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...]
Gleanings from June–Synergy
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.
Biking and Hiking Where the Wild Things Are
Our copy of Maurice Sendak’s classic picture book ‘Where the Wild Things Are’ is tattered and worn, the shiny gold Caldecott Medal sticker peeling along the circular edge. I would hate to guess how many times we read it. The story is about play, actions, feelings, imagination, and processing. (If you are unfamiliar with ‘Where the Wild Things Are,’ click here to see a YouTube reading of the book.)
These wild things in Max’s imagination are at the opposite end of the spectrum to the literally wild things in Nature. And before I go any further, I must give due respect to the multitude of places across the world that are much more ‘wild’ than here in Central Minnesota. Nonetheless, all it takes is a bike ride or a hike close to home to encounter the wild things.
We can cross the highway down the hill from our house and ride the twelve-mile bike trail to the west. Redwing blackbirds sing from their cattail podiums and frogs chortle in the wetland area strewn with Yellow Water Buttercups.
Farther down the trail, the Sauk River flows from the Chain of Lakes where the geese and the pelicans float. Beware–if you were a fish, he’d eat you up, he loves you so.
Down the ditch, across the busy highway, through trees and grass, I saw the strange walking movement of a family of Sandhill Cranes. These red-masked, five-foot-tall birds with a wingspan of nearly seven feet are formidable defenders of their young ones. They survey the world all around them for tasty frogs, snakes, insects, small mammals, and grains. Their distinctive trilling call draws your eyes skyward during spring and fall migration.
Last weekend we hiked through Rockville County Park to discover we are six baby eagles richer than we were a year ago. The family of five, with all their yellow eyes and terrible claws, sat peacefully in their lofty nest, watching as we walked around their prairie.
Golden Alexander, a member of the carrot family, is a host plant for Black Swallowtail caterpillars. It has a wild, beautiful scientific name–Zizia aurea–one that is meant to be proclaimed out loud! ZIZIA AUREA!
Be still and look at this beautiful little butterfly on the most common of all wildflowers.
The exuberant wildness of Prairie Smoke drifted in the breeze. The nodding pink-red flowers stand up and open up after pollination and has a seed at the base of each feathery plume.
The other eagle’s nest is on the edge of the forest, and the three young ones sat patiently waiting for their parents to return with supper.
As we walked through the forest towards the Sauk River, we saw ferns that grew and grew and grew until they were as tall as we were!
We saw a woodland plant that looked like Solomon’s Seal, but it had a different flower from the ones that hang from the underside of the arching stems. When we got home, I looked it up–it’s False Solomon’s Seal–I was both right and wrong.
We all possess the magic trick of staring into our own eyes, letting our imagination run wild, and believing it to be the truth. We become the king of our own wild imaginations. We like being in charge of the wild rumpus that ensues. But like Max, we eventually become lonely, and something from far away entices us to give up being king. Our ego cries, “Oh please don’t go.” But we say “No!” Amid the terrible roars and gnashing of teeth, we step into our true self and sail back to where Someone loves us best of all.
What’s in a Name?
When I met my husband oh so long ago, he said his name was Chris, and he gave me the slip of paper that was his nonresident short-term fishing license from the State of Minnesota, because it had his address on it–and he promised to write back if I wrote him a letter. He was headed back to Missouri from Minnesota with a stop in South Dakota for the night. I was in the right place at just the right time for him to ask me to dance. The brown-eyed handsome man named Chris captured my heart. Later I learned that his family and friends called him Mick. Many times over the years he asked me to call him Mick, and even though I tried, it felt awkward saying it to him.
A walk through our yard and woods at this time of year is an exploration of blooming flowers! I know most of them by their common names and often Chris will tell me their Scientific names. Both names give clues about the flowering plant or tell a story about its history.
Perennial Blue Flax–Linum lewisii–named in honor of Meriwether Lewis of Lewis and Clark who discovered this blue beauty on their expedition across the Plains. (And speaking of names, Meriwether!)
Variegated Solomon’s Seal–Polygonatum odoratum var. pluriflorum ‘Variegatum’–poly meaning ‘many’, gonu meaning ‘knee joints’ referring to the jointed plant rhizomes; pluriflorum meaning ‘many flowered’; Solomon’s Seal for the wound sealing properties of the plant.
