Come walk with me in the peak Autumn beauty of the Northwoods. To say that I love this time of year is an understatement. Most everyone can appreciate the colorful falling leaves---it reveals the 'true self' of a tree when its leaves are no longer producing chlorophyll. Their true colors are revealed, and there is something simple … [Read More...]
Imminent Failure
Warnings are posted for a reason, but sometimes the message is rather cryptic, and one is left wondering the exact meaning of the short notification. I guess it helps when one knows the language and context—which I don’t when it comes to computer talk. “Smart hard drive detects imminent failure.” It doesn’t sound good, no matter the language and context. Imminent and failure are two words that don’t belong together if a person wants to feel good about what’s to come.
What I do feel good about is the week we spent with our oldest daughter Emily and her husband Shawn—no computer needed! It had been three years since they were here for a visit, a year and a half since we saw them in Texas—much too long for a mother not to be in the presence of her child. We went hiking at Charles A. Lindbergh State Park one day this week in Little Falls, Minnesota—570 acres that included the boyhood home of the famous aviator Charles A. Lindbergh, Jr. who completed the first solo nonstop trans-Atlantic flight on May 21, 1927. The family donated the land for a park in 1931 in memory of Charles A. Lindbergh, Sr. who was a lawyer and US Congressman.
Pike Creek runs through the park and meets up with the Mississippi River. Charles Lindbergh, Jr. spent most of his time as a youngster outdoors exploring the woods, creek, and River. He collected rocks, butterflies, feathers, and other natural objects.
“When I was a child on our Minnesota farm,” Linbergh wrote, ” I spent hours lying on my back in high timothy and redtop…How wonderful it would be, I thought, if I had an airplane…I would ride on the wind and be part of the sky.”
The forested area of the park has many old white and red pines. Imminent failure struck this 280-year-old white pine when it was hit by lightning in 1986 and died the following year.
Have you heard of Forest Bathing? Shinrin-yoku or ‘taking in the forest atmosphere’ originated in Japan in the 1980’s for its health benefits. Studies have confirmed that being in the presence of trees lowers cortisol levels, lowers pulse rate and blood pressure, improves immune system function, and increases overall feelings of well-being.
The beauty of flowers like this blue flag iris…
the calming smell of a pine forest…
the intricate essence and relationship of flowers and insects…
and the unassuming presence of old, stately trees all contribute to the forest atmosphere that calms our bodies and improves our well-being.
At the hydroelectric dam on the Mississippi River not far upstream from where Pike Creek empties into it, there are warning signs and barriers to keep people from imminent danger.
Torrents of rushing, splashing water tumbled from the spillways, hitting rocks, causing chaos, stress, and danger. It’s not hard to interpret these warning signs to stay away when the destructive power of the water is literally hitting you in the face.
I am sure there were many times in Charles Lindbergh’s life when warning signs of imminent failure flashed before his eyes—during his childhood raft-building days floating on the Mississippi, during his barn-storming days, his trans-Atlantic flight, his military flight training and midair collision, Air Mail routes, and combat missions during World War II. Imminent failure also presented itself in 1932 when his 20-month old son was kidnapped from their home, ransomed, and killed. How does one go on after the gruesome loss of a child and years of public attention in the wake of ‘The Crime of the Century?’ What saves us from imminent failure?
Lindbergh and his wife Anne Morrow fled to Europe with their second son in December of 1935—a hiatus from the spotlight and turmoil that had engulfed them after the kidnapping of their son, a time apart from the normal routine of life, a sequestration of the body for the healing of the soul. I’d like to think that his forest days in Minnesota, his riding on the wind and being part of the sky days helped to save him from imminent failure, though his subsequent years of questionable political beliefs and secret double life with three European women and seven children he fathered point to an acting out of destructive wounds. “Life is like a landscape. You live in the midst of it but can describe it only from the vantage point of distance,” wrote Lindbergh. If life is stressing you out, get some distance from it by immersing yourself in a forest, by surrounding yourself with children and loved ones, by exploring trails and collecting memories, and by forgetting about phones, failing hard drives, and imminent failures.
