Touch the Earth

Always Learning

2012-02-15T07:14:00.002-05:00

At first glance, the marsh looks almost barren in wintertime, particularly at low tide. Broken cattail remains dot the mud and the bare branches of silky dogwood and buttonbush appear as frozen as the ice that clings to the Potomac River shoreline. As I braced myself against the biting wind, the bright February sunlight did little to warm me and I wondered yet again how the waterfowl swimming and feeding just beyond the ice can live, and even thrive, in the cold.

The boardwalk runs between the river and the marsh, at the intersection of the two ecosystems, and offers abundant opportunity to observe the life of both. There were not many ducks in the marsh but on the river they were feeding, splashing and calling with abandon. Furthest out were the diving ducks- the common mergansers, hooded mergansers, American widgeons and buffleheads and for the most part, each species swam alone, not mingling with others not of its own kind. Closer in to shore were the dabbling ducks, puddle ducks as they are sometimes called, the mallards and black ducks whose bottoms we often see as they tip their heads underwater to feed. This area of the Potomac is rich in the aquatic plant life, fish and crustaceans that sustain the waterfowl who make this area their winter home and the boardwalk is an excellent vantage point from which to learn more about them all.

Though I enjoy watching waterfowl, my attention turned to the bald eagle pair perched on a large sycamore nearby. The female should be laying her first egg any day now and, though I think I know which nest they will adopt, I won’t be sure until she is sitting still for a while. I have come to quietly watch and wait and, perhaps, to discover.

Absorbed in the eagles, I suddenly became aware other movement I hadn’t noticed before. The dabbling ducks were on the move from the river into the marsh. At first just a few pairs of mallards flew over but shortly thereafter groups of eight and ten followed, wings whistling softly as they passed over my head and disappeared into the channels between the cattails. Within a short time, the two hundred mallards and black ducks who had been on the river had flown into the marsh and the seemingly lifeless wetland was alive with sound and splashing and what seemed like joy at arriving home again. I puzzled about their mini-migration for a while and finally realized that it had to do with tidal ebb and flow. The tide was low when I had first arrived and the marsh was drained. While I had been focusing on waterfowl and eagles, however, the river was slowly and steadily streaming in once again and at some definitive moment the marsh held enough water for the ducks to resume maneuvering and feeding in their favored setting.

Once again I was reminded that there is always, always something new to be learned when venturing outside, whether we live on the border of wild land or in a suburban community. No matter where we are, we have daily opportunities to expand our understanding of the natural world just by opening our eyes and minds. If taken, those opportunities will also bring a renewed sense of the joy of discovering something that we hadn’t known or noticed before. What will the day bring to you? Keep your eyes open and senses attuned and find out. At the end of the day, you will feel richer for what you have learned.

The Beech Tree

2012-02-09T21:53:00.002-05:00

The old beech tree stands in a stony pull off area in front of the farm manager’s office, just off the farm road. Decades ago her office may have been a creamery, judging by the cream separators bolted to the floor. Now the old machines stand as witnesses to the past, to the former ways and means of a family dairy in times gone by. The tree may have been a sapling then, planted intentionally or perhaps the offspring of one of the many beeches that dot the woodlands and pastures here. Many of those ancient trees have fallen or are filled with decay but they are older than this tree. This tree may well be their progeny and have many years left to live and bear beechnuts.

I think of this tree as female. She is strong and sturdy of trunk, with arms that grow horizontally and then bend down, as if reaching to welcome all who come near. Though her lower limbs are thick and burly, her outermost twigs are as fine as lace and dance in the slightest breeze. How she can stand so strong puzzles me, given the many cars that have driven over her roots day in and day out for these many long years. The entrance to the barnyard would not be the same without her.

This has been prolific year for beechnuts in most of the eastern states and reports coming from as far north as New Hampshire and as far south as Georgia report an outstanding beech nut crop. Our barnyard beech tree is no exception. Wave after wave of birds have been eating from her for months, beginning back when her bronzed leaves hid her tiny, spiny nuts. At times, mature and immature red-headed woodpeckers chatter and swoop in a seemingly non-stop parade, plucking nuts and flying elsewhere to open them. Blue jays and downy woodpeckers also frequent her branches and cardinals, juncos, and white-throated sparrows pick through the rocks beneath, foraging and finding nuts whose shells have already opened. Squirrels are ever-present and when the goats are fortunate enough to break out of the pasture, it is to the beech nuts that they head.

Wherever I look into the trees on this farm I see abundance…food for birds and mammals almost without end. Come spring, these trees’ blossoms will provide the vital early nectar and pollen for our native pollinators and draw insects that will become food for our returning warblers, thrushes, orioles and other neo-tropical migrants. Those insects will pollinate the flowers that will become next autumn’s nuts and berries and the cycle of abundance will begin once again. Just as I should be and, I pray, will be for many seasons to come.

Evening Chores

2012-02-04T20:50:00.006-05:00

It was drizzling this evening as I headed down to the barnyard. The sky was grey and dusk was early and most of the chickens had decided that staying indoors and dry was preferable to being outdoors and wet and they didn’t seem to mind being closed in a tad earlier than usual. Our laying flock includes several breeds - Red Stars, Black Stars, White Rocks and Barred Rocks laying brown eggs of various shades, Leghorns laying white eggs and, Americanas laying lovely eggs of blues and greens. We also have a flock of young Red Star pullets that will begin laying in three months, perhaps around Easter…New eggs for Easter…makes me smile to think about it. The chickens are housed in four coops built long ago, having sheltered literally dozens of generations of laying hens who have roamed the chicken yards, shaded by sycamores and sweet gum trees. Now our flocks roost on the old roosts and lay their eggs in the old nest boxes and who is to say how many future generations will do the same.

As is often the case on weekends, the farm was quiet and this evening I was alone with the animals- a rich, sweet, peaceful aloneness in which everything felt exactly right, exactly as it ought to be. As I made my way into the barnyard, the animals were waiting for me. The watch-geese, I call them, have the loudest voices on the farm and sounded a raucous alarm that the evening routine was about to begin…someone has to do it, I suppose, and they have taken the important responsibility to heart. I gave the donkey his hay in the pasture, allowing the geese and I to scoot into their pen at the back of his stall. I closed them in for the night as they greedily gobbled up their corn and then called to the turkey who was already on his way to his own quarters. Eager for his ration of wheat, corn and chicken feed, he unhesitatingly marched right in and I latched the latch and left him happily pecking his way through dinner.

It was time for milking and I gathered the washing solution and washcloth and the milk pail and headed in to the cows, already in place and munching blissfully on fragrant alfalfa hay. I breathed in deeply and smiled. Though the world is filled with many wonderful scents, I don’t think there are any finer than that of warm cows and good hay and here were both together, just as it should be. I looked around the small old milking barn, wondering how many cows had previously stood in the stalls that are now occupied by our cows, how many gallons of milk had how many hands milked into shiny metal pails just as I was doing and others will do after me.

There is a rhythm to life that I was unable to recognize or appreciate when I was younger. I have come to realize that each stage of our lives has its own joys and sorrows, its own challenges and fulfillment and at any given time we are unlikely to know in advance what the next stage will bring. As it turns out, this stage is offering a life that I used to dream about living, though never seriously imagined I would. I am deeply grateful for the time and the role I have been granted here, for as long as it is mine to live it and pray that my presence will bless and encourage others as much as I am blessed by what I have been given.

New Beginnings

2012-02-04T07:57:00.002-05:00

It has been almost two years since writing…two years since moving from my Pennsylvania home and yard, from the creatures who lived there and from family and old friends. In my last post I looked back at the life I had lived and wondered in print about what was to come and what I would find. It was an anxious time of facing the unknown with no idea how life would unfold.

Today I live in the modest farm manager’s house on an old farm perched high above the Potomac River, surrounded by woodlands, wetlands and fields. The view from my window is framed by two large red cedars and beyond them, a sea of trees-myriad oaks, beech, tulip poplar, American holly and pawpaw standing as sentinels, as guardians of this land. Many of them were here long before this farm was carved from the rocky landscape and will live on long after I am gone.

The house and farm were built in the 1920’s and though now an educational center, the farm has been worked for generations. I am not the farm manager. I am the gardener for our half-acre children’s garden, caretaker of our flock of laying hens and multi-purpose farm helper. This evening I’ll collect the eggs and close our chickens in for the night, milk our cows, feed our geese, turkey and donkey, set out hay for the goats and sheep and bid everyone a good night and pleasant dreams before climbing back up the hill to our house.

God has granted me a rich and satisfying life in this place, a wholly unexpected opportunity to experience that which, until now, I have only read about. I am blessed to arise each morning, not knowing what the day will bring, but knowing I will be outdoors in the wild and domestic landscapes and among the life that both support. A verse from a favorite hymn, Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing, rings through my mind repeatedly as I walk these old farm roads. “Hither to Thy love has blessed me; Thou has brought me to this place. And I know Thy hand will bring me safely home by Thy good grace.”

It is with thanksgiving that I once again begin chronicling my life, intimately intertwined with the Creator and His land and creatures and I hope the stories will bless those who read as well.

No Little Thing

2010-02-10T18:54:00.003-05:00

As in many parts of the East today, this has been a day to remember. A snow of snows following hard on a previous snow of snows a few days ago. A day, not of staying inside warm by the fire, but of re-shoveling almost invisible paths that wind their way to feeders in the far reaches of the yard. I do not mind the heavy snows. I only mind that they make food sources scarce and keeping feeders open difficult. But for the most part my labors were rewarded, the birds were able to find enough to eat and now that the darkness has come, I am relaxing knowing that I need not venture out again until morning.

My husband and I are preparing to leave a home and yard that I have been working on for 20 years. For the first number of years here I fretted and wished to live some place wilder, some place more beautiful and more secluded than was our half acre lot sited on a rural road lined with other similar houses. But in the last few years, as the gardens and habitat have matured and dozens of birds and pollinators made this place their home, I have known a new peace, gratified in the realization that that to which I couldn't seem to move I created here instead.

There are special, individual memories here, unexpected snapshots of life in the wild, lived under our very noses....toads emerging last spring from a window-well just off the driveway under whose leaves they had apparently slept through the winter; a bright male cardinal walking along the top of a fence back at the herb garden, plunging from the fence into a patch of rue time and time again and only after careful inspection through binoculars could I tell that he was plucking small black-swallowtail caterpillars to take back to his hungry babies; witnessing a Coopers hawk's in-the-blink-of-an-eye abduction of a young gray catbird just five feet from where I was standing; the sight of hundreds of fireflies lifting off at dusk like so many tiny Tinkerbells in Neverland.

As I look back on my life to this point, raising my children stands out as my greatest accomplishment. But making it possible for this land to raise countless generations of life of all kinds surely ranks almost as high. When we leave and move on what work, I wonder, will be credited to me? By what means will I benefit the earth and the people who live upon it in my new setting? A friend, just today sent me a quote by St Teresa of Avila that affirms what I have learned from living on my small bit of land in my small, humble home. "Do you think it is only a little thing to possess a house from which lovely things can be seen?" No, indeed. No little thing at all...I may not yet know what the future in an unfamiliar place will hold. But what I do know, having learned and lived here, is that there will always be something I can do to add beauty and sustain life no matter where I reside. For as long as I am able, I know this to be a work God has apportioned to me. Wherever I live I will be working to create "lovely things" knowing that they are the life source that nourish the other creatures who share this world. No little thing, indeed.

Winter Doldrums

2010-01-13T21:04:00.002-05:00

Sometimes, at this time of year, no matter how many "talking-to's" I give myself and no matter how many good intentions to the contrary, I fall into what I can only call the winter doldrums. The recent severe cold and biting winds have accentuated my vulnerability to this winter-induced glumness and admitting that I am weak in this regard seems wiser than denial. I recognize I am not alone in these afflictions and at the same time wonder why some people don't seem to have much trouble with winter, and in fact, look forward to it...though by mid-February I don't know if I have ever heard anyone say, "Boy I wish this freezing weather would last all year."

Winter is still a blessing for those who plant for wildlife and put up bird feeders, however. Hosting the birds and other wildlife that come to share the bounty is its own reward and watching their antics is guaranteed to lift the spirits. During this time of bitter weather the yard has been as active as I have ever seen it, with white-crowned, white-throated and song sparrows busily scavenging on the ground, accompanied by mourning doves and juncos. At least one pair of downy woodpeckers feeds on the homemade peanut butter suet mixture and the peanut feeder, along with chickadees, titmice and white-breasted nuthatches joined, now and then, by an imposing red-bellied woodpecker. The mockingbird and blue birds are feeding at the winterberry bushes, having already eaten most of the old dried crab apples and the goldfinches are still gleaning seeds from the dried asters and goldenrod, and from the sweet gum tree's pointy seed balls.

Recently, while watching the eastern bluebirds and northern mockingbirds, normally insect eaters in the warmer months, I had a question that perhaps could help me prepare for my own trying winter times. Every fall, these two birds must go through a profound change in their feeding habits as the insects they had previously depended upon give way to the cold. They travel as far as need be to find the berries that will sustain them until spring and from all appearances, they do so without grumbling, stomping their little feet or complaining that winter is upon them. Wasting energy on negativity would not help them survive and, in fact, would weaken them. It occurs to me that perhaps they are among the best examples of those who seek out that which sustains life, no matter what their external circumstances. I will ponder their flexibility for a while, considering what their cold-weather habits might have to say to me as I seek to approach these winter months with a more positive attitude.

"Consider the birds of the air" has taken on a new meaning.

The New Year's Wintertime

2010-01-03T16:24:00.002-05:00

It is the third day of the new year, at least as we count time. How does the earth count time, I wonder? Would it count from the beginning of the growing season or the ending? Would the earth's fiscal year stretch from harvest to harvest? At what time of year are tree rings laid down and at what point is new growth on turtle shells distinct? And how in the world do shallow rooted plants and hibernating frogs live through this frozen time of year, emerging again to welcome spring when the time comes?

This day, it is hard to believe that spring will ever really arrive...hard to believe that those invisible forbs and buried frogs can possibly live through what seems the cruelty of winter. This is the season in which my faith is sorely tested and tried as I strain my imagination to believe that renewed life is even possible, let alone likely. The words of In the Bleak Mid-Winter come to mind right now... In the bleak mid-winter, frosty winds made moan. Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone. Today, where I live, the ground is frozen as solid as concrete and the winds are bitter and unrelenting, and yet...

And yet, a poem I came across in a British magazine many years ago always brings comfort through the long and trying months of winter, whether my winter be simply the season of the year, or a season of change or perhaps grief. It speaks of purpose during this time of forced waiting, of rest that fuels new growth when the time is right. I have found over the years that it is during these trying times of seeming inaction that our spirits can be fed and deepened if we will but cooperate.

A Time to Meditate

The heart must have its wintertime,
A time to meditate, when peace
Like snow, descends with calming grace
And all life's fruitless worries cease.

The heart must have its wintertime
A time when dreams, like roots, can sleep
And gather strength until the day
They have a rendezvous to keep.

The heart must have its wintertime
An interlude when hope sprouts wings
As bright as any cardinals
And newborn courage softly sings.

The heart must have its time of snow
To rest in silence and to grow.

May God in His mercy give our souls the time of quiet we need now in order to tackle whatever it is that will come next in our lives. And may He grant us patience and attentiveness to His abundant provision as we move forward.

Much Needed Respite

2009-08-15T14:58:00.001-04:00

Pollinators, pollinators everywhere in the yard! Bees of all shapes and sizes, butterflies and hummingbirds...Everywhere I look there is buzzing, humming and the fluttering of wings...swamp milkweed, green-headed coneflower, ironweed, joe-pye weed, cardinal flower, garden phlox all playing host to our tiny native wildlife...I feel like a shepherdess when I am out watching...

So began a Facebook entry a few minutes ago after coming in from trimming in the garden. I have spent my time today inside and out, with the outside times be a respite from the upheaval and concern for many of my husband's coworkers we are living with the last few days. Close friends and colleagues are being laid of at the State Library of Pennsylvania, from the least senior to the most senior and I feel like life as we knew it has completely spun out of control. We think his job is secure, as of yesterday, but with each new surprising revelation we wonder all over again. So, as I said, the garden is a place of sanctuary, a place of much needed refuge for me, this time, rather than just for the wildlife.

I've been thinking lately that the longer we live, the longer we love people and pets, places and endeavors, the greater the loss when they are gone. Over the years, loss upon loss changes us and makes us more tender or more hardened, more pliable or more rigid. Being out in the wilds, or in the garden where the wild comes to live along side me, doesn't take away feelings of loss or fear but it does provide a place big enough to hold these emotions and to provide comfort as almost no other place can. The natural world pries my eyes off myself and always points them to something, to Someone greater than my own worries. And though I may liken myself to a shepherdess at times, there are other times, like right now, when I feel more like a lost sheep in need of a Shepherd. And like the sheep my only security in times of danger comes in keeping my eyes on Him as He leads the way forward

Environmental Stewardship and Native Landscapes

2009-07-29T16:20:00.005-04:00

The following is an article I just finished that will appear in the summer issue of the Shalom publication of the Brethren in Christ church. Since it won't be out for a while and not everyone will see that publication I'm also posting it here.

