water Archives - NorthStarNature

On the Rocks

February 27, 2022 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

It seems like the world is on the rocks right now. Experiencing difficulties. Deteriorating. Eroding. Spoiled. Likely to fail? Where opinions are confused with facts. Where experts are told they don’t know what they’re talking about. There’s deep division and distrust of ‘the other.’ Where a pandemic has killed millions of people. Where climate change is impacting so many in devastating ways. Where a warmonger can invade a neighboring country and wreak havoc and death. The phrase ‘on the rocks’ used in this way came from the idea of a ship running aground on rocks and breaking apart. The idiom is often used to describe failing businesses and marriages. Torn apart. Angry. On a sinking ship. What happens when we’re on the rocks?

One sunny day in the beginning days of the new year, we traveled west of Austin into the heart of the Hill Country to Pedernales Falls State Park. We spent hours on the rocks—literally. It was my most favorite place to visit on this Texas trip—an amazing landscape of exposed bedrock, pools and streams of water, fossils, and Nature’s architecture.

The exposed rock is called Marble Falls limestone created over 300 million years ago when most of Texas was covered by a sea. Other rock formed above it, and over the eons the granite layer below pushed up the limestone into these tilted formations. When the Pedernales River formed from a spring and gained power with flash flooding, it cut the canyon where the Falls now lie. Since that time, the water has eroded and shaped the ancient rock beds into amazing formations.

Flash flooding moves rocks and sand, so the Falls landscape is always changing. A beach of sand has fallen from the moving water as it churned over the last ridge of rocks. It does not have to be raining in the Park for the Falls to flood—if the rain is intense ‘upstream,’ flooding can occur under clear skies.

A reminder to get to higher ground if water starts to rise and/or get cloudy.

Potholes of all sizes appeared in the rock. They are formed when rushing water churns small and large rocks in a swirling motion, thus eroding the bedrock to form holes.

We and other hikers scrambled on the rocks, sometimes climbing up, sometimes sliding down, picking our way through the maze of streams, pools, and crevices.

This ‘beach’ was a deposit of mostly same-sized rocks that we slowly ‘hounded’ our way through. I think we could have spent hours just in this spot!

Every pool was different—some at the bottom of the Falls had green algae growing in them; others were as clear and mirror-like as an infinity pool. Some were shallow and stone-lined; others were deep and dark.

Pothole with the large ‘churning’ rocks at the bottom.

The sides of the River Falls were scattered with boulders of all sizes that had been ‘deposited’ there by rushing water over the millennia. The present day jewel tones of the water were so beautiful and calming and combined with the sandy tans of the rocks brought me an uplifting joy.

As we climbed up the Falls, the rock we walked on changed. It literally looked like mud—hard, fossilized mud—which of course was exactly what it was. And this is where we began to see tracks! Some of the track fossils were indented into the mud rock; others were raised up from the rock. I would love to have seen the animals that made these tracks!

Along the ‘mud’ rock section, striated layers of rocks created a wall by the River. Ashe Juniper trees, Sotol plants, and cactus clung to the barely-there soil. Caves had been carved out of the walls and rounded ‘pillow’ rocks softened by the water.

A large cave high on the rock wall held a house-sized boulder. Blue, yellow, and white rock colors wept down the face of the gray wall. It was one of the most intriguing spots in the Park.

We saw more fossils—one that looked like a curved spine and others called Crinoid fossils—ancient sea animals that looked like plants and sometimes called ‘sea lilies.’

The death of a loved one can make a person feel like they are on the rocks. Failed dreams, faltering relationships, and illness can do the same. It is not a good feeling when the ideological ship one is sailing on comes crashing and thrashing on the rocks of reality. The ‘worldly’ problems seem even more daunting and out of our control. How does one fight an evil power and an existential global threat when they both feel like a flash flood that could sweep us all away? But it’s not really the rocks that are to blame for the destruction—it is the storm. The storm can be the weather or greed or narcissism or fear or hatred or ignorance. While our time on the rocks in Texas held some risk and danger—flash flooding and deep crevices—it was more about how we navigated them. The rocks themselves were grounding. They held the long history of our earth in all its changes—we could see the evidence. Storms can change us, erode us, wear us down, but we can put our faith and our feet on the grounding rock of Goodness. The opposite of ‘on the rocks’ is thriving or flourishing. With hope, engagement, positive relationships, and tenacity, the people of Goodness can overcome the storms of destruction.

