sustenance Archives - NorthStarNature

Fair Warnings and Feeding Frenzies

December 2, 2018 by Denise Brake 6 Comments

One semester before returning to graduate school, I worked as a teacher’s aide at our neighborhood elementary school. It was a traditional, old-style, brick schoolhouse with two stories, wide stairways, and big windows. I stayed with one student who needed some extra help with staying on task and controlling his behavior. I was prepared for my work with him and with a whole school of exuberant young children, except for one thing—I wasn’t warned about lunch time! Lunch was held in a big gym that was built to one side of the school—lunch tables were lined up under basketball hoops, and a long line formed around the walls of the gym as we waited to get our lunches. In the winter, heavy coats, hats, and mittens were thrown down in haste along the wall in anticipation of recess. Excited anticipation in young children is not conducive to savoring a nutritious, delicious lunch, and on that first day and every day thereafter, I could not believe how fast the food was gotten, gulped, and trashed as a necessary precursor to what they really wanted—recess!

Mother Nature gives fair warnings. Sometimes she does so in colorful and dramatic ways: sunrises like this mean that some kind of weather event is literally ‘on the horizon.’ The beauty of the colors are not just visual art to be noticed and appreciated; it means something. When I looked at the western horizon, the sky was dark with heavy, snow-filled clouds.

I wasn’t the only one to notice—the birds knew, too. Every morning usually has a ‘feeding time’ for the birds, but before the snow came, there was a feeding frenzy! More birds, more movement, more excitement. Purple Finches flocked to the feeders and to the ground beneath them, gulping down black oil sunflower seeds.

Gray-cloaked Juncos hopped around on the grass and snow, gathering seeds and gathering friends.

At the back feeder, the beautiful, brassy Blue Jays shoveled through discarded shells in search of intact seeds as the snow began to fall. An old tin tub holds acorns and corn cobs—another cafeteria for the birds and squirrels.

Fair warning in a vibrant sunrise and fair warning in a Black Friday National Climate Assessment that was released and refuted by the White House. Climate scientists anticipate what is going to happen based on science, data, and expertise. The latest report confirmed what climate scientists have been seeing and reporting for decades—the rise in greenhouse gases is hurting the economy, the environment, and public health. Get ready, be prepared, make changes—yet another fair warning—this one intense and wide-reaching. The questions of whether the right models were used, whether scientists were profiting from this, and if this was for political reasons are moot points. All we need to do is look at what Mother Nature is saying—the warnings are consistent and persistent—record rains, flooding, wildfires, droughts, high temperatures, extreme fluctuations, and ice melts. The evidence is right before our eyes. The real question is why aren’t some of us noticing it, seeing it, believing it, anticipating it? Just like any other form of denial: the ‘cost’ of seeing the truth is more painful than the ‘cost’ of believing our own story. How do we not throw away what truly sustains us just to quickly get what we want?

Where is Your Winter Dwelling Place?

December 10, 2017 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

“For each new morning with its light, For rest and shelter of the night, For health and food, for love and friends, For everything Thy goodness sends.”

This prayer of thanks is attributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson whose family celebrated an extended Thanksgiving with family, friends, feasting, and fun. Shelter and sustenance. Protection and nourishment. Dwelling place and daily bread.

When Winter comes, the importance of shelter and sustenance is magnified, not only for humans but for all creatures. Where are their dwelling places, and how do they get enough food to sustain them during the sometimes harsh conditions of snow-covered land and frigid temperatures? On our Thanksgiving trek to Warner Lake County Park, we passed a corn field with a flock of Trumpeter Swans grazing on left-over corn kernels. Their aquatic home is the Mississippi River, just miles north, where the warmth of a power plant keeps the River free from ice. Some swans and geese stay here for the winter, while most migrate to warmer places in the south. Do you migrate to a warm winter climate or hunker down in the frosty North in your toasty house? Do you have a preferred ‘winter’ food?

Animal homes come in all forms. We wondered what lived in these holes on the bank of a creek near Warner Lake. The burrowed home among cedar tree roots gave the resident critter quick access to the water. Where is your refuge from the elements? What environment gives you security and happiness?