“I’m going out to see my Father’s world”, Maltbie Babcock would say as he walked out his front door on a hike or jaunt around his northern New York home in the late 1800’s. It is said that one of his favorite destinations inspired his hymn, This is My Father’s World and there is a line from an obscure verse we do not often sing that sums up not only Maltbie’s understanding of God’s perspective of our world, but mine as well: For dear to God is the earth Christ trod, no place is but holy ground.

Dear to God… Holy ground…These lyrics have been echoing in my mind since reading them a few days ago. They resonate as old friends, as restated convictions that have guided my relationship with the land, with my land, for more than 30 years. Those convictions were forged and formed when I was a child during annual visits to my grandparents in the Appalachian mountains of Kentucky. I had an uncle who took me on rambles up the hollows and down the riverbanks and it was on those outings that the wonders of the natural world seeped deeply into my soul without my consciously realizing it.

As an adult, finally with my own land to cultivate, I naturally gravitated towards planting for the life I had come to appreciate on those long-ago Kentucky walks.

When I moved to my present home 20 years ago the house stood as an island in a sea of grass, as did many of the other houses on our road. Land that once hosted a thriving forest community had been all but stripped of beneficial vegetation and a modern suburban landscape had been planted in its stead…a landscape almost entirely lacking the ability to feed and house the creatures that would have previously lived on this half-acre. What most homeowners did not realize then and do not recognize even now is that in order to sustain the populations of pollinators and songbirds we appreciate, the land must be planted to plants indigenous, or native, to the locale in which we live. For reasons too lengthy to address in this article, we now know that only our native plants, plants that were found on our continent before the Europeans arrived, can sustain the native insect populations that are the foundation of any given ecosystem The exotic plants that fill our garden centers and nurseries, and most often our home landscapes, cannot.

The journey of remaking my yard into native habitat supporting an untold number of insects and a “bird list” of more than a hundred species has been a rich and rewarding endeavor, one appreciated not just by wildlife but by human visitors who are taken with its beauty. We recently hosted my son’s wedding in the back yard and the gardens were a patchwork of color: deep red cardinal flower, pink and white garden phlox, red and purple bee balm, white daisy fleabane, orange butterfly weed, rose-pink swamp milkweed, and bright yellow black and brown-eyed Susans. During the wedding ruby-throated hummingbirds zipped about, grey catbirds murmured in the shrubs behind the pastor, mourning doves cooed in the background and robins, Carolina wrens, northern cardinals and cedar waxwings sang their evening song, to the enjoyment of everyone who paid attention. For many of the guests, this was the first time they had ever been surrounded by songbirds and pollinators and they were delighted to be a part of something even larger than they knew. They had come for a wedding but, in addition, witnessed an abundance of life that can only be had in a native landscape.

In contrast, sometimes I am almost overwhelmed by the magnitude of the damage we have done to our collective land, to God’s land. We have paved over a vast amount of acreage. We have erected shopping malls on valuable marshes that should have never been built upon. We have fragmented our forests for the sake of cell phone towers and summer homes. We have introduced invasive plant and animal species that are now destroying the last wild places we have left. At times I wonder how any of us can make a significant contribution to altering the course of destruction our society seems bent upon carrying out. And then, when I walk out into the backyard, I remember.

The answer lies in something each of us can contribute to the wellbeing of the earth and the creatures God has placed here. Whether our yards are large or small, whether we live in the country or the city, whether we appreciate informal or formal gardens, we can plant to provide nurture for the insects, birds and other wildlife around us. Gardening with native plants gives us the opportunity to make a real difference in the life of the region in which we live. It isn’t necessary to give up all the exotic plants that we enjoy, only to invite into our gardens many of the wonderful plants that are indigenous to our own area. I have learned that when the earth is protected and cared for, it responds with bountiful provision, once again filled with the promise of life for all who depend upon it. Meandering through my own yard reminds me anew of the land's abundant potential and of the opportunity we still have to take care of that which has been entrusted to us since time began. With God's help and by his mercy and grace, we still have time to relearn how to "tend the garden" and to partner with God the Creator in sustaining what He began.

Determining to Trust

2009-07-19T09:42:00.002-04:00

This morning while my children, husband and friends were in their various places of worship I was out walking on the well traveled road I take when I need to talk to God privately and need to hear the assurance of His presence. This is a summer of uncertainty, of loss and joy, and of abundant opportunity to determine to trust God in the moment and for the future. And it is times like this morning, when I am torn between trust and fear that I need to be alone with God in the quiet, winding along streams, woodlands and meadows that have comforted me for the past 20 years.

As I expected, I was renewed and refreshed, surrounded by the sounds and sights of God's provision all around me. This being Sunday, the sunny meadow was populated with the Amish farmer's cows lazing about and his mules enjoying their day off. Barn and tree swallows zipped above me, red-winged blackbirds chased each other along the fence rows, cardinals and kingbirds scolded me for being too close to their hidden nests and a mother mallard with babies in tow made her way upstream. It struck me again that all of these creatures can go about the business of their lives because what they need to live is close at hand. In one way or another, all are provided for. As am I, I reminded myself.

I walked back home humming the lines from my previous post "This is My Father's World", thankful for the power of music and hymnwriters who wrote the convictions of their hearts into melodies that sustain my soul and spirit in times of need. Today's worship was rich indeed, full of confession, supplication and praise. And this morning different words from the same hymn are ringing in my ears, "The Lord is King, let the heavens ring. God reigns, let the earth be glad."

July Banquet

2009-07-18T14:44:00.000-04:00

This is the time of year that the sunny-area gardens begin to come into full bloom and the yard is filled with birdsong and buzzing of bees from before dawn till after dusk. Even I am surprised by the number of successful nestings this year, though I don't know if we really have had more than usual. Confirmed nesting species include: house wrens, cardinals, robins, grey catbirds, chipping sparrows, house finches, mourning doves and common grackles with several nestings each. The number of species in the yard has been far higher however and I am both delighted and puzzled. Apparently mothers have been bringing their young to the yard from other nesting sites, probably in the nearby woodlands, and they are coming because of the abundant food supply found here. While I have a homemade suet mixture hanging from one tree, that isn't the primary source of nourishment. All young birds eat a diet primarily of insects and I am puzzled that the yard is actually supplying so much of what they need.

Though I have long planted with insects in mind, planting plants indigenous to this area, I am still surprised both by the numbers that must be here and by the fact that I don't see many of them in my daily work in the yard. The myriad pollinators feeding at the flowers are obvious, of course, but those aren't usually what the mothers are feeding their babies. Be that as it may, I daily see a steady stream of bird after bird carrying tasty morsels to their nestlings and recently fledged young. At this point the list of babies, aside from those previously mentioned includes: at least two broods of downy woodpeckers , a family of white-breasted nuthatches, Carolina chickadees, Carolina wrens, tufted titmice, and ruby-throated hummingbirds.

As I report each year at this time, the yard will now host hummingbirds every day until late September as they take wing on their southward migration. They come because they have found food here in previous years and they know that this is a place to stop and eat on their toilsome journey. The males have already begun their travels and the females and young will follow in early August. I have had both for the last couple of weeks. The females and young I see now at the flowers and feeders have recently nested somewhere close by and are coming in for daily nourishment.

The garden will be glorious panorama of changing colors and textures in the weeks to come. I wish I had some way of knowing just how many pollinator and other insect species are fed here each year.

Perhaps you will enjoy pictures of the gardens as they are today.

What I can't capture in pictures is the amazing sight of lightening bugs by the hundreds rising up out of the vegetation each evening. They began appearing weeks ago, long before they appeared in my neighbors yards, and the backyard seems to be filled with dancing stars as dusk settles in. It is such a beautiful and peaceful scene, one to take the breath away.

Lines from the old hymn come to mind:

This is my Father's world and to my listening ears, all nature sings and round me rings the music of the spheres.
This is my Father's world, I rest me in the thought of rocks and trees of skies and seas; His hand the wonders wrought.

This is my Father's world, the birds their carols raise, the morning light the lily white declare their Maker's praise.
This is my Father's world. He shines in all that's fair. In the rustling grass I hear Him pass, He speaks to me everywhere.

Exactly. May He do the same for you.

What I May Bring

2009-07-13T15:46:00.004-04:00

I have recently been encouraged to begin writing again and it isn't so much a friend's personal affirmation that has sparked my resolve, as his words concerning how his faith life is strengthened by what he finds here. I am copying some of our written discussion because his thoughts have reminded me of what I may bring to others who look at and live life differently than I do. We were recently discussing the sometimes controversial (for those in the Church, that is) subject of caring for the earth and I wrote:

"I see absolutely no reason that the topic of caring for the earth we were put on should be controversial. Do we get so bent out of shape when someone suggests that we care for our home and protect it from degradation? Of course not. I know the topic is touchy and that some folks find it a political and social cause, which inflames other people's sentiments. But isn't it true that this is the only place we have to live and the less we care for it the more our own lives are compromised? Aside from all the other creatures that share the world with us..."

And my friend wrote back:

"You have such a very centered understanding of this topic (I was going to say “balanced” but that’s not exactly what I meant) because it is grounded in simply caring for the good gifts God has given us as well seeing and even hearing God in His Creation. Quite frankly, I give thanks to God for you and people like you who help people like me to think about these things in that divinely centered way."

So... if my writing helps anyone else to recognize and know God in the natural world He has given us and if If God can use the insights He has granted me to edify and strengthen others it will be reward enough for my literary labors. Keep your eyes and ears open as you walk through your days. God's presence is all around us, not only in the people we meet, but in the sights and sounds of His creatures and the works of His hands.

I Have Been a Child Today

2009-01-15T12:32:00.003-05:00

But for the birds in my yard today I think I might be overwhelmed with sadness as a result of the recent, disturbing news on the international,national and local level. It seems the longer I live the more deeply the world's hurts bore into my daily consciousness and I do not know what to do with their effects, especially since most of the situations are far beyond my control. Fortunately for me, the birds are here and being that we are in "the bleak midwinter", they are hungry...which is really why they come, of course. Out my living room window, where I am writing, I can look up and see downy woodpeckers, goldfinches, pine siskins, Carolina chickadees, and tufted titmice in the tree branches of the front yard. The siskins and goldfinches are feeding from feeders, but also from the tiny seeds of the sweet gum balls that are still hanging on the tree. The woodpeckers, chickadees and titmice are feeding from a homemade peanut butter suet mixture but also from dead branches and a large hollowed out piece of tree trunk we attached to the sweet gum a couple of years ago hoping to attract screech owls . From this window I have watched the Carolina wren, the chickadees, the titmice and the woodpeckers going in and out of the large hole all morning and I wonder what they are finding inside.

Pennsylvania has been invaded by pine siskins and by white-winged crossbills this winter. Both are usually a northerly species that sometimes come this far south when the cone crops fail in their home range. Both have found refuge and nourishment from Pennsylvania's trees and people and we who watch birds are delighted to have them as part of our avian neighborhood this winter. Come spring they will be gone and probably won't be back in numbers like we are now having for decades. Because of today's extremely cold and windy conditions I spent a good part of the morning taking care of my feeders and thinking about where to add new ones and I finally got around to installing our old Christmas tree in the front yard as a temporary winter shelter. It is also a good place to hang pine cones covered with peanut butter and sunflower seeds as high energy treats. I will be watching through the day to see which birds first figure out that the cones are edible and start feeding.

It was in the process of making the peanut butter pine cones that I thought about feeling like a child again today. Making them took a good bit of time and effort...there was the gathering of the pine cones, the making of hangers out of some thin wire I bought this morning, the mixing of the peanut butter, lard, pecan meal and cornmeal, the rolling of the sticky cones in sunflower seed bits and finally braving the wind and taking them out to the newly installed Christmas tree to hang them....just what I needed to get through this frigid windy day in good humor. I thought about how children feel when they are happily working on a project, no matter how humble. Until they reach an age of worrying about other people's opinions they are proud and pleased with their creative prowess, and then delighted in the final result. I felt the same sense of satisfaction with my own efforts. It was a balm for my sadness to be doing something constructive, something that would tangibly benefit the creatures in my tiny bit of the world. Small an effort though it may be, I know that what I can provide sustains beings that come to find nourishment here and in the result warms and enriches me as well. On this cold, blustery and inhospitable day I feel once again the old delight in partnering with God in caring for what He has made. I only wish I could do the same for the inhabitants of rest of the world.

Winter's Invitation

2009-01-12T12:05:00.002-05:00

One of my favorite books “Let Your Life Speak” by Parker Palmer contains some good advice as we head into winter. He says, “In the Upper Midwest, newcomers often receive a classic piece of wintertime advice: “The winters here will drive you crazy until you learn to get out into them.” Here people spend good money on warm clothing so that they can get outdoors and avoid the “cabin fever” that comes from huddling fearfully by the fire during the hard-frozen months. If you live here long, you learn that a daily walk into the winter world will fortify the spirit by taking you boldly to the very heart of the season you fear.”

Even though many of us would not choose winter as our favorite season, it is hard to deny that winter has a beauty and an invitation all its own. It is a time to soak up the silence of a snowy landscape, to be awed at the architecture of the trees we so often overlook when all is green and to joyfully welcome back the birds that call our land their home for these cold winter months. In the coming days, take the time and make the effort to heed Parker Palmer’s advice to “get out” into winter. Go for walks and watch the familiar juncos and white-throated sparrows as they scurry through the underbrush. Go search for the harder-to-find rough-legged hawks and flocks of horned larks, American pipits and snow buntings in the farm fields or the elusive hermit thrush in the woodlands. May the winter season, even as it sometimes tries the soul, bring us a sense of joy and of gratitude for the birds we will miss and fondly remember when they leave us in May. Get out and go look for them while they are with us and enjoy the seeking as much as the finding.

End of Life and Living On

2009-01-06T14:34:00.002-05:00

A man I have respected for many years passed away yesterday, the result of an unexpected accident on Christmas day. His life touched so many people both locally and around the world and his passing leaves a hole in the faith community and church of which he was a part. We are all grappling with that hole, with his absence, not quite believing it is real yet, not able to believe he is really gone.

Once again I am struck with the uncertainty of our lives...the fact that we can never really know what the next moment may hold. I am left with the familiar and well-worn question of how to live my life to the fullest. Not full in the accumulation of things, nor in recognition nor fame, nor in doing whatever I want to do. In my mind, living life to the fullest means living in communion with God...with knowing and serving Him as I am able, whatever that be. Everyone who thinks on this friend who died will think of him with fondness and with gratitude, whether they were actually personally close to him or not. He was the kind of person who enriched everyone around him by his caring and compassion and by his vital relationship with Jesus. He pointed people to God, just by being around them and everyone who knew him was richer for having come in contact with him. What more can anyone ask for as they leave their mark on this world?

I am reminded of the similarities between death of plants and animals in the natural world and such a person's passing beyond this life. In the woodlands or fields when something dies it leaves sustenance for the life around it in its remains. As its body is broken down, nutrients are made available to strengthen and nourish what takes its place in the ecosystem. My friend's life was like that as well, though in the spiritual realm. His legacy is a reminder of what a life consecrated to God and dedicated to loving people looks like. While we surely recognize those traits in people while they are living, oft times their character hits us with renewed force when they are no longer with us. Sometimes it is when we are keenly aware of their absence that the seeds they have scattered abroad into the lives around them take root and begin to grow into their likeness. May we all live lives, as our friend did, that cause others to see God and His invitation in us. May we grow in our communion with Jesus and encourage that same growth in those with whom we come in contact. And when our own passing comes, may we be remembered as ones whose lives and deaths pointed people to life in our Lord.

Winter Gardening and Life with God

2008-12-30T11:24:00.005-05:00

I've just come in from the back what I like to call the vegetable garden area. Many years ago I created some raised beds in a back corner of the yard and they started out as a butterfly habitat area when there wasn't much other habitat in the yard to speak of. Over the years, as the yard plantings have expanded, the beds have served as an herb garden and a vegetable garden, though last year, I am sorry to say, my dachshunds managed to eat more of the produce than the humans did. Fencing the area will be a priority this spring.

Most years I have taken better care of putting the garden to bed than this year and this morning I was feeling considerable remorse for ignoring the soil that should be protected through the winter. Since the weather wasn't too cold or wet, this became the morning to take care of the long neglected chore of gathering my neighbor's piled up leaves and grass clippings and mulching the garden beds. The wheelbarrow and I made trip after trip gathering and dumping and though I took a break for a while, I knew better than to hope I'd finish it another day if I stopped for very long. Finally after a couple of hours in the wind I was satisfied with my work and called it a morning. Now when I venture out to the garden I'll picture all the soil microorganisms feeding on the plant material I put down and the beds being enriched by their efforts.

Somewhere along the line, while pushing the wheelbarrow filled with yet another load of dried grass and leaves, I thought about how I'd like my life with God to be similar to the garden task I had undertaken. I wasn't caring for the garden on this winter day because it was in crisis or because there was some extraordinary need. It was just a task that should have been done, a rather routine task really, particularly if it had been accomplished at the proper time instead of waiting until after Christmas. I was just doing what was necessary to ensure the health and fertility of the soil so that next growing season the garden will be as productive as possible. I think of cultivating my spiritual life in the same way. It is in my unremarkable daily interactions with God that we build the relationship that sustains me and from which I draw when I find myself in need. Lately my prayer has been that God will increase the presence of His Spirit within me, causing me see the world and the people in it through His eyes. I imagine the process is going to take even longer than the time needed to build and enrich the soil in my garden but just as in soil building, I do not see myself as the one who does the work. In soil building I bring in the organic material but it is the soil microorganism who do the work of enrichment. In the same way, as I bring myself to God, it is He who does the work of transformation in my heart and spirit. That work isn't something that I could ever hope to accomplish myself.