Land, Water, and Sky

May 23, 2021 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

If you were to distill your life down to three main elements, what would they be? My mind is searching for how I would answer that! Our lives and our world are so complex and full of so many things vying for our attention, time, and energy. During our trip to South Dakota to see my Mom, I was reminded how simple things can be—it was so evident! Looking out the window or going for a walk, the three main elements of our Earth presented themselves over and over again—land, water, and sky!

The prairie keeps things simple—on the surface anyway. A Spring prairie pasture meets a puffed-cloud blue sky! It makes me take a deep, soul-enlivening breath of gratitude. We look up to the sky at clouds, turn our faces towards the sun, marvel at the Milky Way, are mesmerized by threatening thunderheads, and contemplate how the moon belongs to all of us the world over. What does the sky offer us? Hope, awe, possibilities, rhythm, aspirations, and life-sustaining energy.

Water has taken up a larger space in this place than it did four decades ago. We used to be able to drive between the two ‘ponds’ of the slough; now the slough is a lake.

Along with the water comes more inhabitants of the water. Actually these amazing birds are inhabitants of all three elements—nesting and feeding on the land, feeding and swimming in the water, and flying through the sky. A Great Egret stands regally in the water, overshadowing the two ducks swimming nearby.

Last year’s cattails provide cover for the Egrets and Canadian Geese for nesting and hiding, though my Mom saw a sneaky Coyote disappear into the rushes, probably for a nest raid.

Look at the wingspan of the Egret! Makes the Red-winged Blackbird seem small in comparison. What an elegant bird!

Songs of the Red-winged Blackbirds fill the air as they perch precariously on the dried stems of cattails. The distinctive ‘chit’ and trill are an iconic sound of wetlands, where land meets water.

Pelicans, despite their large, bulky size, are at home in the sky or water. When flying, they soar through the air in groups, often spiraling with slow, methodical wingbeats.

A group of pelicans can corral fish together for easy food gathering, then either dip their big, pouched bills into the water or go bottoms-up like a dabbling duck.

Breeding adults grow a vertical ‘plate’ on the upper mandible, giving them a prehistoric look.

Where land meets water meets land. We are drawn to bodies of water. Native peoples made their homes by rivers, lakes, and oceans, settlers chose land that offered life-sustaining water, and today, people aspire to ‘live on the water.’ What does water offer us? Basic nourishment of life, cleansing, fluidity, a mirroring of sky and self, fun, and even escape.

A small group of male Mallards with their shiny green heads and white-banded necks swam and ate, while a pair of Blue-winged Teals glided effortlessly together.

Rocks are part of the land—the bane of a tilled field, a pedestal, a stumbling block, or a sacred marker.

One of the ‘land’ birds I have missed hearing and seeing since moving to Minnesota is the Western Meadowlark. It’s not that Minnesota doesn’t have them; they just aren’t as readily seen, as they prefer open prairie and fields. I heard the flute-like warble before seeing him, and I was happy to catch a glimpse of the yellow-breasted songster.

The slough-turned-lake has carved out the land to a steep bank where lives an apartment full of Bank Swallows. The morning was chilly and windy when we walked the pasture, but the sun was warming for the little Swallows perched on a tree branch.

The land is where we return to, no matter to what species we belong. We’re not sure of the story behind this cow’s demise, but the circle of life goes on. Critters of various kinds were nourished by the carcass in its decay.

We feel a kinship to the land, especially those whose livelihoods are dependent upon it. Land is the fertile mother where everything grows in mind-blowing abundance. We feel a sense of place with the land, of grounding, and of habitat. What does the land offer us? Steadiness, protection, constancy, food, beauty, and bounty.