Over the Edge in Love
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
This Glorious Day!
Dear Nature Lovers,
Just wanted to share this glorious day in Minnesota with you! Spring is now bursting out all over the place in our yard and woods!
Love, Denise
Hostas, Ferns, and Lily of the Valley
Brunnera
Hosta leaves
Virginia Bluebells
Maple leaves
Purple-Leaf Plum
Iris
Apple blossom
Pagoda Dogwood
Crabapple
Foam Flower
Jonquil
Ajuga
Larch tree
Dandelion
Epimedium
Ostrich Fern
Candles on White Pine
Bergenia
Oak flowers and leaves
Spring work is going on with joyful enthusiasm.
–John Muir
Be Like the Birch Tree
All change is not growth, as all movement is not forward. –Ellen Glasgow
Yesterday I went back to school! Oh my gosh, do I love school! Sitting in the dim classroom with all the other students, getting the syllabus, seeing what’s on the agenda for the day, week, or semester, and meeting the new teacher or professor—it’s one of the best feelings! Actually, this time, my school was only for a one-day conference, but it was exciting, nonetheless, and represents something that is key to my life—learning and growing.
The Birch tree right outside our front door is growing, seemingly right before our eyes. Large and small swatches of white bark are peeling off the Paper Birch in horizontal strips.
It seems to just be bursting out of its bark!
Betula papyrifera is a fairly fast growing tree that will add 13″-24″ each year and is one of a few trees that annually sheds its bark.
Young Paper Birch bark is darker in color and when older than five years, the white bark will appear.
The Paper Birch is also called Canoe Birch, as the Native Americans and early fur trappers used the bark to make canoes, containers, and wigwams.
The bark has a high oil content making it an excellent fire starter even when wet and is what gives the bark its waterproof and weather resistant qualities.
The discarded bark was also used as paper to send messages to people, and we have been the lucky recipients of a few birch bark postcards when our kids lived up in the Northwoods for the summers.
One of the three trunks of our Birch was drilled by a woodpecker last summer in neatly spaced rows. Often they drill for sap and insects it attracts, preferring soft bark and high sugar content, both of which the Birch tree has.
This truck’s growth is not as exuberant as the other two and is probably using its energy to combat the injury from the woodpeckers and/or insects.
I am like the Birch tree with its burst of growth. Sometimes our growth comes when we choose it—like going back to school or taking a class to learn a new skill. Other times our growth happens from circumstances that present themselves to us—an opportunity for a new job or a trip to a different country. And then there are times of wounding—of injury or disease, of divorce or estrangement, of betrayal or abandonment—when our souls and hearts are drilled with holes, when it feels like our life-force is seeping out. It’s hard to believe that anything so devastating can lead to growth. At first, all our energy goes to stop the bleeding, to send out the immune cells that protect us from losing the battle when the first shots are fired. When stabilized, ever so slowly we begin to stitch together some new fabric, discarding the threads that no longer work and incorporating new ones that are stronger, more resilient and authentic. The winter of our discontent begins to wane in the face of the sun. Tiny shoots of new growth push up through the soil of darkness. Old beliefs peel away to reveal our smooth, authentic Self. The old bark has done its job, protecting us when we needed it, and then provides the kindling to ignite a new stage of growth. Be like the Birch tree!
Gleanings from October—A Reflection
There have been days in my life when a glorious mixture of Light and Love from a combination of earthly wonder and heavenly grace has shone upon me. The brightest of them all were the days in which I married my partner for life and I bore our three children. Each of those days is etched in my body, mind, and soul as a reflection of everything that is good and holy. Each of those days included mundane tasks, messy happenings, and marvelous emotions.
October is a reflection of those kinds of days—bright and beautiful, colorful and chaotic, yet peaceful and priceless! It seems like October days pass by too quickly, as the vibrant-colored leaves fall and dry to brown, and the warm days fade to cool nights. Maples of all species are the shining stars of autumn color in our yard…
and in the woods at St. John’s Arboretum, where a Sunday hike on the trail is like walking through a grand, gilded cathedral.