As so often happens, there are analogies between the natural world and life with God almost everywhere I look. The trick is to stop and pay attention and then to listen to what they have to say.

A Garden for All Seasons

2008-12-28T20:41:00.004-05:00

So often people seem to feel the need to cut down their gardens when the growing season ends and they must believe that dried seed heads, foliage and stalks serve no purpose. I would disagree and am offering these recently taken pictures of my garden as part of my reasoning. To be sure, winter gardens can seem untidy and unkempt at times. This I will concede and have to admit that by March I am more than ready to cut mine down as well. But now, at this time of year, when the frost and snow blanket the architecture of the garden, the sight can be almost as stunning in a black-and-white sort of way, as the full color of high summer. And when the chickadees, downy woodpeckers, goldfinches and pine siskins come in to eat on the standing plants and the white-crowned sparrows and juncos find numerous seeds on the ground below, the satisfaction in providing such a smorgasbord is rich indeed.

All Good Gifts

2008-12-25T20:12:00.003-05:00

Thinking back to Christmas morning....In this case the presents were not something I asked for or would have even thought to ask for. It had been a full and bustling Christmas Eve and Christmas day overflowing with happy times with family and joyous conversations. We live in a small ranch house and the common area consists of a smallish kitchen/dining room combination and a living room. When that space is filled with a large Christmas tree, 7 people and 2 neurotic dogs stepping outside for some calm and fresh air can be a refreshing respite whether anything noteworthy is happening in the yard or not. This morning as the dark gave way to early light I was expecting to see the various sparrow species, cardinals, chickadees, goldfinches and woodpeckers that are here all the time and had good reason to hope for the flocks of pine siskens that have been visiting lately. But in addition to the familiar birds, I was greeted with the calls of a handful of cedar waxwings, sitting high up in the honey locust. Whether they stopped to eat at the crabapple tree before leaving again I do not know.

The most surprising outside gift of the day, however, was the presence of what I have called "The Christmas Pheasant". We have had pheasants in the yard now and then over the years, but never one so bright and beautiful and never on Christmas day. After all the kids had left for their next destinations, and my husband the same, I was in the process of taking the leftover wrappings out to the trash when a large male pheasant scooted away from me, just 15 ft or so from the back door. He puttered about the yard for the next hour or so and then sailed over the fence and was gone, leaving nothing but a delighted memory of his visit...such a glorious and unexpected present on this day of days. Immediately words from the old hymn (and remembered in the Godspell rendition) sprang to mind.

"All good gifts around us, are sent from heaven above. So, thank the Lord, O thank the Lord for all His love." A fitting reminder for heading into the new year and all it brings.

Starting Over

2008-12-24T10:52:00.002-05:00

For those who are still checking this almost abandoned blog, I thank you. I figured everyone had given up on me ever having a noteworthy thought or post again and when I just looked at the blog statistics I saw that I had been wrong. So thank you.

I'll be writing again soon but not today. Today I am enjoying the fragrance of fresh Russian teacake cookies, peanut butter popcorn and berry candles. And listening to quiet reflective Christmas music and watching the many birds out in the yard feasting on the bounty there. There must be 50 pine siskens on thistle feeders and seed producing plants and a family of 6 or so bluebirds eating from the crabapples and winterberry bushes. There are white-crowned sparrows and juncos all over the ground, chickadees and titmice at the sunflower feeders, woodpeckers at the suet, and blue-jays coming in for peanuts in the platform feeder. The yard is like something out of Narnia at the moment... ice hanging from every branch and feeder. If the sun were out I'm sure all would glisten like jewels.

Today is a day to be thankful for Christmas coming, for remembering God's work in our world and for humbly accepting His grace and nearness. Writing can wait a bit longer.
A Merry Christmas to all who stumble upon these words and God's peace to you all.

Listen With Your Heart

2008-09-15T07:16:00.006-04:00

For many of us, and as I have written before, autumn is a season that sparks restlessness and the urge to explore. It brings the kinds of days that are well described in a line from a favorite childhood book, Champion Dog, Prince Tom, ( paraphrased since I can't remember the exact words)...days that make you feel as though you could "walk across the top of the world without getting tired". And these days bring to mind a poem that I have been reciting to myself for almost than 30 years now, a poem I came across in a British magazine while living in Botswana in the late 1970's. I hope you enjoy it and even more, take it to heart.

Listen With Your Heart (Edna Jaques)
Go out, go out I beg of you,

And taste the beauty of the wild.
Behold the miracle of Earth
With all the wonder of a child.
Walk hand in hand with nature's God
Where scarlet lilies brightly flame.
Make footprints in the virgin sod
By some clear lake without a name.

Listen not only with your ears,
But make your heart a listening post.

Travel above the timber line,
Make fires along some lonely coast.
Breathe the high air of snow-crowned peaks,
Taste fog and kelp and salty tides.
Go pitch your tent among the pines
Where golden sun and peace abide.

Follow the trail of moose and deer,
The wild goose on her lonely flight.
Savor the fragrance of the wild,
The sweetness of a northern night.
Drink deep of distance, rest your eyes
Where centuries of peace have lain.
And let your thoughts go winging out,
Beyond the realm of man's domain.

Lay hold upon the out-of-doors
With heart and soul and seeking brain.
You'll find the answers to all life
Held in the sun and wind and rain.
Where'er you walk, by land or sea,
The page is clear for all who seek.
If you will listen with your heart
And let the voice of nature speak.

The Stuff of Earth

2008-09-07T15:30:00.003-04:00

Many readers know Rich Mullins' song "If I Stand" and the chorus is usually pointed to as having particular significance. The chorus proclaims standing firm in faith and God's grace when we fail, good messages of course. It is the verses that have special significance for me, however, and the words are printed below.

There's more that rises in the morning than the sun
And more that shines in the night than just the moon
It's more than just this fire here that keeps me warm
In a shelter that is larger than this room

And there's a loyalty that's deeper than mere sentiments
And a music higher than the songs that I can sing
The stuff of Earth competes for the allegiance
I owe only to the giver of all good things

There's more that dances on the prairies than the wind
More that pulses in the ocean than the tide
There's a love that is fiercer than the love between friends
More gentle than a mother's when her baby's at her side

And there's a loyalty that's deeper than mere sentiments
And a music higher than the songs that I can sing
The stuff of Earth competes for the allegiance
I owe only to the giver of all good things

All who follow God wrestle at times with that which tends to draw them away from Him, with that which compromises "following hard after God". Sometimes it is clearly sin or willful pursuit of something we should avoid. A friend of mine has just written a thoughtful blog post about "Issues of Personal Holiness" that speaks directly to the matter. (A link to his blog, Heart for God, appears on my Blog links.) But other times what pulls us away is what Rich Mullins has called "the stuff of Earth"...that which is good and beautiful, noble and commendable... that which in and of itself is not a stumbling block to faith nor to seeking God. What I appreciate about these lyrics is the recognition that sometimes what moves me the most deeply...literally the stuff of the physical earth and of relationships can "compete for the allegiance" that is due God alone. And when allegiance to the Giver is challenged by allegiance to the gift I need to be reminded that the two are not the same... that as much as I love and appreciate the gifts, the Giver stands separate and above them all.

Because I am finite, many times what I can see and touch, what I can experience with my senses looms largest in my mind and heart. I am captivated by images of dancing prairie grasses and ocean currents, sun and moon rises. I am captivated by the natural wonders I so often write about and appreciate every day. And because I am finite and because I am moved by music that sinks Truth into my very heart, I appreciate this poetic reminder to exalt the "Giver of all good things" above all else. This reminder is a needed call to personal holiness as I live out my days in wonder of the world around me.

Parable of the Late Summer's Song

2008-09-04T22:55:00.001-04:00

Do you ever stand outside in your back yard at night in the late summer and listen to the myriad crickets and katydids calling? Do you ever listen closely to the individual calls and try to count the species? A few minutes ago I was out in the yard doing just that and after listening a while tried to imagine just how many noisy creatures might have been calling within the borders of our yard. It isn't always easy, discerning the various pitches and cadences of these nocturnal mating invitations but with practice I have become better at recognizing some of them. Tonight I counted 12 species, though there could easily be more since many of them sound similar. I have a CD entitled Songs of Crickets and Katydids of the Mid-Atlantic States that I listen to each year before the seasonal chorus begins in hopes of becoming better acquainted with the various voices. As difficult as it is for me to pick out and remember each call, I have a friend who knows them intimately and recognizes them all without effort. I also have a couple of friends who are knowledgeable about the nocturnal flight calls of migrating thrushes. They position themselves in a quiet spot well before sunrise and sit and just listen to the various thrushes calling far up in the darkness as they fly overhead. Sometimes the listeners tally what they have heard and will report that they counted 400 wood thrushes, 100 veeries, and 50 Swainson thrushes in the pre-dawn migration flight on a given day. While I am pretty good at recognizing many bird songs in the daylight, I have not yet even attempted to learn the nocturnal flight calls. And yet, I have no doubt that others can do it.

As I was outside listening a little while ago, my mind turned to thinking about God's ability to listen to the prayers of so many of us all at the same time, knowing not only who we are, but our very hearts as well. Whenever I have previously wondered about this I must have been sitting indoors rather than outside listening. When outdoors, I need only pay attention to realize that each voice is different even within the same species. It seems to me that the reason God recognizes of each our prayers is because He listens attentively and expectantly... just like I do when I'm out birding or mentally tallying birds while I am busy doing something else. It is their voice that reveals their identity and their proximity.

This evening I was part of a small group that meets to pray and encourage one another and as with any group, the members came together each with their own concerns, needs, fears and joys. And as we prayed God listened and attended to our cries, spoken and unspoken. He listens to our prayer because He loves us and He attends to our prayer because He knows us even better than we know ourselves. In future years when this late summer season rolls around, or when the spring avian migration begins and I once again have to tune my ears to recognize bird calls, I will be reminded to thank God yet again for His ability and His willingness to stoop to listen to the cries my heart, knowing that at the same time He is doing so for all who call on Him.

The World is So Full of a Number of Things...

2008-08-28T21:17:00.003-04:00

This year's garden as it is today.

The Riches of Non-Ownership

2008-08-28T15:28:00.004-04:00

This would be a great time of year to be a vagabond, wandering from place to place carrying just what is needed, stopping and moving on as one pleases. It is a time of year to stroll rather than rush, to be still and drink in the sights, the songs and fragrance of the season, to glory in the earth's bounty and to embrace its God. It is a time for thanksgiving and for wonder...wonder at the sudden departure of barn swallows who somehow know on just which day to leave their summer home and head south towards Central America...wonder at the hummingbird migration and the tiny brains that remember the exact places they found sustenance on their southern journey the preceding year...wonder at individual leaves that are green one day are changed into their autumn color the next. This season always reminds me of Robert Louis Stevenson's line, "The world is so full of a number of things. I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings."

This is also a great a time of year to be not tied too closely to possessions that weigh us down nor longings for what we do not have. Recently, whether a product of getting older or of God being at work, I have felt the allure of ownership lessen and the tug of "things" become more burdensome. I have managed to give away a few substantial possessions and have felt the old familiar invitation to a more simplified life. Somehow, our culture has come to confuse ownership with fulfillment and possessions as the bringers of satisfaction. How tightly we have come to hold onto what is "ours", all the while longing for a freedom that seems elusive. We have turned to reality shows to bring us the sense of adventure and risk we have personally forgotten. We have forfeited the first hand experience in favor of attempting to live it vicariously through someone else. And we have lost out on so much real life in the process, though the good news is that it is never too late to start again. As Gandalf said (more or less), it is dangerous going out one's front door. You never know where the Path will take you.

The Path has taken me in a new and gratifying direction of late. I have started working at a native plant nursery some distance from where I live and have realized that I have been confused for some time. I have thought about starting and owning a native plant nursery for more than 10 years. And I have wanted to own a piece of land with an old house and room for animals set in the midst of trees and meadows where I could watch the birds and listen to the insects. For years I have equated owning with experiencing and I am finding out I was wrong. Now I work at just such a nursery. I care for plants surrounded by a cacophony of honking geese, screeching peacocks and babbling turkeys and I watch the branches wave on huge old willows and horse-chestnuts whenever I look up. The nursery is ringed with wild meadows filled with the singing of summer insects and soon the meadows will play host to migrating southbound warblers, sparrows and hawks . I have found a kindred spirit in the nursery owner and have become friends with my co-workers, the Amish girls and women who have been at the nursery far longer than I. As I get to know them all, I am gaining insight into their world and their values. We talk of foals and cutting gardens, of community and family, of priorities and life choices, of tragedies and triumphs. I am at home there. At home in a place that is not "mine"and never will be.

And when I come back home to my own place...my house and yard and family, I am surrounded by those who like and love me and our half-acre is filled with flowers, with grasses and trees, with the singing of insects and birds and with hummingbirds zipping about. A couple of nights ago a screech owl called from in the back yard and I almost stepped on a toad who was waiting for insects on the stone path. What a rich and wonderful life! Not because of what I possess but by embracing what no one can own. This life of gratitude, of curiosity about the natural world, of communion with God in the wideness of what He has made is open and available to all who seek, to all who thirst for more than what they can lay claim to, to all who know their need. The world and the Creator are waiting with open arms to gather in all who embark on the journey and those who dare to will be enriched beyond measure.

Fullness of Time

2008-08-03T13:37:00.002-04:00

It is so glorious a day that I have spent most of my Sunday outdoors and, as it is so often, time is on my mind...its passing and its effect on each of us as we live out our lives. This morning I took a walk before going to church and noted once again of the change of season as we head into late summer. It is the time of year when a reflective naturalist notices a familiar annual milestone...a different feel to the air and light...different scents, sights and sounds that whisper that the summer, though still going strong, will not last forever. The goldenrod has not yet come into bloom but its fragrance drifts through the meadows and soon its color will join that of ironweed, Queen Anne's lace and Joe-Pye weed, creating a late-summer palette of bright yellows, pinks and purples. Today the geese were flying, not yet in migration but in family groupings of parents and fledglings now old enough to take to the air. Though we have not heard much from them for the last few months, their honking calls will be a common commotion now that the young are airborne. The grackles have already started their flocking behavior, as have the barn and tree swallows and today I noticed the same of robins as I walked. And happily the cricket and katydid chorus has begun once again

While thinking about these predictors of waning summer I began to draw some parallels between the natural world's rhythms and those of my own life. This time of year is not as exhilarating as spring, not filled with the associated newness of life and promise of what is yet to come. And yet, it is a richer, fuller time. A time when when the fields are filled with insects and ripening seeds that will sustain the young of many species who are maturing past infancy. For many wild creatures it is a time of waiting and preparation for what will come next, be it migration or hibernation, or just coping with the leanness of winter. For the most part, the birds are past their nesting seasons and are finishing up their child rearing duties, frogs and salamanders have long since left their young to fend for themselves and many of the first year mammals will be on their own come fall. It is a time of transition for the natural world and this year I am finding the same to be true for myself as well.

I have loved being a mother and raising and sharing in the homeschooling of my children. I have found meaning and joy in watching them grow into the adults they have become and in knowing that God holds them closely. Now, however, I am entering into a season uncharted in my experience and I wonder about where it will lead. I am now past childbearing but not past nurturing and caretaking. I am past the sense of immortality of youth but because I understand that my time on earth is finite I want to live my life intentionally. As with the late summer season I recognize a richness to this time and the potential to sustain the life of others in a way that my earlier years did not allow for.

There is a verse in Philippians that has echoed in my mind for as long as I have known God, "...for it is God who works within you both to will and to work for His good pleasure." My prayer has become that He will lead me into the future in keeping with His good pleasure and that He will direct me towards what I am to be and to pursue in the years that lie ahead. Right now, at this time of transition, praying is all I know to do. I have every expectation that, just as the fields are being readied to feed those who will depend upon them, I am being prepared for whatever God's good pleasure will lead me to .

There and Back Again

2008-07-29T21:41:00.002-04:00

Well, after such a long time away from writing I have decided to give it another try. Writing these blogs as so many of us do strikes me as strange sometimes. Why exactly do we do it? Do we hope to connect with people we don't know? Or with people we do? In the past I have hoped that something I have written may have encouraged or challenged another but perhaps the truth is that I just like the writing process itself. In any case, I'm going to give it another try whether anyone ever reads it or not.

Last Friday I had a wonderful day traveling with my son to my old alma mater, West Virginia University. He was there to work with a research team on something I only have the vaguest understanding of and I was there to share the day with him and to walk the trails of the college arboretum as I used to do as a student. This arboretum was the beginning of my relationship with wild plants and animals, though I was at the school to study horticulture. I went to classes about greenhouse growing, crop science, entomology and soils but my best and longest lasting education came from the well worn paths winding through the arboretum and I traveled them in all seasons at all times of the day and evening. The slopes in spring were covered with trillium, Virginia bluebells, dutchman's breeches and all the other spring ephemerals we associate with the beauty of the woodlands. And the fall colors were almost indescribably beautiful and I have to admit that sometimes their invitation was stronger than my inclination to attend class. Oh, but how I learned on those trails and had implanted a lifelong love of the woods.