Wild Geranium–Geranium maculatum–large flowering (relatively speaking, since this flower is 1 inch or more compared to others of under half an inch.)
Leopard’s Bane–Doronicum orientale–all in this genus were once thought to be poisonous to animals.
Carpet Bugle–Ajuga reptans–a groundcover that spreads across the ground like a carpet.
Foam Flower–Tiarella cordifolia–Tiarella meaning ‘small crown’ from the shape of the fruit; fluffy, airy flowers.
Bleeding Heart–Dicentra spectabilis–Dicentra meaning ‘two spurs’, spectabilis meaning ‘spectacular’; Bleeding Heart by the shape of the flower.
Lily of the Valley–Convallaria majalis–majalis meaning ‘that which belongs to May.’
Lungwort–Pulmonaria spp.–herbalists long ago thought the spotted leaves looked like diseased lungs and used it to treat lung ailments; ‘wort’ meaning ‘to heal or cure.’
Sweet Woodruff–Galium odoratum–fragrant leaves and flowers; Woodruff is Old English for ‘wood that unravels’ meaning the creeping rootstock; another common name is Sweet Scented Bedstraw as the dried leaves were used to stuff mattresses.
Flowering plant names, both Scientific and common, often describe or tell a story about the plant. Our given names are carefully chosen by our parents–name books are consulted and brainstorming with lists of names are ‘tried on’ and discarded or ‘liked’ by our mothers and fathers until the list of ‘likes’ is whittled down to the perfect name for that child. We can honor parents, grandparents and other relatives by giving their name to our child, and in the course of a lifetime, the child may come to know the honor of carrying that name. Nicknames usually have a story about how they came to be, and once a person is lovingly known by that name, it is difficult to say otherwise. I call my husband Mick when I talk to his family, though there is still a fraction of a hesitation before doing so. But the man I fell in love with is and will always be Chris on my tongue and in my heart. It is a particular and all-encompassing blessing when we are called by our name.
Journey into Nature and Parenthood
I go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in order. –John Burroughs
There is a connection between the generations, a sinew of code that we receive from our parents and ancestors and pass on to our offspring. Our chromosomes determine eye color, hair and skin color, and many other physical and personality characteristics–our Nature. When we celebrate Mother’s and Father’s Days, however, it is mainly about our Nurture–how we were raised and nurtured and how we raised and nurtured our children. The nine months of carrying and growing a child, the months and years of nursing them, caring for their every need, teaching them, guiding them, providing for them, cherishing them, and allowing them to become the persons they were meant to be. A difficult, joyous, incredible, honorable journey.
Our journey into nature this past weekend was to Birch Lakes State Forest, one of the smallest state forests in Minnesota, situated between two lakes on hilly, forested land created by glacial depositions. It is in the transition zone between the southwest prairie and northeast forested regions. It is mainly a deciduous forest with aspens, maples, basswoods, and oaks.
Spring wildflowers were blooming on the trail by the lake: Large-flowered Bellwort and Wood Anemone.
We hiked the trail with no map, not knowing where we were going, around shallow ponds filled with cattails and surrounded by white-barked birches.
Wild Calla Lilies or Waterdragons bloomed in one of the shallow ponds.
Jack-in-the-Pulpits and Ferns were abundant along the trail.
One of the most interesting plants in the forest was a small shrub. It was shaped like a petite tree with a singular trunk and symmetrical branches. The bark was smooth and brownish-gray, and the branches were pliable and bent without breaking.
Neither of us knew what kind of shrub it was, and on closer inspection, we saw that it had already bloomed and was producing fruit.
After a fairly long search when we returned home, I found the shrub on the Minnesota DNR field guide to native plants. ‘Dirca palustris’ or Leatherwood grows in part to full shade and likes a boggy habitat. It blooms in March or April, before its leaves emerge, with a bell-shaped pale yellow flower. The fruit will be red by fall, and the leaves have a yellow fall color. I remembered that I had taken a picture of a blooming shrub during our early spring hike at St. John’s Arboretum. It was the blooming Leatherwood! The Native Americans used the tough, leathery twigs and bark for bow strings, baskets, fishing line, and rope.