I think we tend to make life more complicated than it really is, even though simple things, as with the prairie and sky, are intrinsically very complex. So there may be value in distilling one’s life down to three essential elements. My mind has been contemplating that since I posed the question in the opening paragraph—before sleep and upon waking are good times to examine your own conscious for answers. The first to come to my mind was ‘home.’ It is my grounding place, the place where I have generally felt safe and at ease. Home is my ‘land,’ and land is my home. It is impossible for me to ‘feel at home’ without some land to walk on, to care for, and to grow things on. It is also the place where most of my nourishment comes from, as eating at home has always been my norm. My second essential element is ‘learning.’ Curiosity and learning have been an integral part of my life since before I can remember. It is the realm of a child’s mind when developmentally, every encounter is an opportunity to learn. Why do some people lose that, I wonder? Learning is my ‘sky.’ It is what makes me a scientist and a seeker of spirit. It is a place of endless questions, of potential and possibilities, of awe and hope. My third element is ‘love.’ It is what we are drawn to, where we want to settle, and is life-sustaining. Love is my ‘water.’ It is a mirroring of self, a place where we can cleanse away past trauma and hurt, a place where we can have fun. Home, learning, and love are all intertwined for me, just as Earth’s three essential elements are a part of and fundamental for the birds, and in essence, for all of life. What are your life’s three essential elements?

Art in Nature

January 6, 2019 by Denise Brake 1 Comment

There are two people in my life that know Art (with a capital A) in a way that my ignorant and scientific mind will never be able to fathom. I don’t ‘know’ it or ‘get’ it, but I try, by association, to appreciate it at some level. One of those people is my sister-in-law Julie. She has worked as a docent at the Nelson Art Museum in Kansas City for decades, and her home is full of amazing art that is strange and foreign to my untraveled, untrained mind and eye. But there is something that links me to her taste and ability in the arts—Nature. She is also a skillful gardener, talented designer, and Nature-lover. Her whole backyard is a garden of delights with unique plant material, beautiful design, interesting sculptures and urns, and unprecedented plant pairings, yet looks natural and artfully wild all at the same time. We were fortunate to spend a couple of days with Chris’ brother and Julie, and they took us to the Overland Park Arboretum and Botanical Gardens on the western outskirts of Kansas City. The day was warm with a crisp breeze—warm compared to the snow we had left in Minnesota, and crisp enough to need a jacket and hat.

The first wonder that greeted us was the strange, unique protuberances under a Bald Cypress tree. Thanks to Chris, our intrepid tree man, we learned these were cypress knees. The knees grow up from the roots of the Bald Cypress tree and have been the wonder of botanists for centuries. Bald Cypress trees are deciduous conifers (like our Northern Larch or Tamarack) that typically grow in swamps where the roots are waterlogged for at least part of the year. Some have theorized the knees provide the roots with air for gas exchange; others proclaim them to be structural to keep the shallow root system strong, and the tree upright. They are one of Nature’s wondrous mysteries!

Our next surprise was Monet painting at the edge of the pond! The French Impressionist painter Claude Monet was an advocate for plein air painting—in the open air—in order to capture the lighting at different times of the day and the colors during different seasons of the year.

We encountered a trio of Lacebarks as we strolled along the winter paths—Lacebark Elm, Lacebark Oak, and Lacebark Pine—all with interesting, exfoliating works-of-art bark.

Alight and rest for a moment on a dragonfly bench!

High in a Sycamore tree sat a hawk who seemed unconcerned with the passersby below. The American Sycamore grows stately and tall and holds its seed clusters most of the winter, like tiny balls decorating the bare tree for the holidays.

We walked through a tall, metal gate that fenced the deer out of the Gardens and entered the dry, wooded swales, a low-lying area by Wolf Creek where Cottonwood and Sycamore trees grew into giants. Flooded creek waters had washed the soil away from the roots of nearby trees creating tangled works of art.