While meandering the trails on Friday, wildflower field guide in hand, I pondered the unlikely scenario in which I was participating that day. As I wandered and studied the flowers some thirty years ago I could never have imagined that someday I would return with my grown son, a son with whom I share a special bond and joy. I could not have imagined my life as it is today or what all the ensuing years would bring me, happy and sad, easy and hard. I did not then know how deeply I would someday love my children or how my relationship with God would be tried and tested and found true. I did not know of the mistakes I had yet to make or the blessings that would be bestowed upon me. If I had been granted a glimpse into the future, would I have believed what lay ahead?

I don't know, as none of us do, how much time I have left to live upon this earth. I like to think I have learned some lessons over time, but sometimes I wonder. Am I any better at trusting God for what is yet to come? Do I any more easily hand over worries and fears than I did when I first walked those trails? Am I quicker to thank Him for the wonders or turn to Him in the uncertainties? I hope so. Last Friday, I was filled with thanksgiving for what my life has been and for the twists and turns that had brought me back to stand in a place that I had remembered and loved for so long. And I was filled with amazement that unbeknownst to me, as I went about simply living my day to day life year after year, I was actually being led back to something that had been so important to me but that I was sure I had lost.

I came away from West Virginia that day appreciating the "now" of life and appreciating what seems like mystery to us, but is sure knowledge to God. May I remember the lessons I learned in the mountains now that I am back home again, for as much as I love and sometimes long for what I left, the present calls to me now and carries its own promise of what is and is yet to come.

The Secret Garden and the Desires of My Heart

2008-03-24T20:25:00.004-04:00

It has been some time since I have posted anything of significance and the topic of this post has to do with why that has been so. For the last couple of months I have been doing a lot of thinking and praying about my role in life and in the Kingdom. I have been wondering and praying yet again about how to live in a way that best honors God within the framework of who I am and the gifts I have been given. I was back to thinking that perhaps my gifts in listening and encouraging should be given more priority in the paths I choose in serving people. I have mused about and considered ministries of compassion and spiritual direction and have explored what is needed for each and for a while I thought I was on to what might be a good idea. A week or so ago I chatted with the Pastor of Congregational Care at my church about his role and what it involves, thinking that I might gain a better sense of my direction from what he shared. And as it turned out, I did. It just wasn't the direction and confirmation I was expecting.

During the course of that discussion the topic turned to gardens and I mentioned that I was going to be taking care of the small enclosed open-air garden that was built into the addition of the church. And as soon as I said the words, I recognized the enthusiastic anticipation of getting to work on a neglected garden and turning it into something wonderful. I was hoping to create something beautiful for Easter morning in spite of the nighttime temperatures being in the mid-20s. As the week before Easter passed I had many other things to attend to, including presenting a program about gardening with native plants for the Lancaster County Bird Club and I was more busy than I had been in a while. And yet, even in the busyness my mind returned over and over to the garden at church and wondering about what I could put in that would bring joy to those who happened to pass by and notice. I went to a nearby garden center and saw that they had their bulb flowers and pansies outside where they had hardened off to the temperatures and I knew what I was going to do. I went home and got the pots I had planned on using out of the shed, scrubbed them in the bathtub, took them back to the garden center and after a good deal of searching and figuring, bought the needed plants. That was on Thursday and I knew that I wouldn't be able to do the planting until the evening before Easter because of everything else I needed to do on Friday and Saturday. Finally late on Saturday afternoon I was home again and began poting up my flowers.

It was as I was beginning to lay out the aforementioned pots, soil, water and plants that I realized just how much I had been looking forward to starting in on this very job of planting and creating what my mind's eye had envisioned. I worked hurriedly, knowing that I would have only a few hours of daylight left and that I would probably need them all. It was after six o'clock when I finally loaded up the car with the planted pots and headed over to church, hoping against hope that there wouldn't be many people around. I longed for an undisturbed time of quiet and peace, as I had more on my mind than just the flowers and the garden and I was happily rewarded with that which I sought. I unlocked the door into the garden, and spent the next hour raking leaves, mulching beds and setting out pots of bright yellow tulips and purple and yellow pansies and hyacinths. And as dusk fell I sat in the midst of "my" finished garden,breathing in its fragrance and thanking God for His mercies and His grace. As I left to head home I remembered the movie "The Secret Garden" and wonderingly realized that, as surprising as it still seemed, I had been given my own secret garden...a neglected and sleeping spot but one filled with promise and potential...and just like in the movie, it involved a locked door and a special key. I have wished for a secret garden ever since seeing the movie for the first time but supposed that, since I was an adult, it wasn't likely to ever really happen.

And so, no matter how many people might have been blessed with the garden's beauty on Easter morning, I was more so. I have carried a sadness these last few days that is deep and about which I'll say no more except to say that I am once again acutely aware of how desperately I need a Saviour. As I sat there in the garden, I thankfully realized that God had already known my need and given me an unexpected task that would bring more solace than anything I could have conceived on my own. He pointed me towards that needy garden and to making it into something beautiful...just like He does with our lives when we let him. The words of the Scripture passage came to mind as I was driving home..."Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart." Any who read this blog already know how much tending the earth means to me. To once again have God's blessing and affirmation of that desire means even more.

February Doldrums

2008-02-28T21:16:00.002-05:00

So, this frozen month of February is almost over, and though I don't want to sound like I take my life or time I am allowed to live it for granted, I have to say that I am not going to miss February when it is gone. As for many people, this past month is always one of the harder months of the year for me, and isn't one that insprires too many thoughts to write in one's blog.

But it surely hasn't been a lifeless month by any means. One only need know where to look to see signs of winter's ending and spring's promise. This month our yard has been visited numerous times by bluebirds and robins, partaking of the winterberry berries and crabapple fruits. We have had both black-capped and Carolina chickadees continually, more than in any other year I can remember, and visits by white-breasted nuthatches, titmice and downy woodpeckers almost daily. Not bad for a yard that had no trees when we moved here 18 years ago.

Today again the yard was filled with robins busy in the crabapple trees and on the ground as well and one of the mockingbirds was back. The most unusual part of the day was when I heard a ruckus outside that I didn't recognize and found two red-bellied woodpeckers either harassing each other or thinking about pairing up and I couldn't tell which it was. Kind of like humans sometimes. Perhaps they'll be back since they can find suet, peanuts and sunflower seeds readily available here.

Well, I thought that if I sat here and wrote a bit and posted something... anything... it would bring back to mind why I like writing and sharing these bits of adventure. If you stop back in in a few days, I will hope to have something more reflective or meaningful to say. Not that life is not full of meaning and reflection during the winter months. It is just that I have more trouble settling my mind to see it then. It is time to sharpen my vision.

Simplicity

2008-01-25T08:13:00.000-05:00

As I am writing on this cold, frozen morning, there is a robin calling just outside my window as it forages through the crabapple trees and I am hoping that the bluebirds will stop in again today as they make their rounds searching for food. A little farther off in the yard a Carolina wren is singing, seemingly unintimidated by the temperatures as it goes about poking its bill into old tree trunks and branches piled up here and there. There is a bit of frenzy in the robin's call and movements, as if it knows that its survival is in question and that the diminishing number of berries our yard offers are its hedge against succumbing to the cold. And there is no question that though the yard offered an abundance of food a month ago, its provisions are being consumed at a rapid rate these days. Some years the small crabapple out the kitchen window carries its heavy fruit crop into the early spring but this year it will soon be picked clean. The garden beds, however, are still full of aster and goldenrod stalks, and coneflower and black-eye Susan seedheads provide an ongoing buffet for juncos, various sparrows, and cardinals. The river birch and sweetgum trees have been providing seeds for chickadees of late and the decaying trunks of old Christmas trees hide grubs and insects for titmice, nuthatches and woodpeckers. Suffice to say that the yard is almost never empty or still, save for the occasional incursion of a hungry Cooper's hawk, bringing all visible avian activity to an immediate and silent halt.

I have just finished reading a piece by a friend of mine concerning decisions he and his wife have made in obedience to God about their lifestyle. The essay was about their choice to follow God's direction to live more simply than in days past and about the implications of that choice for their life of ministry and service. There is challenge in his words and also affirmation for choices I have made over the years. Along these lines, something I have pondered for as long as I have lived in this house has had to do with the resources that I have put into making our home landscape into the sanctuary it is for the wild creatures with whom we share this place. As anyone who loves plants and gardening knows, gardeners can be just as tempted to spend on "just one more" as can any connoisseur of technological or entertainment gadgetry. Our indulgences just happen to run towards that which is living matter. I don't delude myself into thinking that buying a living entity makes that purchase somehow exempt from examination... well, I try not to anyway. Gardeners can fall into the trap of exalting beauty or their own sense of aesthetics, the same as anyone else, and can be just as prone to overspending to achieve their botanical goals.

But that is not the type of gardening I am thinking of as I sit and reflect here this morning and my hope is that my efforts are for a higher good than simply self-gratification. Gardening simply for visual beauty can be almost as devoid of sustenance for wild things as can a neighborhood with nothing planted. The difference is in what we plant and why. This morning as I looked out and heard the robin I was reminded of Jesus words "Consider the birds of the air. They neither sow nor reap, yet your Heavenly Father feeds them." And though we may like to quote that verse as evidence of God's intent to provide, we humans have removed almost all of what God had originally put in place to do the feeding of His creatures. We have, by and large, taken over the land and emptied it of the provisions that God originally intended to sustain the life that used to be here. We have fallen prey to a cultural model of living that elevates manicured lawn and barren landscapes over the life of pollinators, butterflies and the birds whom God placed here before we ever arrived on the scene.

And so I come back to my simplicity question as it pertains to gardening. I have come to a sense of peace in the answers because the choices and efforts I make, and yes, the money I spend are done so with life in mind. I live in the joyful awareness that simply by planting what will bring food and shelter for the birds of winter or the pollinators of summer I am cooperating with God, the Creator and Sustainer of all things. When I am awakened in the spring by the melodies of migrant songbirds in our trees, or when I turn into our driveway in August and am overwhelmed by the calls of singing insects, or now in the dead of winter when bluebirds and robins are finding bits of nourishment to see them through the winter I am exceedingly thankful for the invitation God has given to become partners with Him in caring for the world. The same invitation is open and extended to each of us. It is my fervent hope that others will accept and embark upon the adventure of partnering with Him in caring for the Creation. And it is my hope that we might always be mindful that we have been set amidst Creation not as kings but as caretakers, not solely for our own pleasure but for the good of all.

Juxtaposition

2008-01-17T08:41:00.000-05:00

In the bleak midwinter
Frosty winds made moan
Earth stood hard as iron
Water like a stone.

The seasonal, penetrating cold has returned and looking out on the yard recently I was surprised to see two bluebirds dropping into the winterberry bushes and eating the berries. I see them on my walks and know that they stay the winter, living on the various berries they find and what insects they can glean from the fields but I have not seem them visit my yard in January up till now. Just behind them was a red-bellied woodpecker eating from the suet cake and peanut feeder and I was struck by the contrasts in the two bird species... one larger and one smaller, one rather drab and one vibrant blue, one eating from a man-made food source and one from what the bushes naturally provide. Both were welcomed with what sustenance my yard could offer and both stayed a while and then moved on, leaving only memories behind.

The stanza above is from of one of my favorite Christmas carols, though the images portrayed hit closer to home during these couple of months after Christmas. The earth is hard and frozen right now and it takes all the imagination I can muster to believe that anything will ever spring from it again. And yet even as I look out on the barren landscape I am working on a program about gardening with native plants that includes numerous photographs of gardens ablaze with color. Many of the slides are of my own yard and I am again surprised at what the earth holds beneath its now-unyielding surface. Today snow is in the forecast and to those not botanically minded its coming might seem to forestall the promise of spring's reblooming. To gardeners, however, snow is welcomed as an insulating blanket, protecting the life that lies in waiting until the time is right to emerge once again.

I sometimes think about seasons of grief and anguish in the same way. The times that seem so hopeless and forlorn can hide away in their depths the seeds of new vision and renewed purpose. Though those seeds seem deeply buried, when the time becomes right and conditions become favorable they can stretch out and grow into something unexpectedly glorious if we give them a chance. I was reminded of this contrast during a recent discussion about the relationship between grief and bitterness... an inverse relationship, I should add. I have become convinced that the more genuinely and the more deeply we allow ourselves to grieve our losses and our pain, the more likely we are to come through them with hearts still soft and spirits free from bitterness. It is into such hearts that peace returns and wholeness is restored. If we allow Him, God will come to us in our grief as we admit that we have no control over events or hurts that so affect our lives. Bitterness, on the other hand, pushes God away. It is our vain attempt to deny how seriously we have been wounded and in its determination to protect us from being in such a fearful position ever again, it poisons and imprisons us.

The choice of how we respond to pain is ours alone to make. And in the choosing, unbeknownst to us, we turn towards life in its fullness or a slow erosion of the spirit. Grieving causes us to be confronted with just how vulnerable we really are in this world and yet, in a mysterious juxtaposition, it can bring the freedom to become who we have been created to be. Grieving, and its companion Forgiveness, are the only remedy to a life of bitterness and hardness of heart. Together they create the fertile soil that nourishes our soul and the beauty that lies within us, waiting to be reborn. May God, in His mercy, give us the courage to approach our pain with honesty and humility and thereby to realize new life.

Nymphs, Dryads and Taking Down the Christmas Tree

2008-01-05T15:18:00.000-05:00

My mind is full of whimsy today and touched with a little sadness. Today is the 12th day of Christmas and, as such, the day I deemed appropriate to take down our Christmas tree. It was a dear, lovely, somewhat misshapen Frazier fir and truth be told, I didn't want to take it down at all. I liked our tree. Most years I am more than ready to restore the living room to its pre-holiday state by this time, but this year I would have been happy to have incorporated our tree into the ongoing living room decor. I would like to have a tree growing in our living room.

My favorite pastimes as a child involved trees in some form or another. I played house under low hanging branches, stringing hammocks to cradle my sleeping baby dolls. Stumps became dining tables, rocks became chairs and pine needles, dried leaves and bark became ingredients for soup and tasty desserts. Good books were best read in the sturdy branches of our crabapple tree with its trunk serving as a backrest. On rainy days my second favorite place to read was sitting under our oak, book in one hand and umbrella in the other. (My dad, who seemed to care what the neighbors thought of us, discouraged such behavior, however.) Favorite stories from my childhood often involved trees in one form or another. Christopher Robin, Piglet and Owl were lucky enough to live in trees, as were the Swiss Family Robinson members and Sam Gribley in My Side of the Mountain. Though I thoroughly enjoyed sharing life with those characters while I was reading, I was always disappointed when it came time to put the book down and face the fact that, in my neighborhood at least, there were no trees left with hollow trunks large enough to serve as my home. I felt cheated and as though the life I had been meant to live had somehow escaped me.

I can still remember the first time I watched the movie Fantasia and saw on the screen the very life I felt like I had missed. I don't remember very clearly now but the scenes that leaped out at me were of Greek mythology and depicted the wonderful, beautiful nymphs and dryads of the trees and forests...twirling, dancing, and singing they made their way through the woodlands and meadows, tree spirits whose only responsibility in life was to be the trees' protectors and care takers. Ahhh.. what a noble and joyous calling. Such beings have turned up in other literature too, of course. In Narnia, at least during the good times, the forests danced with the movement of the dryads and in Middle Earth merry Goldberry was a similar caretaker, though her reign seemed to encompass all living flora and not just the woodlands. (I have not come to grips with the ponderous and solemn Ents, however, though perhaps they became that way because their Entwives had forsaken them.)

And now I am grown and still, perhaps foolishly, miss the world the way it never was, or perhaps, was for only a short time in the very beginning. I know very are few who share this kinship with the trees, though there are some. One friend I recently talked with mentioned that his family had just had part of a birch tree break through their living room window during a recent ice storm and at the end of the telling said, "I'd still rather live under the trees." His words reminded me of my imaginings as a child and I found myself agreeing.

All of which brings me back to the taking down of our Christmas tree and placing it outside for the birds to shelter in during the rest of the winter. Amidst the whimsy of the thinking about wood spirits and talking animals, I find myself wondering about how I am to live out this kinship with the created earth in my day to day life. I have to believe that this bent, be it a gift or a hindrance, is for a purpose... for more than just to serve myself and my wishes for how I'd like life to be. For the time being and in the absence of other direction, I delight in planting and nurturing my gardens and the young saplings growing on our property. And I delight in the same in the gardens of others I care for. Who knows? Perhaps it is possible that I am actually a nymph after all :).

Advent Question

2007-12-22T22:32:00.000-05:00

Today, the 4th Sunday of Advent, is another of those grey damp winter days when I wonder again just how I make it through each year from early winter until spring. I am not unhappy about anything or suffering from a bad mood, but I feel the familiar longing for green and the fragrance of growing things. I know that winter will seem to stretch on for a long time and that the waiting will be a challenge, as it always is.