The stillness of the beautiful Lake Sagatagan reflected the autumn colors and housed a community of lily pads with only the stems remaining of their exquisite flowers.
The reflection in a pond along the trail seemed sharper and more realistic than the actual trees in the woods…
until the focus changed to the individual leaves floating on the stained glass water.
Our destination for our Sunday hike at Saint John’s was Stella Maris chapel which sits on an island-like peninsula across Lake ‘Sag’ from the campus. Stella Maris is Latin for ‘Star of the Sea’ and ‘Our Lady Star of the Sea’ is an ancient title for the Blessed Virgin Mary. The original chapel was built in 1872 but was struck by lightning and burnt down in 1903. It was rebuilt in 1915 and has had three renovations since that time.
The beautiful stained-glass star window and pregnant Mary statue simply adorn the inside of the chapel.
Moving on through October, another celestial body displayed its beauty—the full moon.
A hazy reflection of the Sun’s light illuminates the darkness.
And then a foggy morning diminished visibility and gave the changing leaves a muted glow. Such a changeable month this October!
A clear, crisp night frosted the blades of grass and tipped the outlines of fallen leaves with white.
The bright sunlight soon melted away the frost and shone on these robins who grabbed a bite of crabapples.
By the end of the month, the gloriously colored leaves are gone, and the silhouettes of the trees are lined against gray skies. We move into our late fall landscape.
October reflections of light, color, and brilliance are gone before we are ready for them to leave. Once again we are reminded that Nature’s time schedule doesn’t bend to our wishes and wants. But those days of illumination stay with us and quietly and stealthily renovate our hearts. We build our lives with the stones we have available to us, and sometimes the fires of life tear down those walls in order for us to rebuild something new and better, all while retaining what is good and holy. At any given moment, we believe we see the reflections of our lives clearly—but what happens when we change the focus? Hindsight has a way of honing in on what matters most and of illuminating the flaws of our thoughts and actions. And the best thing we can forgivingly say to ourselves is ‘Live and Learn.’ We move into a new landscape of life, our eyes see differently, and we receive new wonders from our earth and new graces from the heavens.
Art In The Park
Smack dab in the middle of glorious summer, Brookings, South Dakota hosts the Arts Festival in Pioneer Park. Two weekend days of music, food, lemonade, art of all kinds, flea market, trader/trapper rendezvous tents and goods, children’s face painting and activities, more food, and more fresh-squeezed lemonade! We lived just a few blocks from the park, and I was always amazed at the transformation from quiet playground to exuberant festival. The art in the park included photography, painting, jewelry, leatherwork, sculptures, pottery, woodwork, fabric arts, and so much more. With creative minds, art can be made from almost anything.
On our exploration of St. Croix State Park, we saw art in Nature by the Great Creator via a walking tour. This piece is a collaboration of Mother Nature and the stone masons of the 1930’s who built the roads and crafted this stone pillar for a bridge over Bear Creek. The stonework and mosswork are exceptional, especially with the indigo background of rippling water!
A Maidenhair Fern tapestry is woven from fall-colored fronds that whirl and blend together, all accented by dark stems.
A light-reflecting prism of water is nestled in a leathery leaf basin, one of many multimedia works of art seen on the tour.
Realistic landscapes are abundant in the Park. This particular scene transcends realism to an ethereal realm.
This interactive piece is made up of soft green moss over rough bark with a line of fall-colored Virginia Creeper. Touching is encouraged.
Fungi art is an often overlooked medium that seems to be particularly popular at this time of year. Bright colors and wonderful textures highlight the geometric shape.
This stone-moss-pine study integrates wonderful textures and details with the muted green and stunning river-blue background.
These images by Current and Foam are ever-changing. Each evolving creation boasts a unique design and an ink-blot quality to its interpretation.
A colony of free-standing sculptures arise from the hodge-podge, monochromatic, needle-like matrix that has tiny accents of green.