The only critters we saw were a loon on Birch Lake when we arrived and a camouflaged tree frog on the leafy trail towards the end of our hike.
Going to a place we had never been before and walking through Nature’s incredible gifts soothed my soul and got my senses in order. Connection with Nature–in all its glories–is something we nurtured and passed on to our children. The journey of parenthood takes a sharp turn when children are adults and living in places far from their parents, but the road never ends. Losing a parent of my own in these last months brings that reality home. Remember to whom we belong. That sinew of code–tough, flexible, unbreakable–that we receive from our parents, grandparents, and ancestors and the years of nurturing from resilient, flawed parents make us who we are. Follow the trail of life. We may not know where we’re going all the time, but we can find beauty and interesting things along the way. Find our own way. We choose our paths, sometimes turn around when we find we’re on the wrong trail, and at other times blaze our own trail with intuition and spirit. May Goodness and Mercy follow us all the days of our precious lives.
Gleanings from August
This impressive display of purple coneflowers Chris planted at the College of St. Benedict reminds me of a crowd of people at an outdoor concert–all shapes and sizes enjoying the sunshine and gathered for a common purpose. In the case of the coneflowers, their common purpose is Beauty! August and sunshine and purple coneflowers! Earlier that day while at St. John’s Arboretum, we saw flying sandhill cranes and a pudgy chipmunk who didn’t seem the least bit concerned that we were treading on his home territory.
An evening August visit to Eagle Park revealed bursts of bright sunflowers amid the prairie grasses and a pair of sandhill cranes but no eagles.
One of the most interesting flowers we saw on the banks of the Mississippi River was the Obedient Plant. It is so named because the individual flowers on the showy spikes can be moved around the stem and will stay where you put them!
One of my favorite flowers we have at home is Joe Pye Weed. It is also a native plant to eastern and central United States, including Minnesota. It is close to six feet tall and has large pink-purple blossoms on dark red stems. We planted it in a relatively sunny clearing in the woods. And I love its common name–said to be named after a Native American healer who cured the settlers of typhus with the plant.
August brought many visitors to our yard–the doe and her spotted fawns, the wandering posse of turkeys, shy pileated woodpeckers, and the many wrens who hatched their young in the birdhouses. Another visitor announced his presence one morning with loud screeches. This young Cooper’s hawk was in an ash tree right outside our door.
And we are getting hints of fall–red leaves on sumac, clusters of white asters, and white berries on red stems of the gray dogwood.
Whether we are one of many in a crowd or a solitary individual, we have a purpose at any given time. Whether we are flying through the sky or planted in a sunny spot, we are part of a larger community that needs our gifts. As summer winds down, may you find purpose, the voice to share it with your community, and time in each day for appreciating the Beauty of Nature.
Nature’s GPS
Have you ever been lost? Have you been convinced that you are going in the right direction and then something doesn’t look right or feel quite right? When Chris and I headed north to the Brainerd Lakes area to see Michaela’s camp, she had texted us directions. After 32 years of marriage, Chris and I make a pretty good team when it comes to getting somewhere–he’s a great driver, and I’m a good navigator. No GPS for us. Directions, a map, and a sense of adventure. We were headed north on 3 Highway looking for a right-hand turn onto 118. We passed a left-hand turn-off for 118, so anticipated seeing it continue to the right farther up the road–not unusual when skirting around lakes. We kept driving. I double-checked the directions. Yep, we were going the right way. More driving. There was another intersection. I checked the map again–whoops, we were too far north. We turned around, took 118 to the west, and easily found the camp.
Imagine navigating across the vast prairie as the early settlers did. One native North American plant helped the travelers know they were heading in the right direction. Compass plant is a tall sunflower-looking perennial that towers above the prairie grasses in July and August.
The prairie of St. John’s Arboretum has a number of compass plants rising six to nine feet into the sky. This towering plant has a deep taproot that helps maintain its tall structure. The stems contain a bitter, resinous sap the Native Americans used as chewing gum to cleanse the mouth. The leaves are deeply cut, rigid, and leathery with a rough surface. They orient themselves in a vertical position in a north-south direction. With the blades of the leaves facing the east-west direction, it reduces the amount of sun hitting the leaves, which conserves water.