The weary waiting is timely, however because it serves to remind me all over again of the spirit of Advent. If our culture had not taken the Advent season and turned it into one long string of frenzied partying, we would all have a better sense of the solumness of waiting for that which we hope for but cannot see, much as Isreal did before Christ's birth. In some ways, January and February might be a better illustration of that historical time, for in those months the tiresomeness of winter really sets in and we all long for the changes of spring, though they seem so far off. At least I feel that way. It is in those months, and perhaps even more importantly now during the season's glitz and distracton, that I must make the choice to look for signs of God and the joy they bring.

The exercise of looking and seeking is one I come back to over and over in my writings and I was reminded of its importance, once again, during yesterday's morning walk. It was also a grey, damp chilly day... one in which the matted grasses, dried meadow plants, the soggy ground and the dripping trees were all various shades of brown and the sky was overcast and heavy. Not the most joyous of mornings from all appearances, but still one to be out and walking. As I approached the overgrown streamside, movement down in the vegetation caught my eye and the more I looked, the more I discovered. Buffy brownish Song and White-Throated Sparrows were literally everywhere, though they blended into the vegetation so completely that without their movement giving them away they were almost invisible. Little grey Juncos flitted along the road's shoulder and stately White-Crowned Sparrows made their way through the grasses while from overhead came the sound of Downy Woodpeckers and White-Breasted Nuthatches tapping the tree trunks for insects. These are the times, standing still and drinking in the life around me, that see me through the winter though, truth-be-told, every year I seem to forget for a while.

It was while I was watching and listening to the birds and thinking about the goldenrod in front of me that the discussion from my last post came to mind, and so my Advent question. Sometimes my mind seems to travel along two tracks at the same time and this was one of those moments. As I was thinking about the goldenrod's roots and basal crown being alive through the winter though the stalk is clearly dead, I was also thinking about Jesus' dying and the discussion of Him being the only example within Creation of death and subsequent living beyond death. And now I am wondering...Jesus was the mysterious combination of being God and man and clearly the human part of Jesus died at Calvary. But what about the God part, for lack of a more sophisticated way of expressing it? Did God that was in Jesus live on through the human death, as the goldenrod roots live on though the stalk dies? When we talk about Jesus' death, do we actually mean just the human side of Him? Somehow the answer to the question seems to matter, though I'm not sure just why. I hope that you who are wiser than I might enter into the thinking and into the discussion.

In the meantime, I hope for all who are fellow-waiters, that your Advent will be filled with moments of seeking and of finding signs of life and of God.

Advent Promise

2007-12-18T14:58:00.000-05:00

"The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them. The cow will feed with the bear, their young will lie down together, and the lion will eat straw like the ox. The infant will play near the hole of the cobra, and the young child put his hand into the viper's nest. They will neither harm nor destroy in all my holy mountain, for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea." Isaiah 11:6-9

I am guessing that most observers of Advent have favorite Scripture passages among those that are read over the course of the four weeks preceding Christmas. Some of the references have to do with Christ's first coming and some with His second. My own favorite, above, is one of the latter, one that promises that all of Creation will be redeemed and restored to its initial glory and harmony when Christ comes back.

I close my eyes when I hear these verses and wonder what the world will look like in that day. What will it be like to live in a Creation so perfect, so at peace, that the animals no longer devour each other and neither will they suffer from man's abuses? I think about what it will take to bring the Earth back to such a state. Not our best environmental efforts, though we must keep on trying. Not our collective good will to save species and habitats, though I work to that end myself. Isaiah says that it will take the earth being filled with the "knowledge of the Lord", with His Spirit so present that everyone and everything will be saturated with His goodness and grace. There will be no more need to hunt or desire to hurt and destroy and all of Creation will be sustained by His provision without the need to kill for food or sustenance.

Sometimes I want to cry out, as did some Old Testament writers, "How long, O Lord?" How long will the Earth and its people have to wait for Your intervention and restoration? I am impatient for the day when all will be made perfect again and fear and death are no more. Waiting is hard. Teach me O God, during this Advent season, to trust that You have your plan in hand and will accomplish it in due time... just as you did that first time, at Christmas.

New Direction

2007-12-16T16:07:00.000-05:00

For anyone who might still be looking at this from time to time I'd like to let you know that I am going to be revising the purpose and the thoughts shared in these pages as soon as I can accomplish the task. I anticipate that the messages will still be primarily about the natural world and its connection to the Holy but I hope there will also be times of reflection separate from subject of the Creation. We shall see.

It is Sunday evening now, the 3rd Sunday in Advent, the sesason of waiting on God, and I am finding that He seems to be working into me a new focus and an unexpected longing that has taken me by surprise. I look forward to see just where He is taking me and what the journey will entail.

A Favorite November Poem

2007-11-07T15:26:00.000-05:00

No, this poem isn't mine but I think of it every year around this time. I like the cadence and the words, but even more, I like the truth and the "feel" that is captured in these lines. I found it years ago while living in Botswana, desperately longing for November woods and the autumn season. These words helped me to remember and to remind me that one day I would return to them again.

November Woods
How lovely are the silent woods in gray November days,
When the leaves fall red and gold about the quiet ways.
From massive beech, majestic oak and birches white and slim,
Like the pillared aisles of a cathedral vast and dim.

Drifting mist like smoking incense hangs upon the air....
Along the paths where birds once sang the trees stand stripped and bare.
Making Gothic arches with their branches interlaced
And window-framing vistas richly wrought and finely traced.

It is good to be in such a place on such a day.
Problems vanish from the mind and sorrows steal away.
In the woods of gray November silent and austere
Nature gives her benediction to the passing year.

Patience Strong

Rainy Autumn Night

2007-10-26T20:59:00.000-04:00

It was days like this that I missed so much while living in Botswana some 27 years ago. Autumn days filled with rain and soggy fallen leaves. Cool, damp temperatures and umbrellas and bright colors everywhere. Those who follow and report on autumn leaf color tell us that the spectacle is not as stunning as in most years but the color that we don't doesn't matter very much to me. I am enjoying, as always, the colors that we do have and the colors that dot my own home landscape. Purples in the blackhaw and arrowwood viburnums, oranges and reds in the black gums and serviceberries, yellows in the wonderful river birch and crabapples, burgundys in the oaks and dogwoods. Fall may be a time of unsettledness but it is also a time of deep satisfaction as the palette of the yard changes daily.

The bird and insect population in the yard has changed as well. We had our last ruby-throated hummingbird on October 8th and as of a couple of days ago there was still a lingering stray Monarch butterfly or two. I am not sure just why but there seem to be assassin bugs everywhere I look this year and I am glad not to be small enough to become their prey. For the last few days the feeder just beyond the kitchen window has hosted, among the many myriad goldfinches, a lone female purple finch and I understand that there are large flocks of purple finches down from Canada where the coniferous cone crop they depend on has failed. Perhaps I'll see more of them and maybe red-breasted nuthatches or pine siskens as well. In some ways, for a birder, this time of early fall has a similar feel as does late winter for a gardener. The season is filled with the anticipation of what birds may come looking for winter sustenance, just as the late winter season is filled with imaginings of what the coming garden might contain. Being both a birder and a gardener is best of all, perhaps, because each season brings its own anticipation of what is to come.

I had a new friend stop in yesterday for a brief visit, her first to my home and yard. Her gleeful appreciation of all she saw outside-the birds, the colors, and even the plants that had long ago finished blooming was as a gift. I received a note from her today telling me again of how much she enjoyed being here and wondering if I more or less took for granted how much life abounded within the boundaries of our property. I joyfully wrote her back declaring that in fact, I never do take such things for granted because I delight in them so much. The yard contines to become that which I have seen in my imagination for many years. To be capable of dreams and to work towards their fulfillment are gifts and I am doubly blessed to be allowed to do both.

What If?

2007-10-03T06:42:00.000-04:00

This is a time of day that I wonder about things. Sometimes important life questions and, sometimes like this morning, less pressing questions about how the world works. What if, I wondered as I went out into this morning's pre-dawn warmth, fall didn't cool down and winter didn't come. Would all the singing crickets and katydids keep singing and keep mating? If there were no winter cold to kill them would we have even more of an abundance of young next year? What happens in the southern part of the United States, anyway? Perhaps today I'll try and do the necessary reading to find out.

Other questions... why are cardinals the first birds to emerge from the darkness each morning, chipping from the trees and feeders before any of the other birds arrive? What is it about each bird that informs when it is time for that particular species to awake and start the business of the day? In our yard the cardinals arrive first, lately, followed by the robins and white-crowned sparrows, then the Carolina wren and the yard-space is alive with their different call notes and stealthy movements. The goldfinches, Carolina chickadees and titmice seem to wait for the full light of day to begin their feeding and calling.

And for the last few months each morning has brought ruby-throated hummingbirds to the flowers or feeders at first light as well. Are they dropping in from a night time migration or just getting an early start to their feeding, having spent the night someplace close by? And speaking of ruby-throats, it took a good while to find one in the yard this morning. This, of course, is the time of year that each morning I awake wondering if yesterday was the last hummingbird of the year. But, happily, not today. Today there is at least one feeding and resting and deciding whether to stay and feed longer or head on south. An innkeeper could not be happier at seeing guests arrive than I am to host these little ones for so much of the year.

Once again I realize how important and how easy it is to provide habitat for birds and pollinators who are losing ground in our modern world. If only all could know how beautiful a yard can be and provide sustenance at the same time. How much closer to Eden our neighborhoods would be if others made the same garden choices. To live in the midst of non-human life who ask only a place to feed, find shelter and raise young is as satisfying an experience as any I have ever known. How I would have loved living in Eden.

Why They Come and What They Find

2007-09-29T21:12:00.000-04:00

I thought you might enjoy seeing the autumn garden and what the hummingbirds and butterflies mentioned in the last post find when they come. The top picture is of the rain garden and the rest are from the backyard. You may click on pictures to enlarge.

Still Dark Autumn Morning

2007-09-29T06:36:00.000-04:00

I am up early on this quiet autumn morning. The wonder is that it finally really feels like fall, though the season has been upon us for a while now. Though the days have been hot and far too dry the aster's royal purple, the honeylocust's golden leaves and the white pine's russet needles all point to the coming end of the growing season. Fall is a peaceful, melancholy kind of time and yet it is always tinged with the hint of as-yet-unknown possibilities. Whether because of all the years spent in school or the awareness of the avian and Monarch butterfly migration, this time of year, in some ways more than spring, feels like a time of new beginnings.

It really is a time of new beginnings for the lingering Monarch butterflies that are still here. Yesterday there were still a handful on the asters and Mexican sunflowers, though I could not tell whether they were recently hatched or are moving through from places unknown, all on their way to Mexico. The ruby-throated hummingbird youngsters are still moving through as well, taking nectar from the red and blue salvia and the native honeysuckle vines. So far we are still seeing several each day, though the time of migration is soon at its end. Some of these little ones appear as though they still need a significant amount of feeding and fattening up, as they aren't carrying much in the way of extra weight yet. Many, however, have the characteristic little protruding tummies and fat stores needed to carry them through their long flights. These late immature hummingbird migrants do not tend to use the feeders still left hanging, but take nectar solely from the flowers. The best guess is that because they are from remote, unpopulated northern areas, their mothers did not introduce them to feeders as fledglings and they did not learn to recognize feeders as a food source. They take in plenty of nectar from the flowers they find in our yard, however along with the tiny insects that make up such an important part of their diets If they make it through the long migration this fall and back north again next spring, through their breeding season and into their fall migration next year, they will be stopping in at our yard again at the end of next summer on their long journey south.

Another summer is ending and it has been one of learning and enjoying what has come my way, even as we have coped with heat and drought once again. Now each day seems as a gift, especially because I know that winter will soon follow on the heels of this wonderful autumn season. One of these nights the insects will be stilled, the frost will descend and I will look in vain for color in the landscape. But for now, the cricket and katydid chorus is in full swing, many of the trees have not yet started their fall display and I am still watching hummingbirds. I couldn't ask for more.

The Gospel and the Mules

2007-09-22T21:49:00.000-04:00

I don't usually write overtly theological posts on this blog but feel like making an exception this evening. A few days ago for one reason and another I entered into several discussions centering around theology, church history, attitudes of worship and congregational practice. It was a weighty couple of days and the more time I spent time thinking about these matters the more tired and discouraged I felt... which of course is not the purpose of church involvement or of relating to God in general. As I usually do, I started the following day with a morning walk, hoping to shake the mental fatigue that came from the quandaries I was pondering. Often times these walks bring moments of peace and often times I am fortunate to see and hear glimpses of God in the wild things I observe along the way. But this was the first time God has chosen to speak to me through through mules.

As I walked along the road overlooking the meadow I heard a strange sound I couldn't place and didn't recognize. It sounded as if it were coming from the nearby Amish farm, though it didn't seem quite right for a cow or a calf or anything else animal-like, for that matter. Just after hearing the noise I looked down into the meadow and noticed the resident German Shepherd running back and forth which was also puzzling since the dog is usually with the farmer as he goes about his plowing or harvesting. After a minute, the dog headed up into the farmyard and I happened to glance in the other direction, noting movement off in the distant fields. All of a sudden several mules came into view, slowing plodding along in my direction one after another on the narrow path they have worn through the fields over time. In the lead was a white mule with five dark brown mules following. They walked single file for a quarter mile or more at the same measured and deliberate pace, passing near to where I was standing with not so much as a turn of their eyes in my direction. I could tell they took note of my presence because their ears turned backwards as the passed me, as if to hear me better, but they never stopped to look or to wonder what I was doing there. As they approached the stream they stopped briefly, breaking ranks and milling around , almost as if trying to remember what it was they were supposed to be do next. After a moment the white leader took up the pace again, the others fell into line and soon they arrived safely at the barn. I stood there fascinated, realizing that the strange noise I had heard had been intended as a call to the mules far out in the fields and that they had heeded its beckoning.

As I had understood what I had just seen I remembered that the farmer actually had nine mules and wondered where the other three might be and whether they would come too or were ignoring the summons. I looked back in the direction I had seen the first group and sure enough, here came another two. These two were not plodding or nonchalantly taking their time, but were trotting and cantering along the same path, as if they realized they had tarried longer than they should have. They appeared to be younger than the first group, less self-assured and more anxious and the first one was certainly more jittery. I wondered just what was making him so agitated when I looked back once more and finally saw the ninth and last mule making his way more slowly over the fields and paths to join the others. This unsettled mule was clearly not happy at being left behind, nor at the slow pace of his last companion and as soon as the three were all together he took off for the barn, with the others following.

A couple of thoughts came to mind as I watched this unfolding equine drama. One had to do with Jesus words "the sheep hear my voice and follow me". I could not have asked for a clearer nor more powerful picture of that verse than what I had just witnessed. As opposed to those recent heavy discussions having to do with who is qualified to lead in the Church and their role in leading God's people, these mules presented a picture of simply individually heeding and responding to the call that came to them directly, just as in Jesus words about sheep. And as I watched those last three mules I thought of my mother and of others like her. She had known and followed God early in her life but then seemed to lose sight of Him. She spent most of her later years looking for Him in places and through means by which He would not be found. Yet in her final hours before she died, she once again heard and listened to His voice calling and this time she came. Just like those last mules.

I also thought about a line from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. For those who have read it, Ron was feeling badly about having deserted Harry and Hermione and after he was back with them and telling Harry about why and how he returned, he recognized that the present that Dumbledore had left him was given for the purpose of granting his return back to his friends. About Dumbledore Ron says something to the effect of, "He must have known I would...." and Harry jumps in and says, "...would want to come back." I thought of my mom and of all of those whom God calls day after day, over and over. Some hear and come immediately and some take a lifetime.

I had tears in my eyes as I stood looking out over the now-empty meadow, thinking about how powerfully and how simply God conveyed a message that I needed to hear. Through these creatures He spoke a message about trusting Him and responding as I hear His voice. As the call came to the mules directly, His call also comes to my ears. As they knew what to do, so do I. The call to them and to me was simply to come to where and to Whom I belong.

Rainy Almost Autumn

2007-09-11T12:12:00.000-04:00

Today is the kind of day for which I wait all summer long. Finally it is raining and cooling down and what was parched and limp in the garden is looking alive and as though it may bloom on a while yet. The purple coneflowers are finishing up their vibrant display but hidden among the now drab brown seed heads are untold numbers of goldfinches perching and swaying on the drying stalks, eating their fill. Each year I leave the dried flower heads to stand in the yard over the winter, providing cover and sustenance for whatever birds might happen upon them. Much of the garden is showing the unmistakable signs of the end of the season with spring flowers long gone, and summer flowers fading. But the glorious promise of asters still is waiting in the wings, waiting to unfold into a sea of pinks and purples as the finale of the garden year.

Today the front that has brought the rain has also brought new numbers of ruby-throats and they are zipping all over the yard, sometimes at flowers, sometimes at feeders and sometimes at each other. They will be here today and maybe tomorrow and then they will be gone to points southward on their long journey. They will be replaced by new travellers in the coming days until the fall migration is over. Hummingbird banders have documented repeatedly that, at this time of year, the little ones we see in our yard on any given day are usually not the same individuals we see on the following day. There is really wave upon wave of hummingbirds moving through and the ones that visit our yard this year as they travel are quite likely to be here again next year. I find it almost unimaginable that something so tiny and that travels so far can somehow keep in its brain where the good feeding stops were in previous years. Of course, the more feeding tables they find, the stronger their condition and the better the journey. I sometimes wonder what our landscape would look like if everyone planted to assist the creatures that move through on their their way south.