An ancient, life-giving sculpture is the foundation for an even greater work of art that towers above it.
Dark and moody with punctuation of sunlight and clouds, this reflective work also features bubbly texture along with an applique of lily-pads.
Usually seen in a vertical position, this three-dimensional piece offers a fresh look for the bark-covered cylinder. Especially unique is the colorful banner of Virginia Creeper hanging below this expansive work of art.
A collage of leaves, duckweed, and grass are picture perfect on a reflecting aqueous background that transmutes trees and azure blue sky to a grounding environment.
These are just a few of the masterpieces from the gallery of Planet Earth. Nature’s art is available at any time of the year for all to see, study, and admire. Works of art can touch a place in our souls that needs healing and can inspire us to transformation. How glorious it is that all of Earth is an exuberant festival of arts!
This post is dedicated to my friend Amy Olsen Linn who has made art in more ways and out of more things than anybody I know.
The River Just Rolls On By
‘Cause the river don’t talk, the river don’t care
Where you’ve been, what you’ve done
Why it is you’re standin’ there.
It just rolls on by, whisperin’ to your soul
It’s gonna be alright, the river just knows.
–Annie Tate, Dave Berg, Sam Tate
I don’t usually listen to Rodney Atkins, but I love what the chorus of his song ‘The River Just Knows‘ says and invokes in me. The singer/storyteller gets up early in the morning to go fishing and sees another guy at his spot on the river, and he wishes he could have the river to himself. He notices the guy has a military haircut and fresh scars on his face, and knows what brought him to the river. The soldier catches a rainbow trout, then releases him back to the river with “I’ll help you get your wind back, ’cause you helped me get mine.”
Our journey to St. Croix State Park a couple of weeks ago centered on the rivers that border and crisscross the large park. Twenty-one miles of the St. Croix River make up the southeastern border, and the last seven miles of the Wild and Scenic Kettle River is on the southwestern side. After leaving the fire tower, we first crossed Bear Creek–one of ten other streams that flow through the park. The stone and log bridge and beaver-chewed trees made a picturesque scene as we drove toward our hiking destination–Two Rivers Trail.
We ate our picnic lunch at Kettle River Overlook. The cloudy sky made the river look gray, and white-capped and burbling rapids brought the river to life.
The trail along the Kettle River was often lined with towering white and red pines that dropped their needles to cushion the path and provide the heady fragrance that makes you know you’re in a good place.
Along the river bank, where rain and flooding waters had washed away the soil, some of the roots of the pines were exposed but hanging on to keep the trees upright.
As we hiked, the clouds gave way to blue sky, and the river reflected the change. This one spot had swirly foam that created abstract pictures as the river rolled by.
Then we walked to the point where the Kettle River ended…
and flowed into the larger St. Croix River. Five Pine sentries stood at the confluence of the two rivers. “Welcome Home.”
It was easy to see why this river was chosen for a National Scenic Riverway–every glimpse of the river was so beautiful! It stirred a desire to explore it from a canoe.
Across the river, in Wisconsin, is Governor Knowles State Forest, with more impressive pines.
The rock in the river made a natural fount to hold the holy water, blessings for all the travelers who passed by.
The tipping Pine, on the point of an island, had a pileup of log debris at its feet.
A primitive camping spot for canoeists is at a bend in the river under another giant pine. The hiking trail veered into the forest away from the river at this point—and the river just rolled on by.
I had an inordinate amount of fear growing up. Nature helped to cushion my path and get my wind back every time I felt a pile-up of debris at my feet that threatened to tip me over. It helped me hang on. In the song, the river brought life back to the soldier–and to the storyteller. All of Nature brings Life back to us–even when we don’t realize we’re in need. The holy water, the sanctuary of trees, the steady foundation of rocks, and the breath of wind whispers to our souls, tells us we’re in a good place, and lets us know that everything’s gonna be alright.