One common workhorse of a tree in the mid-plains is the Osage Orange or Hedge Apple tree. The Osage Indians made superior bows from the tough, flexible wood. The yellow wood resists rot, burns hot, and is used for fence posts and railroad ties. The trees themselves were used for living fences before barbed wire was widely available and less expensive—the low branching trees with strong, sharp thorns grew ‘horse-high, bull-strong, and pig-tight’ as a hedge. The yellow wood extends into the roots…

…and the large yellow-green hedge ball or fruit ball contains a messy, milky sap that is supposed to repel insects and spiders.

We returned to the Gardens through another high gate after our hike through the woods and found ourselves on the Sculpture Garden trail. Elaborately pieced fairy houses—miniature natural architecture with colorful trinkets and stones—were placed at intervals along the trail.

Beautiful sculptures were tucked into the trees along the paved path, a melding of Art and Nature.

Like Monet, I appreciated the colors of the winter season at the Arboretum and Botanical Gardens—the muted green grass, the rusty oak leaves, the ice-blue sky and water, and the honey-colored hydrangea blooms. A painting in the making. I love how Mother Nature is the ultimate artist—the color and form in the feathers of a bird, the patterns and designs in the bark of a tree, the making and dispersal of seeds, and the color and contour of the inner characteristics of a tree. I liked the juxtaposition of whimsical, woodsy fairy houses made from the materials that surrounded them with the bold concrete and metal sculptures that had found their new homes among the trees. I am thankful for the time we had with family and friends on our trip south. There is something sacred and life-giving in sharing space, time, food, laughter, perspective, ideas, and talents. It’s what links us together on the wondrous, mysterious journey of Life.

The Easy Way

September 16, 2018 by Denise Brake 4 Comments

A ship in the harbor is safe. But that’s not what ships are built for. –John A. Shedd

We got our tickets and were told the Taylors Falls Princess was docked in Interstate State Park, as the water was too rough and rushing over the rapids at the usual dock. Up the hill, turn left, past the park entrance, and down the hill. The Princess is a paddlewheel boat operated by Taylors Falls Scenic Boat Tours—a family owned and run business on the Saint Croix River since 1906. The upper deck was already filled with site-seers, so we took our seats at the front of the lower deck to get the best standing spots once the gate was closed. It was an easy way to explore the Saint Croix River, complete with a knowledgeable tour guide and seasoned captain.

This area of the river cutting through huge rock formations is called ‘dalles,’ a French word for rapids of a river through a narrow gorge. The base rock is basalt, a dark, fine-grained volcanic rock that was later covered with a shallow sea that deposited sandstone above the basalt. When glaciers began to melt, the St. Croix River was formed. When the melting ice water intersected an old fracture in the basalt, it took the easy way, creating a sharp bend here at Angle Rock.

Our tour guide pointed out rock formations that looked like various things—Lion’s Head, Elephant’s Head, and the Old Man of the Dalles.

Supposedly, French fur traders of the 1600’s saw a cross in this rock face and named the river after the ‘Holy Cross,’ though the River was known by many different names before and after that time.

We paddled down the River on the Princess and saw many paddlers in colorful kayaks and Alumacraft canoes who weren’t taking it quite as easy as we were! The Saint Croix River is part of the National Wild and Scenic Riverways system established in 1968.

We saw an eagle and eagle’s nest…

…and a gaggle of geese taking it easy on the shore.

My favorite story by the tour guide was about the island that wasn’t supposed to be there. When they were building the road on the Minnesota side of the River bluffs, the contractor told his assistant to order two tons of dynamite, and she mistakenly ordered twenty tons. He blew the bluff into the River! Is that an easy way to make an island or was the assistant an easy scapegoat to his big problem?

The Saint Croix River begins in Wisconsin about 20 miles south of Lake Superior, and the last 125 miles marks the border between Wisconsin and Minnesota where it then merges with the Mississippi. The Interstate State Park is on both the Wisconsin side and Minnesota side around the Dalles area.

