-inventor-system theorist R. Buckminster Fuller when he wrote the book “Operating Manual for Spaceship Earth.” The inventor of the geodesic dome relates Earth to a spaceship that has finite resources that cannot be resupplied. He spent much of his life researching and developing designs and strategies to help us sustainably exist on Earth.

Another forward thinker Marshall McLuhan, who predicted the World Wide Web almost thirty years before it was invented, is quoted, “There are no passengers on spaceship earth. We are all crew.”

Last Sunday Chris and I checked on the eagle nests–yes, we have babies! One nest has three, fuzzy-feathered eaglets, and the other nest has at least one that I was able to see.

The bluebirds were nesting nearby, and a ground squirrel slunk through the grass trying not to be seen.

We then drove to St. John’s Arboretum and hiked the Boardwalk Loop through prairie, wetland, maple forest, oak savannah, and conifer forest. In a short 1.5 miles, it was a lesson in ecosystems and a glimpse into the diversity of animal and plant life in a tiny part of spaceship earth. A beaver lodge rose from a blue lake on one side of the road. There was a path through the cattails and up the bank for the beaver to get to the lake on the other side.

Red-winged blackbirds sang from their perches on cattails.

The delicious scent of the pine forest filled our noses with the smell of contentment.

We crossed the boardwalk over the wetland…

and saw geese, ducks, and a pair of Trumpeter swans.

Painted turtles sunned themselves in the warm spring sunshine.

Maple trees with red and lime green blossoms contrasted with the deep green of the pines.

The woodland trail through the tall maples still looked like late winter…

…until we saw the Spring Ephemerals! These early blooming flowers take advantage of the small window of sunshine between snow melt and when the trees have leafed out. They grow, flower, are pollinated, and produce seeds in a short period of time and often go dormant by summer. We found Spring Beauty…

…False Rue Anemone…

…and Hepatica bursting through the leaf cover.

Two short walks less than ten miles from one another, and we were blessed to see such an array of plant and animal life that was once again coming to life in the Minnesota Spring. In honor of all these amazing creations, I would like to urge everyone to take good care of our Spaceship Earth. We are all crew members with tasks to do and responsibilities to carry out, even if it’s only in our tiny part of this big, blue planet. Happy Earth Day!

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