The View from the Top of the Fire Tower
I’m not afraid of heights. I climb ladders and get on roofs without hesitation or sweaty palms. I’ve ascended lighthouses, campaniles, trees, Pike’s Peak, and a few tall buildings. I worry more about the mechanical integrity of a ferris wheel or roller coaster than I do about how lofty the apex is at that momentary high point. It’s exciting to see the rest of the world from the sky-high zenith of natural or man-made structures.
So it was on our visit to St. Croix State Park as September moved into October. St. Croix State Park is the largest of Minnesota’s state parks with 34,000 acres along twenty-one miles of the St. Croix River that divides Minnesota from Wisconsin. The St. Croix River, a National Scenic Riverway, was an important trade route for hundreds of years for Native Americans, fur traders, and later for logging companies. In 1935, 18,000 acres of logged and failing farmland was purchased and became the St. Croix Recreational Demonstration Area under the direction of the National Park Service. The Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) and the Works Progress Administration (WPA) built roads, group camps, campgrounds, and many buildings from red sandstone and logs from the area. 164 structures remain as the largest collection of New Deal projects in Minnesota and are listed on the National Register of Historic Sites.
One of those structures in the Park is the fire tower built in 1937 by the CCC. It was one of 123 fire towers used across Minnesota to monitor wind and fire danger. It was manned during the fire season by dedicated watchmen until 1981. The last watchperson was a woman, Mrs. Wolters, who volunteered for 19 years of smoke spotting! The tower is situated on a hill and is 100 feet tall.
Come along with me as I begin at ground level and climb 134 steps to the top of the tower for a breath-taking view of the Park.
When we got within two landings of the top of the tower, Chris said, “That’s enough for me.” I said, “But we’re so close to the top!” He turned around and climbed down the wooden stairs. The very last set of stairs at the top were old, rickety, and covered in bird poop. I have to say my knees felt a little weak for a moment before I ascended that last bit, but, wow, it was pretty amazing at the top! The Maples were brilliant in their fall colors, and the sweeps of trees that had already lost their leaves were purplish against the still-green Oaks. I leaned over the edge of the tower side with the camera to get a picture of Chris waving to me from the ground. I thought about all the watchpersons who had spent long days up on the tower with beauty and boredom in all kinds of weather.
Chris’ simple statement has stuck with me. I have admiration for him climbing that tall tower as far as he did, as he cannot proclaim to be ‘not afraid of heights’ like I do. I have even more respect for the proclamation he did make–“That’s enough for me.” In my excitement to reach the top, I urged him on instead of congratulating him for climbing so far. Knowing ourselves and our limits, our goals and values, the things we struggle with and the things we know we need to get better at are the keys to climbing to a better life. That’s enough food for me. That’s enough shopping for me. Enough gambling, enough alcohol, enough abuse, enough silence, enough pretending. We make a new deal with ourselves and take steps to live a life that is congruent with our true selves. And from there, the view is breath-taking!
Gleanings from May–Birds and Blossoms
What a month is May! It’s a showcase of blossoms on trees, shrubs, and early blooming perennials. And while we have a great number of ‘winter’ birds that also stay around for the summer, we now see the birds that are passing through to their summer lands in Canada or those that nest and live in Minnesota for the warm season. May is the pleasant month of transformation when trees fully leaf out, exuberant growth occurs, sunshine begins to warm the lakes, and long, light evenings change the way we structure our activities. But back to the beginning of May–one of our maple trees was aglow with golden filaments of pompom-like flowers. Trees are heavily flowered (and thus seed producing) in different yearly intervals–some years it is difficult to notice any flowers at all, but this particular tree was spectacular this year!
What is Spring without Robins? The sight of Robins is the herald of the vernal season when we know that any traces of Winter will soon be gone. Whether perching on the water sprinkler during a rain shower or hopping in the grass and pulling out worms after the rain, the Robin is a common companion of May.
Northern Lights Azaleas, hardy deciduous shrubs developed at the University of Minnesota, allow us a small taste of the incredible beauty of azaleas in our northern climate. This is ‘Northern Hi-Lights,’ and while ours still struggle in our sandy soil, they do treat us to some amazing blossoms.