Pileated Woodpecker holes in trees provide protection and nourishment for these hard-hitting birds as they search for insects and construct (destruct) nest holes. The holes they make in dead trees are often used for shelter by owls, bats, and pine martens. What is the source of your livelihood? How do you stay healthy?

As we walked through the pine forest on our trail, we saw little pathways of trampled-down pine needles diverging through the woods. What paths do you travel in your daily life?

In the sandy mud by the creek, we spotted a Raccoon track. Many of their meals are acquired in the water—crayfish, frogs, and insects. Raccoons store fat through summer and fall and spend much of their winter asleep in a den made in a tree or fallen log. How do you spend your winter? What do you do in this season of rest?

How do animals find their winter dwelling places? This tree probably had a small hole at its base, and some little creature has been working hard to make a home for itself. Sawdust and wood shavings line the floor of the tiny cavern at the foot of the large, moss-covered tree. Where is your dwelling place?

Life and nourishment are a little easier for the birds and squirrels who live close to our home. This Black Squirrel and his friends come for a meal of black-oil sunflower seeds on a near-daily basis. How do you ask for and receive your daily bread?

Our literal dwelling place may change completely in Winter, but most often the home we live in during the Summer is also our Winter home. But there is a change—we are boarded up, bound up, and bundled up. There is a quiet security in the dark evening with the fireplace crackling and throwing out heat, while a pot of soup on the stove sends out delicious smells of onions and herbs. Rest and sleep seem to come easier with the longer night, and the morning light is welcomed and appreciated. Nourishment is extended from food for our bodies to food for our souls. Time for reading, meditation, prayers, and self-care is available if we make the decision and commitment to ourselves. Time with friends is more about being than doing—tell me about your struggles, your joys, your sweet memories, and the dark burdens that may re-surface with the long, dark nights. We can wrap it all up in a bundle of understanding, compassion, and forgiveness. Our dwelling place can be Love.

The Things Our Eyes Can’t See

October 8, 2017 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

When I was in graduate school, I could get lost for hours looking into a microscope—looking at things our eyes can’t see—red and white blood cells, chromosomes, uric acid crystals in urine, sperm cells, and so many other incredible structures. It was a whole other fascinating world that we carry with us, that is us!

Our woodland Cooper’s Hawk flew to an Oak tree branch when I happened to be looking out the window. I know he saw me looking at him—in other words, he watched me like a hawk. He wasn’t too perturbed, as he sat there for quite a while, fluffed up his feathers, and continued watching.

Hawks and other raptors have excellent vision—they can see 4 to 5 times farther than humans, have superior color vision, and deeper foveas that allow their eyes to act like a telephoto lens. They need this acute vision to focus in on their prey from a great distance, then accurately capture it.

With our much more limited eyesight, we get a bigger picture of the world by moving our eyes and heads. We are capable of seeing the big picture and the details of things that are close by but often overlooked. The big picture of Autumn is the changing colors of the landscape, but I thought I would focus in on a more detailed look at Fall through the camera’s telephoto lens. The needle-like leaves of the Larch tree are changing to a golden yellow and will drop to the ground like a carpet.

Spiny seeds of Queen Anne’s Lace have begun their dispersal by wind or clinging to the fur, feather, or pantleg of a passerby.

Scarlet cones of Sumac berries top the equally beautiful crimson foliage and will remain as a food source for dozens of birds throughout the winter, long after the leaves have fallen.

Huge white puffs of ‘Annabelle’ Hydrangea flowers gradually dry to a rich, toasted brown color and can be brought indoors for a beautiful Fall decoration.

Individual seeds on the Purple Coneflower light up like pegs on a Lite-Brite screen.

Fast growing fungi popped up all over the yard after days of rain. Isn’t it incredible that such a strange structure, complete with unique colors and shapes, can grow so quickly then melt away to nothing?

Like a huge bouquet of tiny rosebuds, each ‘Autumn Joy’ Sedum flower spreads its namesake to all who see them.

Behold the first leaf to change from green to wine on one of the many ‘Nannyberry’ Vibernums we have planted in the woods.

Dried Fern fronds remind me of the racks of drying tobacco I remember from my childhood, that hung in Pennsylvania barns.