The Saint Croix has been one of the cleanest rivers in the Midwest, but like most lakes and streams in the state, it has a problem with nutrient (phosphorus) overload in the summer. The dark brownish-red color of the water is from tannins that come from decaying plant material that lines the shores of the River; tannins are not considered to be a pollutant, but we did wonder about the constant stream of white foam.

Our easy eighty-minute excursion on the paddlewheel boat seemed to go fast—the River and the rocks were beautiful. The history and stories by our tour guide were interesting and informative. Our easy way of exploring the River and bluffs cost us money in order for other people and machines to do ‘the work.’ We were safe within the rails of the boat (never in their long history have they ever had to use the life vests.) Franklin D. Roosevelt said, “A smooth sea never made a skillful sailor.” The easy way doesn’t challenge us—it may keep us safe, be the way we’ve always done things, and be the most comfortable for us. But is that what we’re built for? Is that what we’re born for? How do we build roads where once there were rocks and trees? How do we make an island? Our day at the Saint Croix River was just beginning. The easy way was over.

To be continued…

The Mirror of Nature and Goodness

June 3, 2018 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

Water is the mirror of Nature. –Francis of Assisi

What happens when you see a person walking toward you unexpectedly get hit in the head by a ball? Often we react with a cringe, a movement of our hand to our own head, or even with a verbal “ouch”—almost like we ourselves had gotten hit. The mechanism for that occurrence is the activation of mirror neurons in our brains. Mirror neurons were discovered in 1994 by a group of Italian scientists in a lucky accident. They were studying individual neurons in a monkey’s premotor area of the brain, with a computer to monitor which neurons fired when the monkey picked up a peanut or banana. The researcher noticed that when he was putting food pellets into a box, the computer showed that the monkey’s brain cells were firing, even though the monkey wasn’t moving! He was watching the researcher move and reacting as if he were picking up the food pellets himself. Research on mirror neurons continues, but it is now understood that these brain-to-brain links help to explain empathy, learning, imitation, and synchrony. These brain cells are ‘online’ at birth and are an imperative part of how a baby and caretaker communicate with one another, how they regulate their respective physiologies, and how the baby learns—e.g., cooing and making sounds and words, playing peek-a-boo, facial expressions, and comforting tones and movements. We are, in essence, programmed to pick up another person’s movements, emotions, and intentions and to make internal adjustments based on what we notice. We also give clues to others about what is going on inside of us.

After a hot Memorial Day weekend, Tuesday’s storm broke the heat wave and brought us some much-needed rain. As the storm was ending, the western horizon cleared, and the sun shone through the trees. I went out the back door with the camera to photograph the colorful sunset, but what caught my attention was the birdbath. The water in the birdbath was a mirror not only to the colors of the sunset but also a reflection of the wind and remaining raindrops! It was mesmerizing!

Twenty-two photographs over four minutes of time. Subtleties of color, shade, tone, and movement. Each one the same, but different. Each one mirroring a moment in Nature, reflecting the wind, the rain, and the sunlight. We exhibit just as many cues and clues in four minutes of our time with subtle movements, facial expressions, muscle tightening, eye contact, voice tone, and posture. Those around us are picking up those cues and clues via their mirror neurons and reacting to them based on the person’s development history, sense of safety, and state of mind and body (all of which can change the message in profound ways.) And most of this is happening with little or no conscious awareness. The challenge is not to be vulnerable to negativity in others, not to meet anger with anger or disdain with disdain, yet at the same time retain the empathy that keeps us connected as social beings. What a challenge it is. It does give credence to our moms’ warnings not to hang out with the wrong crowd—we tend to become like the people we choose to be around; she just didn’t know it was because of mirror neurons! We have an opportunity to positively influence the people around us and the strangers we meet—we can look into their eyes and smile, we can open our hands and our hearts, we can make them feel welcomed, safe, and supported. Our face and actions can be a mirror of Goodness, and that, dear ones, is mesmerizing.