The other visitor that seems to be everywhere right now is the Monarch butterfly, again on its own way south to Mexico. Mid to late September is the height of the Monarch migration and if your yard grows flowers that nourish them- zinnias, asters, goldenrods, joe-pye weeds, ironweeds, Mexican sunflowers and others-you should be seeing high numbers this year. The dozens of Monarch caterpillars I wrote about previously have been pupating, emerging and feeding and will soon be moving on as adults. All of the summer's earlier Monarch generations have done their part in laying the eggs that sustain the population but none of the previous adults will leave our area to go elsewhere. Only these we are seeing now will head south and they will travel by the thousands. These creatures have been living this life cycle and making this trek for longer than any of us will know. To think that I can have a part in ensuring the success of those who come through my yard is both humbling and exciting. To still have a means of being connected to how life was once lived before we humans made so many changes is a rare privilege and joy.

I look forward to the rest of the seasonal parade that will move through and into our yard during the next couple of weeks. Sometimes there will be wood warblers on their way to Central and South America stopping in for insects lurking in the tree tops. Sometimes thrushes and towhees will come grubbing for worms and tasty morsels under the accumulated leaf layer of the hedgerows and the small woodlot. And soon the winter flock of white-crowned sparrows will move back and be taking up residence in the nearby brushy streamside area, yet deigning to visit our yard as well. They too are here every year, arriving in September or October and heading north to breed in northern Canada by mid May. I am honored to have them.

I am grateful to be allowed to share in the workings of this natural world, a world that has been present for far longer than people have lived in these parts. I need this space and these creatures as an anchor to a Life that is larger than my own and as a reminder that living on Earth is not all about me. I need the reminder that God invites me to participate in His creation and in relationship with Himself. The richness of both is my reward for accepting His invitation.

Handed-Down Wisdom

2007-08-30T10:48:00.001-04:00

A few weeks ago I had the happy privilege of going to see my favorite uncle and aunt and their children in KY (Hi, Gerald and Felicia, if you are reading this!) This is the uncle who grew up in the Appalachian Kentucky mountains and from whom I first learned my way around the natural world. He told me a story about the years, not so long ago, when he had a 4 acre vegetable farm at his childhood home and about an ag extension service agent remarking on the rich tilth of the garden soil. My uncle mused about how his father, my grandfather, used to make sure that everything that grew out of the garden was put back into the soil, with the exception of what was actually eaten. He remembered he and his brothers becoming irritated with having to chop up the corn stalks and dig them back into the ground when their friends' families just burned those stalks as useless debris!

It wasn't until I got back home that I started wondering about how my grandfather knew the importance of taking care of his soil. It wasn't common knowledge in those days before the Dust Bowl years hit. Back then, Kentucky farmers were still tilling the bare mountian slopes that should have been covered with woodlands. My grandfather never learned to read and in the 1920's and 1930's there would not have been much information published about taking care of the land anyway. I imagine that he just knew somehow what good stewardship required and that he realized he would need to take care of his land if he wanted to feed his large family for years to come. That my uncle continued in the same vein and that his soil continued to improve over the years speaks a great deal to me about taking care of anything, be it land or home or children or other relationships.

It is not a difficult jump from thinking about intentionally feeding the garden soil to caring for that with which we have been entrusted. And I do not always do a good job of being a steward of what has been granted me, though I am starting to think more about the subject since talking with my uncle. There are numerous applications to this concept of tending what we have but I have been thinking about it lately as it applies to relationships. I have a husband, children who are grown or almost grown, a brother who lives several hours away, these dear KY relatives, and a handful of old and new friends whom I care about. The bonds with all of them are special but I have realized all over again that unless I put time and effort into nurturing those bonds, over time they are likely to weaken and even to break. The same is true with my relationship with God, and though I know that He will not let the bonds break, how intimately I am acquainted with Him is a choice that I make for myself.

I am grateful I am for the life I have been given. I do not lead an unusual life, or one filled with money or power or even some of the wishes that I would like to see happen. But the people I care about, my love for the land, and God's daily presence provide a richness that satisfies my soul and my spirit. As I tend the soil around my home I hope to remember the need to do the same with all that matters to me. What is true for the land is true for the rest of life. What we we put into it tends to determine what we receive back.

Hands of a Healer

2007-08-23T07:30:00.000-04:00

The Monarch butterfly caterpillar population is something to behold this year, at least in places where a healthy population of milkweed is found. In our yard this summer the various milkweed species have supported literally dozens of caterpillars and this morning as I looked over a couple swamp milkweed plants by our driveway I counted 15 caterpillars without really searching. The story is the same in friends' yards, in meadows and along roadsides where the road crews have spared the common milkweed plants. In fact, I am noticing common milkweed growing in places I have not seen it before and I am wondering whether its presence is due to people becoming more aware of its value. I hope so. It would bode well for the struggling Monarch population whose familiar breeding habitats are relentlessly being razed and paved.

In writing to a friend I was recently reminded of my favorite line from J. R.R Tolkien's Return of the King. It was said of Aragorn, "The hands of the king are the hands of a healer." The words inspire the same longing, the same sence of calling as they have for many years. I am not a healer of bodies as Aragorn was. I seem to be called to the healing of the earth. Whereas Aragorn conveyed healing directly from his own being, my hands can only provide ingredients and give opportunity for the land to carry out its own restoration. That the land is able to heal, in spite of all of the harm we sometimes cause it, is testimony to God's directive that the earth sustain the life of those who live upon it. That we can participate in its healing is testimony to God's intent that the land and the people He placed here would live cooperatively, in mutual interdependence. We are continually invited into that participation.

A particularly gratifying result of growing ornamental milkweed species or letting the common milkweed grow wild is how quickly it makes a positive difference in the life of those who depend upon it, how quickly it provides healing for a population in decline. We humans can be an impatient lot. Seeing measurable success encourages us to keep caring and to keep behaving as though we do. Caring inspires us to act boldly and to go out of our way to provide for the needs of those besides ourselves. Caring is a prerequisite for becoming a healer.

Considering the Birds of the Air and the Lilies of the Field

2007-08-11T21:11:00.000-04:00

The familiar wet meadow is coming into its late summer glory these days and yesterday I took some time to examine at it through binoculars. Without binoculars it looks like a haze of muted colors, purples and yellows mostly, set against the drying grass. But through them the scene is brought close in detail and the mauve Joe-Pye weed, royal purple ironweed, and bright yellow goldenrods and grey-headed coneflowers stand out in sharp relief. As do the numerous Monarch, black-swallowtail and silver-spotted skipper butterflies that feed on these flowers's nectar. Completing the scene was the multitude of barn swallows and tree-swallows zipping around me out over the meadow and up and down the creek. The insect flight must have been excellent and these birds that struggled to find food in early spring are now fattening up for the soon-to-come fall migration.

While watching the meadow plants and the swallows I was reminded of the directives Jesus gave to those listening to him on at least one occasion. "Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them." and "See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these." God was pointedly referring to his care for people and His Creation as he spoke these words, and yet there are a couple of additional underlying truths that linger beneath the surface. I do not attempt to speak for God nor to alter what He meant when he spoke these sentences, but I can almost not help drawing further applications from them. I do not think He would mind.

In Jesus' day, as in ours, fields that were left fallow filled in with vegetation that naturally grew in sites that were right for them. If the field Jesus was looking at was a wet meadow, it grew wet meadow plants. If it were a dry meadow, it grew dry meadow plants. A diverse plant community grew up in concert with the provided conditions and it was the whole of the community that met the needs of the individuals found there. Jesus did not exhort his listeners to look at the myriad pollinators or the seed disperal methods of the various plants, but it was this activity that perpetuated the plant populations in the landscape. The reality was that though the lilies of the field may have looked as though they had been planted and tended by God's direct hand, they were actually thriving because they were living in a spot that was just right for them. Just like those meadow plants I noticed on yesterday's walk.

And in Jesus day, as in ours, those birds that God fed were found in the places that most suitably met their needs for food. Swallows hunted insects over fields and wet places, fruit eating birds would have been found where berries were abundant, raptors would have been found where there were rodents and birds to be profitably hunted. God set the world in motion to feed and sustain each of the individual members by the collective functioning of the various ecosystems that comprised the earth. His provision for His creatures was built into the very workings of Creation.

At one of the churches my husband and I attend there is an offeratory that is sung to the tune of All Through the Night. It is a beautiful, haunting piece in that I almost feel like we are singing about what used to be, especially as we sing the last line. I worry that because of the harm that our human quest for change has wrought, the earth will no longer be the fruitful and abundant home it was intended to be

For the Fruit of All Creation
For the fruit of all Creation, thanks be to God
For these gifts to every nation, thanks be to God
For the plowing, sowing, reaping, silent growth while we are sleeping
Future needs in earth's safe-keeping, thanks be to God.

On the other hand, I know that when the earth is protected and cared for, it responds with health and provision, once again filled with the promise of life for all who depend upon it. Visits to the nearby meadow remind me anew of the land's abundant potential and of the opportunity we still have to take care of that which has been entrusted to us since time began. With God's help and by his mercy and grace, we still have time to relearn how to "tend the garden". The lilies of the field and the birds of the air are not the only ones who depend upon our choices. We humans do as well.

For the Common Good

2007-08-07T18:35:00.000-04:00

These last couple of days have presented an opportunity to do some hard thinking about what I like to say matters to me. As in past years, we do not yet have our window air-conditioners installed and running. Some years we have given in and used them and some years we haven't and I have been thinking about that choice. This year particularly I want to make it through the summer without them, though that decision is not without its share of grumpiness and second guessing.

This year I feel acutely aware of our energy use choices. The realization that the collective "we" and the individual "I" cannot afford to continue living as though there are no consequences for those choices is sinking more fully into my consciousness. I have grown up in a generation that was told early on that we could have it all, that limits and boundaries were unnecessary and that whatever we felt like doing was OK. We railed at authority, we presumed we knew best and we slowly lost touch with the concept that a penalty would be paid for our selfishness. In fact, the word "selfishness" was almost a foreign concept in the age of "grabbing all the gusto" one could out of life. We know better now, or we surely should.

When my mind starts wandering, it often turns to the benefits and consequences of technology. It especially turns to the consequences and that is when people often say, "Well what about....?" What about medical advances? What about communication advances? What about transportation advances? All true, of course. It is human nature to want to improve methods, make life easier, invent new ways of doing things and that the tendency reflects our creative spirit I have no doubt. But human nature is also self-serving and hasty, sometimes, and does not always want to explore the negative ramifications of some new possibility. Unfortunately, along with the gains technology has brought us, it has brought a string of consequences that is already all too familiar.

Which brings me back to muggy summer weather and choosing to try and cope without the air-conditioners packed away in the basement. I do not feel noble in this decision. I feel hot and tired and grumbly sometimes. I particularly felt that way last evening after the heat of the long day and after monitoring my two miniature dachshunds all afternoon to make sure they were not overheating on their short forays into the backyard. In fact, last evening I was wondering if the decision was worth it. Are we using less energy in the running of the whole-house fan in the evening than we would be if we were using the window units all day long? I don't know. Is it fair to inflict my crabby mood on my husband and children because I am trying to help us conserve? I am not sure about that one either.

But I do believe we in the developed world will be soon faced with some choices that many of us will not think pleasant. We as a people are not used to sacrificing for the common good. An obvious example of this sad state of affairs is the relatively new cultural more of disregarding the yellow light at an intersection. Stopping when the light turns yellow, as we all learned was the expected behavior before passing our driver's test, would be in the interest of the common good. Running it and ignoring the potential consequences is the self-serving, selfish choice.

I believe that for the good of the world, for the good of the people and the other creatures with whom we share this world, all of us will be soon called upon to sacrifice what we might naturally choose for the good of all. If we cannot bring ourselves to that point of caring for others as well as for ourselves, the consequences of our apathy and our inaction will be our legacy. On the other hand, if we have the will to make choices for the common good, perhaps our children's children will have a world in which they too might find the wonders and delights still present in our world today. The choice is up to all of us.

Pictures of the Gardens

2007-08-03T07:12:00.001-04:00

Thanks to those who have asked to see what the gardens around our home look like. I am adding these pictures from the front and back yards, all taken in the last few days. You will have to use your imaginations to "see" the insects because I don't have a camera that can do nice closeups that close. We live on a half-acre lot and have less than a quarter acre still in grass.

You may click on pictures to enlarge.

Back Yard Back Yard

Back Yard

Same as previous picture, I can't figure out how to remove it.

Back Yard

Rain Garden at end of Driveway
This catches a signficant amount of rain water that had flowed from the
driveway into the backyard during hard rains.

Rain Garden

Front Yard
Looking into planted "woodlot"

Front Yard
Looking towards house

Hope you enjoyed the tour. When we first moved here 18 or so years ago there was nothing but grass planted. The landsccape has changed and so have the creatures who now also call this bit of earth home.

The Unnamed Season

2007-08-02T22:41:00.001-04:00

I always become particularly reflective around this time every year as we begin the transition from summer into autumn. Although our common vocabulary doesn’t really have a name for this period, I recognize and celebrate it as a definitive season nevertheless. The changes right now are subtle and if it weren’t for spending so much time outdoors I might not recognize nor appreciate them. The summer insects have been singing for a couple of weeks now and at some point I will make the effort to try and count the numbers of cricket and katydid species that are out in the front and back yards. The butterflies, bees, tiny wasps, beetles, flies and other pollinators are busy at the flowers all day long, as are the hummingbirds who are gearing up for their long flights south. The Joe-pye weed is blooming and the ironweed will soon create a purple haze in the garden as a forerunner to the asters and goldenrod who are the true heralds of fall.

There are other signs that I seem to notice more subliminally. The honey locust has just a few leaves that are already turning yellow and floating to the earth. It is easy to miss a handful of tiny butter colored leaves among the mass of green that still covers the tree and, in truth, there are not many of them. Still, to anyone who pays attention, they are a signal of the beginning of the end of the growing season. Fragrances abound that are particular to this time of year, though not as strong or as recognizable as the scents of fall. Field corn is tasseling now and its flowers have a fragrance that is as distinctive as roses. Goldenrod, while not yet in bloom, also gives off a spicy scent that I have known since my childhood and I pass a patch of it every day on my walks. The barn and tree swallow populations have grown and they are starting to sit together on telephone wires along the road. Though their migration is still a month or more away, they are clearly aware of its approach. Just this evening I watched as a large flock of starlings made their way across the field and into one of my black cherry trees. Their flocking means that they too are aware of the season and that the coming end of summer is not far off.

These changes remind me of the seasons of my own life all over again and I take hope in noticing the rhythms of the earth. Though my logic tells me that these changes mean that life is waning, my heart exults in the jubliation of the moment. The insect’s song is evidence of their determination to ensure the life of their next generation, as is the fragrance of the corn’s flowers. Whereas I may look ahead and know the next chapter in the seasonal story, these players are carrying out their purposes at hand with abandon. Whereas I sometimes fear growing older and worry about what I may or may not be able to do in the future, these creatures serve as a reminder that living in the here and now is a gift to be treasured.

I realize that I cannot control much of what may happen in my future life. But I also realize that I can choose to trust that God will walk alongside me. As I exhibit my own signs of transitioning into life’s next seasons, I hope to remember the lessons I relearn each year. Every season has its own tasks, its own challenges and joys. I know that the tasks have not been and will not be the same as those of the previous season but I trust that they will be rich in that which is appointed to them. May I accept and enter into them with the same abandon as do the creatures from which I learn each day.

Marking Time in the Garden

2007-07-23T20:48:00.001-04:00

I imagine that almost every gardener knows the feeling. All of a sudden, there is too much vegetative clutter in the garden. It wasn't noticeable yesterday but today there is an overabundance of spent blooms, drying stalks, and newly visible weeds peeking out from under soon-to-be-blooming plants. I am repeatedly amused that some weeds seem have an innate skill for choosing the plants with whom they attempt to co-exist. It is as though they recognize their own form and lurk amongst the garden plants most resembling themselves. Thinking about weeds plotting and scheming brings a bit of humor to my eradication efforts. Perhaps I could write a book, Spies in the Under(story)world, or something to that effect.

I am always surprised at just how much biomass I pull out of the garden at this time of year. I'll make several wheelbarrow trips to the composter and after a while it will be filled to capacity, leaving no room for the excess. It recently occurred to me just why I seem to unconsciously put off tackling this tidying up project each summer. I do not like to face the reality of time passing. Like a child who puts hands over eyes and assumes she is invisible, I want to pretend that spring has not come and gone once again. Cutting down the stalks of sundrops and columbine means admitting they will not be back this year. Spring can seem so fleeting, like life itself. Will I still be here to see these end-of-winter, welcome flowers again next year?

Someone I know once said that we are surprised by the passing of time because we were made for eternity. I agree. And yet, though we live finite lives, we can choose to make the most of the time we are given. After I face the fact that the garden needs a good grooming and do the work required, it seems to sparkle with new life and promise. Removing that which has served its purpose and celebrating that which is yet to come brings an enhanced beauty and an eager anticipation for the next season of blooms. It is a lesson well worth remembering as I live out my days, even in settings other than the garden.