The lace cap flowers of ‘Quick Fire’ Hydrangea bloom a pure white and gradually turn pink as Summer wanes and Fall arrives.

Joe Pye Weed seedheads look like pink sheaves of wheat blowing in the breeze.

A tangle of plumy seedheads from a Purple Smoke tree is rarely noticed at this time of year.

The landscape of Fall is beautiful; the details of Autumn are intriguing, just as the landscape and microscopic details of our bodies are amazing. Though we don’t have the keen distance sight of a hawk, we do have the marvelous ability to see the big picture and the details, both literally and figuratively. But what happens when we are only focused on one certain thing?

The other objects in sight are rarely noticed or are distorted beyond reality. At times like this, a person’s world and vision gets small—when the focus of his sight and mind is singular and obsessive. It happens when a person is fighting for her life. It happens when despair covers a person like a cloak, and she seems to melt away to nothing. It happens when one is lost for hours, days, years in addiction. It happens when suffering people are unimportant compared to money. It happens every day. It is rare that a person in this situation can correct his vision on his own, let alone have the inner and outer resources to change his world. That’s where the rest of us come in, for if you think you live your life as an island, you are either a fool or delusional. We are our brothers’ keepers. Before that seems overwhelming or raises the hackles of defense, know that we are hard-wired as social creatures. We are meant to look out for one another. It starts with taking good care of ourselves, our partners and families, then our friends and community, our country, our Earth. Like a hawk, we can watch for despair or addiction, for suffering and injustice, and though we cannot do the inner work for the people affected, we can stand by their side and do what we can to assist them. We need to be able to help them see the big picture, yet work diligently with the details. And then there are the things our eyes can’t see—love, faith, hope, resiliency—that sustain us even when the material world has dried up and fallen away or been washed away in a flood. Behold!

A Great Wind is Blowing

March 12, 2017 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

A great wind is blowing, and that gives you either imagination or a headache. –Catherine the Great

March weather, already, has been erratic with record high and below zero temperatures, with balmy sunshine and rain, hail, and snow, and with calm quietness and fierce, unrelenting winds. The crash of warm and cold fronts caused tornadoes that touched down just miles from where we lived in Missouri during the first half of our wedded life. The winds tore the shingles off the roof of First United Methodist Church in Odessa where we used to attend. It seemed like the whole Midwest felt the fury of Mother Nature before it blew off to the East in a devil-may-care huff.

The up and down temperatures had the sap running in the maple trees with sapsicles forming on the frigid days.

On the warm days, sap dripped from the branches, and a little red squirrel lapped up the sweet goodness as he grasped onto the underside.

Then he would run over to the bird feeder and chow down on black oil sunflower seeds. I thought he must be the best-fed squirrel in the land.

South winds blew in balmy warm weather last Sunday and Monday with highs near 60 degrees. A storm approached from the west on Monday afternoon bringing rain, hail, and then a quiet calmness.

Late that evening we suddenly heard the wind crashing through the trees, this time from the WNW. By morning we had snow.

The great wind blew like a madman for two nights and two days. The barometer was close to the lowest I had ever recorded. Tree branches thudded on the roof and tumbled to the ground. It was unnerving in its demeanor and relentlessness—‘an ill wind that blows no good.’ It gave me a headache and frazzled my nerves.

The relentless wind made me feel like other times in my life when I had felt beat up just for existing. Lyme disease made me feel that way. The end years of my graduate school career made me feel that way. I was just trying to do the best that I could, taking punches that had no sense of fair play, and ending up just barely keeping my head above water. Imagination is defined as the ability to face and resolve difficulties. We form mental images, most often without conscious knowing, of our life without the difficulty. We problem-solve, we question, we wrestle with whatever madman is trying to take over our life, and we move in a different direction. We are more resourceful than we know. I think the headache has to come first. Those thudding branches and frazzled nerves prime our imaginations in order for us to see our way to a different, better way. The way to sweet Goodness.

Gleanings from June–Synergy

July 3, 2016 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

It was June, and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside.

–Maud Hart Lovelace from Betsy-Tacy and Tib

We began the month of June with a sun halo–a rainbow all around the sun. Also called a 22-degree halo, it is caused by millions of tiny ice crystals in high cirrus clouds that refract (at a 22 degree angle) and reflect the sun’s light. Amazing!