Compass plants take up to three or four years to mature and flower. The first year of growth from a seed is a single leaf, allowing the energy to produce extensive roots. The flowers bloom to the east like sunflowers.
We have all been lost at times–both physically and spiritually–even when we believe we are on the right path. Being aware of our surroundings, listening and looking for the signs around us, and having an inner sense of where we should be, help us on our journeys. We use different means to find our way–directions and maps, GPS, guidance from others and from God, a phone call, reading and writing, and even Nature’s plants.
Up Close and Personal
I’m not one to jump into things without thought…and contemplation…and risk assessment…and a list of pros and cons…and asking how does this fit into the Big Picture? Once I get the big picture though, I like to look at the details. When you examine things up close and personal, you can see what is not apparent from a distance. The details are intriguing–they are the puzzle pieces that fit together to make the whole what it is.
We hiked at Saint John’s Arboretum on Sunday. From a distance we could see a charred skeleton of a tree, stark and black against the summer colors. We traversed a marsh of cattails and green-black water on a winding boardwalk straight out of a Dr. Seuss book. The burnt tree stood beside two other long-dead trees where the shore of the marsh met the hill. Did high water kill them many years ago? Was the oak struck by lightning when the dead wood easily burned? Did a controlled burn get a little out of control? Virginia creeper snaked up one side of the trunk and was beginning to turn scarlet. Honeysuckle berries glowed red in the foreground while an oak branch hung down in vibrant green–all with a background of hazy gray-barked aspens. Let’s look a little closer.
Gray places on the trunk where the fire skipped over. The tendrils of the Virginia creeper clutching to the scorched crevices. Rusty spots beside the veins on the oak. Dewdrops on the shaded leaf. A tiny black spider and a filament of web. Light and shadows.
Examine and enjoy the amazing details of plants from the arboretum and from our gardens…
“There is a holiness to nature, in the intricacy of the system. Its secrets are open to all to learn, but it takes patience to develop the eyes and history necessary to see.”
Fr. Paul Schwietz, O.S.B., Founding Arboretum Director
Eagles Among the Granite and Wildflowers
We live in granite country. Quarries–some old and some still productive–are everywhere, and there are a number of granite warehouses within miles of our place. Commercial buildings are sheathed in granite of different hues. Our garden walls and steps are granite, and everywhere a person may want to dig, there will be granite. Eagle Park is strewn with granite boulders called core stones that have surfaced from the granite bedrock. The igneous rock in this area is made up of clear to gray quartz, black mica, with pink and white feldspar crystals and is called Rockville Granite. I’ll walk you around the park of granite boulders, eagles and wildflowers.
The milkweed was abundant, and each ball of buds or blooms was a shade of candy-confection pink. No wonder the monarch butterflies love this plant!
While I was looking at flowers, Chris spotted an eagle in the tree ahead of us. It is hard to differentiate the male and female bald eagle, especially when they are not side by side. The female is larger and has a deeper beak. The male generally has a sleeker head, so by comparing the pictures from the last post, I would say this is father eagle! He flew from this perch overlooking the floodplain back to the nest in the gnarled hackberry tree in the center of the park.
The path circles the park, skirting the immense granite boulders and winding past giant oak trees.
Thistles have encroached upon the park from an adjacent untended pasture, living side by side with the prairie grasses and wildflowers. The prolific seeders take over more ground year after year.
A trio of fuzzy-leaved mullein stands poised, ready to bloom.
Meadow rue and prairie phlox adorn the granite.
Leadplant and butterfly weed brighten the landscape.
Blue vervain and purple coneflower have prominent seed heads, insuring the propagation of their kind for another year.
And a lovely young oak puts on its yearly coat of new growth.
The granite has been in this place for eons. This pair of eagles has been here for ten years now. They have adapted to the circling of curious spectators as they raise their eaglets in their home high above the grasses, thistles, and wildflowers. We all take our place in the history of the eons, adapting to the changes that come our way. We learn from the hard times and the thorny issues that invade the beauty of our lives. We need to feed upon the candy-confection beauty of the world and let the seeds of that beauty–love, compassion, kindness, faith and hope–spread beyond our own selves. We need to view the world from that high home in the sky.