The Unseen

2007-07-16T15:17:00.000-04:00

It was the small white clouds of insects hovering over the meadow that prompted my musings about the seen and the unseen world. I did not have much on my mind as I walked and at the time was primarily paying attention to the antics of anxious avian parents bent on protecting their young from various actual and imagined threats. Along that short stretch of road there are a number of nesting families of yellow warblers, common yellowthroats, grey catbirds, Eastern kingbirds, brown thrashers, northern mockingbirds, robins, orchard orioles, willow flycatchers, song sparrows, and some I am forgetting at the moment. With all those families sharing the same quarter mile there are bound to be squabbles and territorial defenses from time to time and it makes for interesting observation. Sometimes it is nice not to think but only to watch. Today however, because of those insect clouds, my attention was drawn away from the obvious and towards the less evident. I went from being merely an observer to becoming a seeker.

I believe that as we go about living our day to day lives, there is an unseen spiritual world just out of our sight and everyday awareness. Most of the time I do not think much about it, I’m sorry to say, dwelling instead upon the tangible and the visible. I am easily distracted and sometimes forget that God lives as an eternal presence, as an unseen participant in my life and the life of the world around me. Sometimes I need to be reminded and He chooses well the tools He uses to bring my mind back around to Him. Today it was the mysterious insects hovering over the fields. They seemed to be floating in the air as mist and were only visible when the light was just right and the eye was in just the right position to see them. It was as if God left a hint to look for Him in unexpected times and places and I found myself wondering in what other manner He might have left similar reminders. I began actively looking for that which I would have missed if I had not been paying attention. I came upon a stand of Queen Anne’s Lace and noted the single tiny dark floret in the center of the flower head, surrounded by all the white ones. I found evidence of a Spicebush Swallowtail butterfly caterpillar in a partially eaten sassafras leaf, though the caterpillar was nowhere to be seen. I thought about all those maddeningly successful weeds that appear in my garden, though I have never seen the seeds from which they have sprouted. It was as if God were pointing out the fact that He is always present, whether we are aware and attuned to him or not.

It is human nature to be drawn to mysteries and children are not the only ones who enjoy looking for the next clue or piece of the puzzle. I think that God sometimes tailors His dealings with us according to those tendencies in order to draw us through our natural curiosities and wonderings. He whispers to us, sometimes in the wind or in the call of the geese, sometimes in a hymn or lines from His Word. He invites our questions, our challenges, our unbelief. He bids us come and search and although He may seem to have hidden, I believe He awaits just the right moment to reveal Himself. At least that was my experience today. I began my walk primarily attentive to the here and now and to the mundane tasks and concerns of everyday life. I ended it attentive to the unseen world of God’s care and the mystery of His involvement in the world around me. I will forget again and He will remind me, as He has so often in the past. My remembering God does not depend on my faulty memory nor on my determination to keep Him in mind. It depends on His gracious willingness to leave me reminders of Himself and to point me towards those reminders. What I do with them is up to me.

Full of Life

2007-07-02T21:47:00.000-04:00

I have been meaning to keep a chronicle of my garden so that in the future I may look back and remember how it looked and what plants were blooming when. I never seem to get around to keeping that promise to myself so I am writing about it here. The garden behind our house is glorious, if I do say so. The trees, shrubs and herbaceous plants, take up the better part of the back yard, and though I have left some walking paths, by the end of the season even they will be overgrown and difficult to navigate. It is a garden full of vegetation indigenous to this part of PA and is just now starting to come into its riotous summer bloom. In this sacred space tiny flies, bees, beetles, butterflies, moths, hummingbirds and songbirds go about their daily tasks of eating, breeding and dying and it will soon be filled with the myriad melodies of crickets and katydids, as well.

Lately I have been thinking of this patch of earth as my contribution to the threatened populations of our local pollinators. My garden has become more of a study in ecology than in aesthetics, in restoration rather than style. Though people sometimes say they find the plantings beautiful, mere beauty is no longer my goal. Survival is. Since our human landscape has significantly altered the available habitat for the insects, birds, amphibians and mammals of our region, planting a garden that helps to provide for their need is an act of stewardship I find richly rewarding. And the best and most effective means to accomplish that goal is through the planting of plants that have been a part of Penn's Woods since before the first settlers arrived.

Pastels seem to be the dominant shade in the garden at the moment, though that will soon be changing. There is lavender, red and fushia beebalm, pink swamp and common milkweed, pinkish purple coneflowers, blue wild petunia, pink downy phlox, yellow coreopsis, and a magnificent orange stand of butterfly weed. In the next few days, yellow black-eyed susans and three-lobed coneflower will open, along with purple liatris, pink and white garden phlox, pink meadowsweet and some yellow early goldenrod. Later will come various species of asters, goldenrods, joe-pye weed, ironweed, and the golden color of the flowering warm-season grasses.

Each year I also plant in some non-native annuals that will grow big and lush by the time of the fall hummingbird migration. These plants will provide sustenance and calories to be converted into body fat before the long non-stop trip to South America. A few males are already regularly coming to the flowers, as are a couple of females, but by later in August the garden's airspace will become something akin to the halls outside a middle-school cafeteria at lunch time. There will be hummingbirds chasing, bullying and jostling one another all over the yard, eating on the run and putting on weight. Watching these autumn scenes is especially fulfilling as I contemplate the fact that the nourishment these small but scrappy creatures find in our yard will be what helps them make their long journey to the next stage of their lives.

Having a garden that sustains the life of the Creation embodies the concept of stewardship. It is a tangible means of partnering with God in caring for what He has made and what He intends to live on. I have realized that, for myself, participating in the sustenance of Creation is an act of worship springing from a grateful heart hoping to make a positive contribution to what is left of God's natural world. The invitation is open to all who care about the life around us. The invitation is open to you.

Riches

2007-06-30T11:39:00.000-04:00

How woefully easy it is to misplace our priorities and temporarily lose our sense of gratitude. Perhaps I should write that opening sentence in the first person singular but I have a feeling that the affliction is more or less common to most of us from time to time. It has been a problem for me this last month for one reason and another and might explain why June has surprised me with its fleeting swiftness. I am left wondering how this year's June has come and gone so quickly. Perhaps I was not paying enough attention. Perhaps I was too immersed in wishing for a way of life that was not my own to revel in the wonders of the here and now.

For a couple of reasons, I knew that when I started my new job with a local land conservancy I would likely keep company with a struggle that has been a companion for most of my adult life. It has been simmering under the surface for the last few weeks and, as is often the case, I did not recognize it for what it was until a couple days ago. Covetousness, or wishing for what is not ours, is unsettling and even deadening if not rooted out. I let myself slip back into it without recognising its symptoms. One of these days I would like to report that this companion and I have parted ways, but I don't hold out much hope for that. Instead, I hope to be infused with a pervasive spirit of thankfulness that does not succumb to the longing for more.

The liberating moment of truth came through an encounter with a tiny creature while I was gardening for one of my clients two days ago. These people have a beautiful 60 acre farm with old restored house, barn and lands and I garden for them every week. As I was on my knees weeding under some tall pines, up hill from the waterfall and pond they have installed, I found myself in tears and the mental dam finally burst and let me see what had been affecting most of my waking hours of late. The reality is that I am never going to have the financial resources that these landowners have. Nor will I have the resources and land of many of my friends, no matter how much I may wish to. My husband and I made different vocational choices early in our lives and there is no point in decrying the fact that we are not going to ever be wealthy.

After having my moment of anger much, I am sorry to say, like a small child stamping their foot I happened to catch a glimpse of movement, just under my hand. Through my tears I saw a tiny brown frog, not much larger than my thumbnail, making his way past me and on up the hill, completely oblivious to my anguish. I stopped to watch and realized once again that sights like this are all around me if I will just pay attention. I was filled with gratitude for having been in just the right place at just the right time to see that little frog making his way in the world.

I had to shake my head and chuckle at God and His ways. As is so often the case, He brought me to an awareness of my struggle as I was outside and interacting with the natural world. And then, after giving me just enough time to repent, He brought the means of healing and restoration through one of His creatures. This tiny one reminded me that wealth, at least for me, is to be found in entering into the wonders of Creation. I can do that no matter where I am and what I am doing. This wealth is free.

My Calling

2007-06-03T11:12:00.000-04:00

My daughter and I had an interesting discussion yesterday regarding the occupations to which we are called and the methods by which we discern that calling. Often times, maybe most times, figuring out our direction is a lesson in trial and error, in patience and trust. Patience as we sift through the many "good things" from which we may choose and trust that the answers will materialize as we pay attention to the leadings that speak to us from within.

This matter has been echoing in my mind as I think about my gardening business. "Annie's Gardens" is a very small enterprise serving a handful of clients who need or want help with their properties. Some of my clients are older people who have loved gardens but are no longer able to care for their flowers and yards. Some have properties that are just too big to care for alone and appreciate a helping hand. Each family is different and it is a privilege to be involved in their lives and working among their plants. Truth be told, however, being a gardener is more than a privilege, it is the fulfillment of a long-time quest. For most of my adult life I have been searching for a means by which I could serve people or at least bring some good into their lives. The trouble was that most of what I have tried over the years has turned out to be more draining than fulfilling and I have realized that I was not suited to most of the roles I had assumed, good as my intentions may have been. Such is the usual outcome of working from what we think we 'should' be doing, rather than simply from who we are.

I have found that just by taking care of people's gardens I can bring beauty and joy to hearts who need it. And the reciprocal is also true. As I tend and care for their plants and soil my own spirit is blessed and fed, as well. A new project I'll be starting soon is a good example of how this works out. I have a dear friend who has a dear 90 year old mother who, though intellectually and emotionally alert, is seldom able to leave the confines of her home. But the fact that she can and does enjoy looking out her windows has been the recent inspiration for the new butterfly garden we are poised to install. As impatient as a child waiting to open an intriguingly wrapped present, I can't wait to see the transformation of that myrtle-covered patch of ground in front of the porch into the riotous color of blooms and wings. To know that my friend's mom will be able to watch the display from her indoor vantage point just makes me smile and gives me a sense of accomplishment and gratitude and even of giddiness. I believe it is safe to say that when one feels that way about their work chances are good that they are, indeed, working within their calling.

As a last thought...my favorite line from the whole Lord of the Rings series comes as Prince Faramir, having imprisoned Sam and Frodo in a cave while on their way to Mordor, questions Frodo. When Sam indignantly challenges Faramir's right to threaten Frodo, Faramir asks, "Who is this, your bodyguard?" And Sam belligerently declares, as though the answer should be obvious, "No, I am his gardener!" And indeed, who could be more noble, more steadfast and more faithful than he or she who tends the earth with deliberate care. "Tending the Garden" was our first charge and responsibility. No wonder I am at home there.

Back Again

2007-05-27T18:58:00.000-04:00

Not that I have been away, actually. I have taken a break from writing for a while, though I can't remember just why. I was honored in seeing Joanna, my daughter, refer to my postings in her own blog and her words have prompted me to take up writing once again. Watching one's children grow into adults, complete with their own views and convictions about what matters in life is a joy and a privilege. To have them come to some of the same conclusions I have come to is especially moving and though a parent may try and take the credit for such outcomes, I do not. When I think of my parents' values I did not and do not share I realize that our children must come to what they hold dear in their own time and through their own searching. Joanna's blog, A Veiw From Wood Road, has been a chronicle of what she treasures and what she wrestles with and the link to her postings is on the side bar.

I have been hearing a refrain over the last few months that I am starting to find somewhat amusing. People have been asking if I have read Wendell Berry's works. Whether the query is in response to something I have said about my Appalachian connections, my interest in the land, my love of wildlife, my philosophy of agriculture, my simple lifestyle in Africa or the presence of God in all of those areas, it seems that someone asks if I have read Wendell Berry's fiction, poems or essays. I have not asked them just why they are asking or how they think I will benefit from the reading but I think I might from now on. The fact is that I have read some of his works and what has been a surprise and a joy is that I have finally found someone who agrees with me in almost all that I hold dear. The convictions that matter to Wendell Berry do not need to be explained to me because they are already a part of the fabric of my makeup and being.

When people tell me that they like Wendell Berry's writings, I am curious. Do they like all of his writings and messages or just some of them? I know folks who like what he writes about community but don't agree with his emphasis on small farming or the need for an intentional stewardship of the land. I know some who would like his call to a simple, sustainable lifestyle without the acquisition of more and more of the latest innovations but would not agree with his position of Christian non-resistance. And I know of some who like his fiction but feel threatened because he is not utilizing the latest technology and, in fact, speaks against it.

I will continue to read his works because his words ring true and remind me of who I am. Just like my Uncle Orien's do. Both remind me of my family and heritage and of the legacy left to me by my grandparents. Both remind me of my connection to God through the Creation and through Jesus. The words of both men lodge deep in my spirit and call me to live with integrity and with purpose. By God's grace and call, I hope to be the same voice of encouragement and challenge to my own family and friends. I give Him thanks for the lives and hearts of both men and for their confirmation that who I am is just who God has intended me to be from the beginning and that who I am, is enough.

Deceiving Appearances

2007-05-10T14:10:00.000-04:00

This morning I took my ramble up the road, anxious to see what birds might have dropped down into the trees at dawn. For those who may not know, migrating songbirds travel by night and stop to rest and feed on insects and caterpillars by day. At first light they look for a likely spot and settle in to eat and regain their strength for the next leg of their flight. When they arrive at what they somehow know is "their" territory they stay put and start courtship and nesting behavior and one can watch them day after day. Some people who spend time watching birds are excited by the prospect of seeing great numbers of different species. While I also enjoy these fleeting glimpses, I find it more satisfying to find a few birds I can observe over the course of their nesting season. This morning I was fortunate enough to encounter several such individuals and it was like greeting old friends, back from their travels abroad. One of the especially enjoyable aspects of birdwatching in the same location over time is recognizing which birds are likely to show up where. The brown thrashers are singing and courting in the same stretch of scrubby trees where they nested last year. The kingfishers are at home along the same stretch of creek near the bridge that the eastern phoebes use every year as their nesting own site.

It was while I was listening and watching for new arrivals that I happened upon the warbling vireos. Warbling vireos are small grey nondescript birds. In fact, they are about as plain as birds come and for many people seeing one would probably not be cause for celebration. Once they begin to sing, however, one wonders how any bird can produce a cadence so beautiful and so complicatedly rhythmic. They particularly like to nest near water and I have heard them singing down near the creek in previous seasons. Recently, however, they have been in the trees up near the road and today, for the first time, I was able to see and watch them at eye level. Though the males and females look exactly alike, I am fairly confident I was watching a breeding pair and I stayed for some minutes, the birds just 15 feet from where I stood. The light was good, as are my binoculars, and I could see their individual feathers. I could even the small insects that the birds were picking from a newly green hop-hornbeam tree. As they foraged, the male paused to sing and I stood still listening, thinking about the discrepancy between his song and his appearance. A bird so plain that most would pass him by singing a song that reminded me of bubbling streams and the exuberance of life...

I was humbled as I watched and listened. I thought about the number of times I have taken people and situations at face value, not pausing to wonder or seek out the uniqueness that lay beneath an outward appearance. The vireos' glory lies not only in their voice but also in the simple fact that they fill a unique purpose and a position in the world in which they live. It is a role filled by no other species in exactly the same way and its absence would leave a hole in the fabric of the riparian system. The same is true with people. We are each created to have a special role in the lives of those with whom we come in contact and each of the people we meet are created to be unique as well. I want to remember the lessons learned this morning on the road. Something that appeared so ordinary became the cause for joy and for praise and for learning.

New Beginnings

2007-05-08T09:48:00.000-04:00

When I think about writing a post I ususally have some theme or idea of where I want the topic to go. Today I don't exactly but feel like writing anyway. I am thinking, once again, about new beginnings, about taking a new direction when I am not quite sure where it leads, about trusting my heart and my God and hoping that I am not making some foolish mistake. I have been working two jobs of late and I am getting ready to leave the stable, reliable one to devote more time and energy to the one that is something I love to do, but carries no guarantee of what will come next. Bilbo Baggins wrote a poem about the Road that comes back to me in times like these. "The Road goes ever, ever on, down from the door where it began. Now far away the Road has gone and I must follow if I can. Pursuing it with eager feet, until it joins a wider way, where many a path and errand meet, and whither then? I cannot say." I feel like much of my life has been like a twisty road, with many offshoots and "inviting exits" as my Dad used to say. He used to tell my mom, who was always afraid of getting lost, to just stay on the highway and not take any inviting exits.

I, on the other hand, have taken many. I started out in college as a premed major and ended, three colleges later as an ag major. I have assisted African women with gardening, I have taught Pennsylvania mothers to birth and breastfeed their babies, I have counted bird populations, milked cows, talked with farmers about land conservation, worked in garden centers, had my own small gardening business, am now a library assistant in the reference department and promote the plantings of native plants in the landscape. There is continuity in most of the above though it may not be so readily apparent. I am a nurturer and my heart longs for restoration and wholeness-in the land, in relationships, and with God.

I have been challenged recently to think about "identity", what is at the core of myself and what is "put on" as image. It is a good question and one that I will be thinking about for a long time. It is an uncomfortable question, as well, if I be honest. It means facing not only what matters most, but why and what influences helped to form the values that are a part of me. What has guided the choices I have made? What guides them now? What do I want my life to count for and how do I live it with integrity?