The flowers of June welcome the bees and butterflies. Wild roses peek their pink flowers between the stems of grass along the road.

I’m in love with this Perennial Pink Salvia we have planted close to the front door. Each stalk of delicate pink blossoms attracts bees of all kinds–the hard-working pollinators of the world.

The much larger bed of Perennial Blue Salvia is spectacular when in full-bloom! Pollen-laden bumblebees rumble from flower to flower, and the sight of a Yellow Swallowtail is like a shimmering ornament on an already beautiful evergreen–synergistic beauty!

I am always delighted to see this Pink Poppy bloom in June. The crepe-paper-like petals are entire works of art in and of themselves and when combined with the dark purple, velvety center, it is so lovely to behold.

A late evening storm turned the sky pink, and as the clouds cleared to the west, the setting sun and water droplets created a rainbow among the maple, cedar, and pine trees.

When the cobalt flower petals fell from the Blue Salvia and seeds formed in their place, the American Goldfinches gathered their bounty.

Pale purple coneflowers with their wispy, drooping petals danced in the breeze along the trail on an evening bike ride. Prairie grasses and coneflowers complement one another in the prairie landscape.

Farther along the quiet trail, the western sun glittered on a small lake and surrounding cattails that created a perfect home for this mother duck and her ducklings.

Synergy is defined as the interaction of elements that when combined produce a total effect that is greater than the sum of the individual parts. Nature combines the elements of sky, water, land, and vegetation to produce phenomena and beauty that is beyond our imagination. It works together for the good of all so that animals have a place to live, insects have food to eat, plants and trees are pollinated so fruits and seeds are produced that in turn feed other animals. It is the circle of life, the halo of Planet Earth created from the Source in the heavens above. May the powdered gold sunshine grace us all with sustenance, beauty, and synergy.

Gleanings from February–It’s All About that Food

March 2, 2016 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

What do black oil sunflower seeds and a bag of Ghirardelli 60% Cacao chocolate chips have in common? They are both small, dark, and yummy (to the respective species). Now, I might be stretching it to call chocolate ‘food’, especially in the sustenance sense, but nonetheless, it has been a part of my February and January…and December. Anybody else eat chocolate in a seemingly uncontrollable way when under stress?

What a strange month February has been here in central Minnesota–it hasn’t been about the snow or the extremely cold temperatures this year. In fact, last Saturday was a record-breaking warm day with a high of 56 degrees! Needless to say, most of the snow has melted. But February has been all about that food for the hardy winter animals and birds who harmlessly flock to the feeders and who harmfully chow down on our trees and shrubs. The winter birds are the most beautiful to see as they come daily to the feeders for sustenance, taking a seed or two at a time.

The most amusing visitors to the feeders are the squirrels who take their mealtimes very seriously! This little red squirrel will sometimes eat at the feeder, but other times will fill his cheeks with seeds and high-tail it to his den in order to keep a stash nearby.

There is an abundance of gray squirrels, a few little red squirrels, and two black squirrels–one with a long tail, the other with a shortened ‘Squirrel Nutkin’ tail. These two are feisty and protective of ‘their’ feeders.

Whereas the birds are prudent with the abundance of a full feeder of black oil sunflower seeds, this guy is a little piggy, scooping up paws full of seeds and chowing down!

Our more nocturnal critters clean up the fallen seeds from the ground after the sun goes down–rabbits and foxes. Evidence of the rabbit’s activities can be seen in the light of day.

They also cause real damage to young trees and shrubs, as in the case of this young hemlock tree.

Rabbits or deer stripped the bark from some fallen branches.

While my horticulturist husband loves planting and growing new trees and shrubs, it is a necessity to protect them from the winter grazers.

As in most food chains in Nature, the tables get turned, and a rabbit becomes a meal for the scavenger crows.

February is all about that food for the birds and animals in this northern climate. The mild temperatures and minimal snow have made it easier for the critters to find some kind of sustenance for survival this year, but they have still been hard on some of our unprotected plants.