There is a Reason for Everything–NOT Everything Happens for a Reason

March 25, 2018 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

I like things to make sense. When things don’t make sense in my mind, I ask questions—of myself and others. Information helps a person make sense of a situation. There have been a lot of things happening that don’t make any sense—why would a young person plan and carry out a school shooting or multiple bombings? Finding a motive or reason for such action is paramount to the investigation. Information is gathered from multiple sources, in multiple ways in order to figure it out. Many times though, the answer to the question of why a person acted as they did is never fully known.

Science also asks questions in order to find answers—it is the foundation of the scientific method. Information is gathered, past research is perused, a pertinent hypothesis formulated, the methodology carefully planned out and followed to exactitude. Did the results confirm the hypothesis? What conclusions were learned from the experiment? Questions, answers, more questions. And so it goes.

Questions about Nature have been studied by science for hundreds of years, and today the questions are just as important as ever. Why is the Monarch butterfly population in decline? https://www.annualreviews.org/doi/abs/10.1146/annurev-ento-020117-043241 http://www.eeb.cornell.edu/agrawal/documents/InamineetalAgrawal2016Oikosmonarchconservation_000.pdf

Is our water safe? https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1253773/

https://www.mprnews.org/story/2016/07/13/minnesota-adds-pollution-sources-impaired-waters-list

What is killing our bee populations, and what is the impact on agriculture? https://www.uky.edu/~jast239/reprints/Geography%20Compass%202016.pdf http://mjpa.umich.edu/files/2014/08/2014-BiancoCooperFournier-HoneyBee.pdf

What happens when forests are clear-cut? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Un2yBgIAxYs https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2016/04/160415125925.htm

Scientific experiments seek to answer these complicated questions. Seldom is there a singular cut-and-dry reason; seldom is the answer an easy one. Mostly, answers lead to more questions. But each answer, each piece of information that is discovered about the situation, adds to the body of knowledge. It is a contribution to the big picture, and each piece shows a pathway to action that can be taken to solve the problem.

As for the things that don’t make sense in this world or in our lives, the same applies. Rarely is there just one reason; rarely is the reason a simple explanation. However, I hypothesize that there is always a reason for everything—not in the insensitive platitude ‘everything happens for a reason’ kind of way, but in the scientific ’cause and effect’ way. There was a reason why they gathered the guns and made the bombs, there was a reason they felt like this was an appropriate thing to do, there was a reason their thinking was so clouded and deluded, and there was a reason they fell through the cracks. As with everything, there is a long, complicated lineage of reasons why things occur. Answers lead to more questions. But information leads to understanding—that’s why questions are so important. That’s why multiple sources are important. That’s why experts are important. All help to configure the big picture, so we can take multiple pathways to solve these heart-breaking problems.

Snow, Ice, and Water–These Three are One

March 4, 2018 by Denise Brake 6 Comments

“Water, in all its forms, is what carries the knowledge of life throughout the universe.” –Anthony T. Hincks

When a person lives where water is always liquid and falling as rain or flowing like a river, I think there is a tendency to not think about it much, to perhaps take it for granted. But when something is ‘too much’ or ‘not enough’—flooding or drought—or something unusual or rare—snow in Texas—we tend to pay attention. We haven’t had much snow here in Central Minnesota for most of this winter—until the week before last, that is, when we had over a foot of it. I looked out the front door at the big pile of white stuff and thought, “Isn’t snow funny and amazing and beautiful?” I mean, it’s just water, frozen water! Beautiful crystals of frozen water falling from the sky! Frozen water that is shoveled and piled, rolled and patted into balls to form snowmen and forts by kids at recess. Amazing!

“There is a beauty about winter that no other season can touch.” –Hailey DeRoo Haugen

“Kindness is like snow—It beautifies everything it covers.” –Kahlil Gibran

Another beautiful frozen water phenomenon is frost—frozen water vapor on the surface of objects.

Sun-warmed and melted snow dripped and re-froze into icicles—Mother Nature’s decorating of the evergreen Spruce trees.