A couple of weeks ago the flower petals were falling off the apple tree. It was a super windy day, and I noticed a number of birds flying among the branches. With the zoom on the camera, I was able to identify the small flock of Cedar Waxwings–they were plucking the white flower petals and eating them!
One of the delightful additions to our garden is the Gas Plant. Tall spikes of orchid-looking flowers peek above the ferns that make a lovely background for the pink flower. Gas Plants grow in sun or shade–we have ours on the edge of the woods. They are hardy, drought-tolerant, and not picky about soil. They do not like to be moved once established, as they have a deep tap-root. The name is derived from the citrusy, flammable fumes the flowers give off–on a still day, you can hold a match by the flowers and see a poof of blue flame!
This little bird was flying in the woods before the leaves were fully out. I believe it to be a warbler of some kind, perhaps a Magnolia Warbler or a Yellow-rumped Warbler, both of which have their summer range in Canada.
Once we got the buckthorn cleared out from beneath the oaks in our woods, this woodland perennial appeared–Virginia Waterleaf. The leaves are mottled with what looks like water stains, and clusters of white to violet flowers rise above the leaves. As you can see, they are a favorite of the bumblebee at this time of year.
Eastern Kingbird’s scientific name is Tyrannus tyrannus, indicating his tyrannical traits of defending his territory. When defending the nest, he will aggressively attack hawks, crows and squirrels. He has a neat, suit-like appearance. The Kingbird has a crown of red, orange, or yellow feathers on its head that is usually concealed, but is raised when confronting an attacker. Both the male and female hunt for insects and feed the young for about seven weeks.
We don’t often think of evergreen trees flowering, but this is a pollen cone or male flower of the Red Pine tree. The pollen cones are most often found in the lower crown of the tree, while the small female flowers are in the middle to upper crown of the tree. Red Pine or Norway Pine is the state tree of Minnesota.
It was evening bath time for this little Bluebird! It’s so nice to have these birds in our yard, seeing them drop and dive for insects with a flash of blue color.
Birds and blossoms are the showcase of May. Spring bulbs, flowering shrubs and trees, and perennials become the houses and food for animals, birds, and insects as the yearly reproductive cycle of each creation happens before our eyes. We once again marvel at the transformation that occurs in this month as plants emerge from the ground, grow, and flower in such a short time! This Life Force of Nature is awe-inspiring! Do you see it? Do you notice and appreciate it? It is a privilege to be the observer, the caretaker, and the participant in this season of growth and beauty.
In Love with This Green Earth
I am in love with this green earth. –Charles Lamb
Do you remember the feelings you had when you first fell in love with your beloved? A euphoric happiness settled over me. I thought about him all the time. I couldn’t wait to see him again, though months would pass since we lived 400 miles from one another. I happily spoke about him, sharing stories of who he was as a person. I read and re-read the letters he sent and immediately answered them. I marveled at his handsomeness, his politeness, his kindness to family and friends. I felt lucky or blessed or pinch-me-I’m-dreaming that he felt the same way about me.
May turns a corner for us into the fullness of Spring, and I have to say, I am quite smitten. The green-ness and new-ness of this season should not come as any surprise–it happens every year! And yet, I find myself thinking, “Was last Spring this beautiful?!” I can’t get enough of looking out the window at the lush green grass and the emerging leaves.
I happily wander through the yard and woods, delighting at the swiftly growing ferns and the spring-blooming perennials.
There is an overabundance of growth, a population explosion of buds, flowers, and plants coming back to life from the dormancy of winter. (Go to North Star Nature Facebook page to ‘Like’ and see more May flowers and photos of nature.)
I am in love with this green earth. The changing seasons have a way of opening our minds to development and the cycles of Life–like falling in love with your beloved. Spring flushes the winter dormancy and old ideas from our minds and bodies to be replaced with possibilities and reliabilities–like having faith in Goodness. Renewal fills our souls with explosions of hope for the greener, growing, greater days ahead–like living in a Sanctuary. We are blessed to be living on this beautiful green earth!