Recovering from a death or grief of any kind can also make for strange months–times of sadness and despair, dreams that try to ‘organize’ the pain, and moments of lightness and laughter when the sun shines through the darkness. Diving into my stash of chocolate may not be the prudent way to ameliorate the pain and confusion of grief, but it may just be a necessary way to protect that part of me that doesn’t want to accept what happened. Until I do. And then, once again, I can eat chocolate like a cardinal instead of like the Squirrel Nutkin squirrel.

Gleanings from September 2015

October 2, 2015 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

We have all heard the phrase that a picture is worth a thousand words, and some have enlarged that value to ten thousand words. The saying has been linked to Fred R. Barnard, a United States advertising executive in the early 1920’s who promoted the effectiveness of graphics. Barnard attributed the saying to a Japanese philosopher and later as a Chinese proverb. With my amateur photography and mission to showcase the beauty of Nature, I believe in the power of an image to convey something words cannot express. And yet, there have been some frustrating moments for me these past months of August and September where I could not capture the essence of the experience with my camera. The latest of these moments was the super-moon eclipse. The first half of the eclipse was visible between roiling clouds that eventually took over and obscured the ‘coming out’ phase.

There are many wonderful photographs of the eclipse shared on the internet, but even a series of professional images could not capture the essence of the eclipse experience. To see the huge, shining full moon taken over by the shadow and how the atmospheric particles shone red was awe-inspiring. It made me realize the movement of our earth and universe and just how small we each are in the whole scheme of things.

While autumn finery is easier to capture in pictures, part of our ability to appreciate the images is our familiarity with it. Most have experienced the miracle of changing leaves, the smell and sound of dried leaves crunching underfoot, and coolness of air on a blue-sky fall day. By looking at a photo, we can ‘imagine’ the rest.

We have had a dry September–only one measurable rain at a much-needed, yet insufficient half-inch. We all drank it in.

Our dry weather is turning the changing of the colors to the drying and browning of leaves, but one of the fall perennial stand-outs is in full bloom–‘Fireworks’ goldenrod. This deer and drought resistant cultivar has an explosion of tiny yellow flowers on horizontal stems.

Many of the common goldenrod growing in the wild areas have an interesting feature–a purplish, rounded gall on the stem. The Goldenrod Gall Fly is a parasite that lives its entire life cycle on the goldenrod plant. After mating on the plant, the female deposits her eggs into the stem with her ovipositor. The larvae hatch in ten days and eat inside the stem. Their saliva has a chemical in it that causes the plant to grow the abnormal galls. The larvae stay in the galls for a year, producing an anti-freeze-like chemical to keep them alive through the winter. In Spring, the larvae become pupae and then adults, and then they leave the galls to find mates. The armor-like galls protect the larvae from most predators, but the Downy woodpecker seeks out the galls to break them open to feast on the juicy larvae.

September was also the month of the Monarch. Our intention to let more milkweed grow paid off in the currency of butterflies.

A picture is worth a thousand words, ten thousand words, and maybe more. They are valuable in the appreciation of Beauty and the conveyance of details. The Essence of the Experience of walking through the Lost Forty forest last month or of viewing the super-moon eclipse could not be captured by photography, however. It could not represent the other senses–the smell of the pine needles, the quiet wind whispering through the tree tops, the feel of three hundred year-old bark– or the ‘other worldliness’ of moons and planets aligning and of the deep history and holiness of the land. As we live our entire life cycle on Planet Earth, pictures, words, and imagination cannot be stand-ins for the Essence of Experiences, for no matter the currency, they are worth millions.

Working at Living

September 7, 2015 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

When we stepped into September, we entered the meteorological season of Fall. We are most familiar with the traditional astronomical seasons that change at the equinoxes and solstices based on the position of the Earth in relation to the Sun. Meteorological seasons change every three months and are based on similar temperatures. This different and more natural way of defining seasons began in the early to mid 1900’s, making it easier for the weather scientists to compare data and weather patterns.

It is beginning to look like Fall in central Minnesota! The poplar and ash leaves are turning yellow and falling to the ground.

Wild plum trees and creeping poison ivy are displaying beautiful autumnal colors.

Wild grapes are ready for harvesting–by humans, birds, foxes, turkeys–whoever gets to them first.

Asters and sunflowers are blooming in the ditches…

along with abundant goldenrod.