“Snow is water, and ice is water, and water is water; these three are one.” –Joseph Dare

And then there’s ice. Ice that’s strong enough to drive a truck on. Ice that captures and immobilizes tree branches, leaves, aquatic plants and roots. Ice that holds a village of ice shacks and fishermen.

“The water hears and understands. The ice does not forgive.” –Leigh Bardugo

Ice as art. Ice as frozen Rorschach tests. What do you see?

“You’re gonna catch a cold from the ice inside your soul.” –Christina Perri

If water, in all its forms, carries the knowledge of life, we have a lot to learn in Winter. I respect the idea that winter, in all its starkness, can radiate a beauty like no other. I love the idea of beautifying the world with kindness. I like how water and situations and people can be transformed, change states, be honed in the process of warming, melting, and re-freezing to flowing, understanding, and forgiving. Goodness and Grace can thaw an icy soul. I also honor the toughness of ice, how it builds up inch by inch during the harshness of Winter’s cold in order to support the things we drive and those that drive us. How it supports a village of people who want the same basic things in life, in spite of how the harshness can capture and immobilize us at times. I appreciate that frozen water (oh, the chemistry and physics of it all!) is art. How we can stare into the depths of it or notice the light or marvel at the structure, and at the same time, learn something about ourselves. There is a great deal of hope in every snowflake that falls, in every frost pattern that forms, in every layer of ice that is laid down, and in every process of melting. Life is funny, amazing, and beautiful—all three in one.

Transitions of Spring and Life

May 7, 2017 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

One of the most poignant and difficult transitions in my life was moving from a household of five to gradually becoming a household of two again. It was much more difficult than transitioning from two to five. But it certainly followed the flow of Life, the reason for parenthood—to raise up offspring in loving care so they would become independent adults living their own lives.

Here in Central Minnesota, we are still in the Spring transition. Signs of the old—winter dormancy and fall foliage—still are apparent even as the new green grows up around the old. Most of the deciduous trees now have small, unfolding leaves, though still looking more bare than there. The Wild Plum tree is white with blossoms, small pink flowers buds are scattered on the Apple trees, and the Daffodils are blooming in their fragrant, cheery yellow beauty. Within a mile of our place are a number of small ponds and wetlands—some only hold water in the spring and dry up during the heat of summer. Others are large enough or fed by springs and creeks that they are the habitat for many different animals all year round. The first small pond had many cattails—old and new—and not much water. But it was home to a solo-singing frog who was later joined by two other voices as I stood nearby taking pictures.

The next body of water I walked by was a small lake populated by waterfowl, turtles, and muskrats. A pair of Canadian Geese swam together at the far side of the lake, dipping their heads into the shallow water, sometimes going bottoms-up in their search for food.

Like the bottoms-up goose, the Lily Pads uncurl by sticking up in the air before laying flat on the water’s surface.

A line-up of turtles were sunning themselves on a mud barge, happy for warmth after a winter of hibernating.

On the other side of the road from the lake was a small pond and wetlands where the new green grass was becoming dominant.

An old nest rested among the new leaves.

Pine-cone Willow galls, made last year, house pink, grubby larvae that pupate in the spring and hatch as adult gnats. The old cone ‘houses’ and the new lime green flowers and leaves are the epitome of this Spring transition.

Transitions are always a little tough, whether going from Winter to Spring or Autumn to Winter, from health to sickness or injury to healing, from a busy, vibrant household to a quieter, calmer environment or from a carefree, me-and-you life to baby makes three or four or more. With each transition of our lives, it’s good to take some time to appreciate the old way, to have gratitude for the things that served us well, and to learn from the difficulties that wrenched our hearts in sorrow or pain. Perhaps that is why Spring is slow in its unfurling. As the old way slips away, we make room for the new. We are happy for the warmth. We shed another layer of our childish ways to become more adult-like. We build a new nest. We join with other voices who know the song we’re singing. With peace and renewed energy, we merge once again with the flow of Life.

Art In The Park

October 23, 2016 by Denise Brake 4 Comments

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

October 16, 2016 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

‘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.

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