The insects and animals are busy gathering food. The squirrels have been working hard from morning til night, collecting acorns from our woods and buckeyes from the tree up the street. The Buckeye tree is one of the first to change color and lose its leaves.

The squirrels carry the nuts to a place in the yard, dig a little hole, put the nut in, cover it up with dirt, and pat it down with their front paws. How they ever find them again is beyond me–but I do know they don’t find them all, as we see oak and buckeye seedlings growing in places far from the mature trees.

The little red squirrels in particular love the white pine seeds and have labored ceaselessly to clean them from the cones, leaving a pile of debris under the tree.

Some of my work lately has been like the squirrel–I have been gathering produce from the garden and preparing it for later use. There is great purpose and satisfaction in growing, tending, eating, and storing our own food. Traditionally–at least after the industrial revolution, we have equated work with a job. But think about the work of the settlers or the native people before that–their ‘work’ was ‘living!’ And much of that work had to do with the basics–shelter, safety, food, and clothing. Of course, these days, jobs provide the means to those very same basics. I hope on this Labor Day we can look at work in different ways–people who go to jobs, moms and dads who stay home with their children, those toiling just to survive and find a safe place for their families to live, students striving to educate themselves, people who devote time and energy to inner work, those who struggle daily with addictions and illnesses who work hard to live one day at a time, and animals and insects who work at ‘being’ what they are. Blessings to all the workers of the world!

I would like to thank you for reading my posts. I work to bring you images of Nature and words that may inspire, teach, and promote contemplation. Many thanks to those who like, share, and comment–it is the primary way for my posts to reach new people. Nature can teach us about ourselves and make us better people–it’s a great way to work at living a wonderful life.

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.

The Eaglets have Hatched

April 10, 2015 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

I returned to Minnesota after more than a week in South Dakota to find the lakes unfrozen and the buds on the honeysuckles and lilacs swelling and showing green. Spring is inching forward in spite of the large-flaked snow squall we had this morning. The day before I left for South Dakota, I checked in on the eagle nests to see if the eaglets had hatched.

One of the parents was on the first nest, lying low with no activity. Still brooding eggs?

Both parents were on the second nest.

One was laying on the nest, and the other was watching me and taking bites from the carcass of some kind of animal.

The parent eagle who was laying on the nest stood up and flew away, circling the sky over the trees and river. It was only then that I saw a little gray head pop up in the nest!

The other parent began to tear off pieces of the carcass and feed the downy eaglet.

Another little gray head appeared in the nest, hungry for the food being offered.

I remember those days, three times over, when our babies started eating food while still getting most of their sustenance from breast milk. We would strap them into the wooden high chair so they wouldn’t slip off the seat, propped up in the soft cover on the chair. With the long-handled, plastic coated spoon, we dipped into the creamy oat cereal. And once the initial learning curve of eating from a spoon was overcome, their tiny mouth would open as the spoon made its way from the bowl. Parent hand-baby mouth coordination. And they would eat until the satiety hormones announced their fullness, when more cereal would ooze out of their mouth than be ingested. With a full belly and a cleaned up face, they would go on to the next big thing in a baby’s life.

Watch as the parent eagle feeds the babies, bite by bite. When one piece comes off the carcass too big for the little ones, the parent steps on the piece to try to tear it into smaller bits. When the babies seem full, the parent eats the last piece, then settles down in the nest with the two eaglets. (The camera was zoomed out with no tripod in the wind, so please excuse the movement.)

One cannot overestimate the loving care a parent of any species has for their young. I have watched horses, cows, sheep, dogs, cats, ducks, and even mice protect and care for their babies. The eagle parents work as partners in the full-time job of providing food, loving attention, and care for their eaglets. What can we learn from these beautiful, powerful birds of prey? We are blessed and privileged to provide for our own children as they grow, but many times we are also called to care for aging parents, sick or disabled family members or friends, or to be the caretakers of animals. Caretaking demands that we look outside of ourselves, and we realize that service to others fills the collective coffers of the world. In our giving and our selflessness, we receive more than just the tangible benefits of a healthy child, a happy parent, a healing sister, or a hearty flock of animals. We become an integral part of the Goodness in this world, and our soul soars to a place beyond the tree tops.

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