Recently, I have entered into a new job with a local land conservancy and my role is to promote the plantings of plants native to this part of Pennsylvania in the home landscape. I am working alongside others for whom restoration is more than a worthy goal but a way of life and practice. I feel at home with these people and have been encouraged to find some kindred spirits among them. In his book The Wind Masters, Pete Dunne wrote about a young migrating peregrine falcon,"She was longing to return to a place she had never been, but one she would know when she got there." That is how I am feeling about being involved with the people and mission I have become a part of at the conservancy. I used to think that the situation I "would know when I got there" was a physical place. Now I realize that it is perhaps more tied to relationships and shared vision than a location. At least for now it is.

As I come back to the original topic of new beginnings and making changes, all of the above ramblings come together. I want to live my life intentionally, putting energy into the things that matter most and letting go of the things that don't. At this point in life, I am recognizing that my time and what I can accomplish are finite. I want to make a difference in this physical world, and to be a voice of restoration and redemption. I do not fully know how to be that voice but I have some ideas and by God's grace and favor, hope to be faithful to the call of the heart He has given me. May He continue to guide and may I be quick to listen as I attempt to live out the rest of my days with integrity.

Garden Thoughts

2007-05-01T10:30:00.000-04:00

I have been spending a lot of time in the gardens around my house lately, planning, planting and weeding what is already in place. My mind tends to wander as I weed and lately has been pondering the various weed species, their growth habits and how they spread. This year we are beset with two relative newcomers, hairy bittercress and one of the many chickweed species. Hairy bittercress, a particular problem in nurseries and garden centers, stands a few inches high, with delicate white flowers that have been blooming for a few weeks now, and has more or less taken over the ground in spots where it never used to be. The fact that each plant produces up to 5000 thousand seeds and can project them up to 4 feet from the parent plant aids in its travels, obviously. I have never had much of a problem with the chickweed before but this year it is wanting to blanket the ground wherever there is a patch of bare soil. It presents yet another new adventure in the ongoing resistance against an invading army bent on domination. One needs to try and assume a sense of humor when working with weeds, lest one lose his or her good nature and optimistic outlook.

One beneficial aspect of weeding is the opportunity to think about the similarities of weeds and their management to my own weaknesses and tendencies towards sin. The thought came to me as I was struggling with the pernicious ground ivy that has been a resident of our yard for the last 15 years or so. Every spring I tackle this pest in its various strongholds around the garden, knowing that I will be dealing with it for as long as I live in this location. After many years of gnashing my teeth and wasting a good bit of mental energy railing against its advance I have come to a point of acceptance. I am not going to eradicate the ground ivy from my yard. I am going to live with its challenges and its reminder to be vigilant for a long time to come and hoping it will just go away is folly. But that realization has brought me a bit of insight as well. The truth is that we all have areas in our lives that we will likely struggle with for as long as we live. They may be areas of particular temptations or attitudes, areas of self-doubt or pride, areas that are as unique as each one of us.

Some weeds are easier to eradicate than others. It doesn't take much time or effort to pull out a purple deadnettle plant. They don't send out runners and don't seem to shoot their seeds so far and though they do multiply, of course, they don't seem to do it with much abandon in my yard. They make me think of areas in my life that need attention. Once they are recognized as being harmful or problematic they are relatively easily uprooted and replaced with something beneficial. On the other hand, there are the deep-rooted weeds like dandelion and thistle that defy all but the most dedicated efforts to dig them out. That they are able to grow back from any piece of remaining root makes them all the more difficult to deal with. I have areas of life that are just as stubborn and unyielding as these tap-rooted invaders... areas that have such a deep hold that I first need to decide whether I want to exert the will and the effort to free myself from them. The good news is that, as with these plants, adequate determination, diligence and prayer can effectively remove whatever is causing the struggle, though sometimes the battle is long and wearing.

We are fallen people and there is no escaping the reality. I don't have to look farther than the ground ivy my yard to realize that some struggles are just going to be life long, and that is ok, actually. I take comfort in the realization that God knows me well, knows my strengths and my weaknesses, my triumphs and my failures. I know that He loves me with all of my struggles and my flaws and even with the parts of me that I cannot seem to pull out, try though I might. But I also know that He loves me too much to leave me in a defeated state. He is continually doing His own work of weeding and pruning and as I cooperate, I have become more fruitful, more aware and more intimate with the Vinedresser, Himself.

Weak in the Knees

2007-04-26T17:26:00.000-04:00

I do not usually experience fear when I go walking, especially in the early morning, but yesterday was an exception. I had been down to the creek, enjoying the antics of a pair of kingfishers and trying my best to figure out whether the backlit shorebird on the mudflat was a lesser or a greater yellowlegs. A pair of dusky swallows caught my eye as I turned to head for home and I spent another few minutes watching them, wanting to be certain as to whether they were northern rough-winged or bank swallows.

I was still mulling over these identification questions as I headed up the hill, not paying a lot of attention to the road in front of me, when I saw it. Having previously spent a few years milking on my neighbor’s dairy farm I am not normally one to flinch at cows, though frisky young heifers are another matter. But what was just ahead was neither. It was a bull. The farmer, whose cows I had noted grazing on my way to the creek, also owns a bull that usually is somewhere to be found amongst the herd. I like watching him from a distance, but this was not a distance. This was all of 25 feet or so, and though we were separated by a guard rail and a thin electric fence wire, I was not comforted. Neither was I comforted by the fact that I was a human and he was an animal, which theoretically might mean that I could out-think him.

My walking slowed considerably as I puzzled over my dilemma and part of my brain was trying to figure out just how he got up to the road so quickly without me seeing him on my way to the creek. The pasture is steep at that point, with no discernable path worn into the hill, so I supposed he bushwhacked up to the top to see what the view was like from that vantage point. He didn’t appear to be nearly as alarmed to see me as I was to see him and I considered my options. Seemingly, crossing the road to the far side was in order since I would have been face-to-face with him as I passed, otherwise. As I crossed, I wondered about the next question, the one I really did not want to face. Would the guard rail and electric fence wire, which was not buzzing actively at the time, deter him if he decided he wanted to leave the serenity of the pasture? I doubted it. I have seen heifers jump a fence the height of the guard rail with room to spare and I didn’t think he would let something so piddley stop him either.

Though I was familiar with the expression, “being weak in the knees” as a result of fear, I don’t know that I had ever truly experienced it up until that moment. My stomach was in knots and my legs were shaky but I decided the best thing I could do was to walk on, without making any show of being afraid or of challenging the bull’s authority. I did my best to simulate invisibility as I passed, assuming what I intended to be a non-threatening posture and being careful to avoid looking him in the eye. Whether as a result of my deliberate intentions, or because he was in an amiable mood or for some other reason, he let me pass with no more than a stare that followed me on down the road a ways.

Once I was back to breathing normally and enjoying the birdsong around me I felt a new sense of energy and adventure, having just lived through a potentially life-threatening, or at least health-threatening, situation. Or it might have been, anyway. I’ll never know for sure but the experience did make for a good story and something to look back on with gratitude for its outcome. Maybe next time I’ll greet the bull with a smile and remind him that we almost met once-upon-a-time.

Small Wonders

2007-04-22T20:52:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I had the good fortune to see my first spotted salamander egg casings in a small vernal pond on our local State Game Lands. The day was glorious and much too inviting to stay in my yard so I ventured out to see what I could find in one of my old forested haunts. The PA Game Commission, in its unfathomable wisdom, has logged a large tract of what used to be heavily forested land and because it pains me to see it so, I have seldom returned in the last couple of years. Yesterday, however, I was drawn back to the old trails and was curious to see what migrant warblers and other birds might be moving through.

The woods were warm and quiet and still predominantly brown though hints of new life were all around me. Tiny leaves were emerging on the spicebushes and the serviceberry buds were silvery and soft, needing just another day or so to open into the first flowers of the woodland procession. The skunk cabbage has been up for a while now and ran along the streams like a green ribbon against the dry leaves. As I picked my way along the swampy trail, blue azure butterflies and mourning cloaks kept me company, as did several hermit thrush and Louisiana waterthrush. It was a good time for rambling.

I was looking forward to hiking a secluded side trail that meanders through a wooded valley. It had been my favorite part of what used to be a regular loop but the last few times I have tried to find it, somehow or other, the entrance has eluded me. It seemed as if the trail had disappeared altogether. I knew better, of course, and yesterday I decided to try a sneak attack from the rear. My plan was to hike the main trail to where the far end of the side trail intersected and then walk the side trail back from that direction.

It was on the way to that intersection that I passed the ponds. I had known that they were there and have stopped to look at them in the past, but this year I thought that perhaps I might see something new if I took the time to intentionally inspect them. And sure enough, I did. The first pond was about the size of my small kitchen and held an abundance of decaying leaves, mosquito larvae and wood frog tadpoles. The second pond was even smaller, not much larger than our kitchen table, and in addition to the tadpoles, also held three spotted salamander egg masses. The individual round eggs are held in a softball-sized greenish gelatinous balls that were attached to a submerged stick. The whole pond appeared to be in constant motion as the wood frog tadpoles congregated on the egg masses, eating the attached algae and the the mosquito larvae wiggled to and fro. Within the new few weeks the tadpoles will become wood frogs, the salamaders will hatch and mature and all will leave the ponds in search of their adult lives elsewhere. I am hoping to return to the ponds often in the coming days to watch the changes firsthand.

How blessed I am to have been nudged into walking to this spot on this day to see what I have been privileged to see. How blessed to be gifted with the introduction to these small wonders.

Hope

2007-04-19T14:15:00.000-04:00

We are in need of hope today, or at least I am. The painful reality of our fallen world is fresh in my mind as I still grapple with the news of shootings in southern Virginia, at a school and town with which I am familiar. We live relatively peaceful lives, many of us, not accustomed to coping with or knowing how to respond to such mindless hatred and violence. To complicate my emotions further, I discovered last evening that my former mother-in-law is in intensive care, struggling to breathe, and I am suddenly all too aware of my mortality once again. I went on a walk this morning, hoping to lighten my mood. I talked with God about my children and their various needs, about all the people saddened by the events in Virginia, about my own fears of aging and losing health and strength. For a while, the walk may not have been cheery, but it was honest and that is something.

It has rained recently and the water flowing through the oxbow was high. I wondered if the holes I noticed in the creek banks were muskrat homes and if so, how they were faring. I looked down into the marsh, knowing that the bittern was not likely to be present, and the brilliance of several red-winged blackbirds caught my attention. Their wing patches reminded me of rubies set against the brown clumps of soggy grasses. The morning was cloudy and there was not much in the way of color except for the greening fields and the red-winged blackbirds. It is in times like this, when things seem bleak and dark, that we are well served to search for signs of hope and indications of God's presence.

The weather has been cloudy, cold and wet for a long number of days now and the various swallows are suffering. Their food is primarily winged insects and these do not fly when it rains and do not fly much when it is cold. I have been concerned for these birds, as there is not much humans can do for them when conditions become harsh. I did not expect to find swallows on my walk today but, gladly, I was mistaken. First to catch my eye was a nervous looking rough-winged swallow who took forays out over the water and then returned to a branch, resting and watching for insects. While sitting, he continually turned his head from side to side and it almost looked as if he were unsettled by the realization that he was the only one of his kind in the area. As I followed his flight with binoculars, a splash of metallic blue zoomed past and I rejoiced that at least one tree swallow had also lived through the cold and dampness. With luck, the hardest days of spring are behind these birds and they will soon be able to go about their business of feeding and breeding.

Walking home, the verse "Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for and the conviction of things unseen"(Hebrews 11:1) came to mind. I thought about the signs of new life that often occur in what first appears as complete destruction. Burned over meadows or woodlands are the places in which pioneer species can take hold. A degraded clearcut forest floor is the setting in which shade intolerant tree seedlings may flourish. And sometimes the grieving heart becomes a seedbed for the growth of new dependence and reliance on God and His grace. Nothing takes the place of what is gone and nothing is ever the same as what we have lost. But, sometimes unexpectedly, we are granted glimpses into the sure reality that God does not mean to leave us in our pain and in our sorrow. I am persuaded that He knows the depths of our suffering and our longings because He has experienced the same suffocating grief of losing someone He loved. He gives us assurances in His word and in His world that what seems to us to be the end can, in time, transform into a new beginning. These assurances are what we refer to as hope.

Refuge and Reminders

2007-04-16T11:19:00.000-04:00

I walked out into my yard last night, into the high winds, drizzle and darkness, and stood by our relatively small crabapple tree for a moment. Suddenly, in my memory, I was transported back 15 years to a time when I stood in almost the same spot, by another similar crabapple and railed at God regarding a deep and unfulfilled longing I could not shake, nor accomplish. The intensity of that memory caused me to linger a while, unmindful of the turbulence and precipitation around me.

I have, over the years, sought refuge in my yard more times than I can count, sometimes in daylight and sometimes in darkness, in all seasons and for many reasons. Thanks to the hedgerows that line the property, and the fact that most of my neighbors seldom spend time in their own yards, I usually have a sense of privacy there, a sense of solitude and comfort, a sense of sanctuary. Often times, when I have been driven by grief, the situation itself has not changed. My mother’s dying, my marriage ending, the loss of dreams and people and pets I have loved have all sent me into the backyard with a gnawing ache to make sense of the why’s of this life. No setting can provide the answer to why, of course, but the natural world has often answered the question of how to live with the loss and even, surprisingly, granted a vision of new wholeness.

Sometimes the indoors just seems too small to hold my hopes and joys, my fears and grief, or even my faith. Sometimes I need the expanse of the outside to unleash the emotions, the thankfulness or sadness that build inside of me and need expression. It is in the space of this small refuge that I have felt God’s renewal as I watch spring unfold. I have sensed His faithfulness as I have welcomed “my” nesting birds back for another season, and His promise of sustenance and direction as I have listened to the cries of the tundra swans overhead, heading north once again.

I need these tangible reminders of what is real and what is important in a world and life confused by too many things, too many pulls and too many choices. The wonders of life and growth…tadpoles becoming frogs, acorns becoming trees, eggs becoming birds…help to hold me to what is true. May I never forget and may I continually be grateful for these reminders and for the wonders of simply stepping out my door.

Belonging

2007-04-13T11:41:00.000-04:00

I do not remember much from my Appalachian Culture class at West Virginia University. I took the course in hopes of learning more about my family’s heritage and history and, though I liked the class, I came away feeling that since I had grown up elsewhere, I had missed out on the common secrets woven into the life of a people and their homeland. The one characteristic I do remember, however, was the mountain people’s sense of place… a sense of being closely tied with the land and the community, a sense of belonging.

My own experience growing up was almost the opposite. My father was in the military and by the time I started high school we had lived in twelve houses, six different states and two countries. As an adult, my travels continued. I attended three different colleges, moved to yet another state after graduating, spent three years in Botswana, and after coming back to the states, lived in four more houses before settling in, eighteen years ago, to the home I have now. The moving around took its toll on my ability to connect closely with any one place and until just recently I have spent most of my life wishing that I could live somewhere else. Though I longed for that sense of place and knew that it was missing, I could not seem to find, nor manufacture it.

Thankfully, my outlook has recently changed. I am experiencing a new spirit of gratitude as I become better acquainted with the property on which I have lived and gardened these many years. If these words sound strange coming from someone who lives on a half-acre lot in the midst of other homes on half-acre lots, it is likely because they are strange. I think it would be safe to say that most of my neighbors have not given much thought to their own bit of earth. Our neighborhood used to be a farm, many years ago, and before that a forest. It was majestic and fruitful and filled with untold numbers of plants, birds, insects and animals. Now, it is covered with mown grass, a few trees and shrubs, volleyball nets, boat storage tents and utility sheds.

Our neighborhood has fallen a long way from the abundant life and diversity it once held, before humans came to live here. I realize that, though I fill our yard with native trees and shrubs, I cannot re-create what took centuries to produce. Still, I can and do choose to do something beneficial, something that adds to the “the health of the land”, as Leopold termed it. We are developing a new relationship, this land and I, and if I listen well I will learn what the land has to teach. I will learn to become its partner and its steward and it will reward me with its treasures. And I am finding that the greatest treasure is, after all this time, a sense of place.

Easter in Microcosm

2007-04-08T13:31:00.000-04:00

Today was not the kind of day we hope for when looking forward to Easter. We tend to hope for sunny skies, warm temperatures and a sense that spring is fully and finally upon us at last. Today was not like that. Today was cloudy and cold and the sharp wind blew a few snowflurries across the frozen-again landscape. Not at all what we had hoped for.

I have been doing a lot of thinking about Easter services and the effort many churches make to portray the day as something other than what it really is...or was for that matter. This morning churches were filled with Easter lillies, bright springy dresses, and special music that was probably more grandiose than usual. The reasons given usually have to do with symbolism... lillies (depending the source consulted)to symbolize purity, hope, or radiance of the risen Christ, springy clothing to represent new life, and swelling strains of music, particularly of organ and brass, to stand in for the supposed angelic choral anthems that might have greeted the newly resurrected Jesus.

Personally, I find these depicitions of Easter distracting, in part because they misrepresent what that pivotal, historic morning was actually like. I imagine that whatever was or was not blooming on the day Jesus left the tomb was, quite likely, the same as what was or was not blooming on the day he died. I imagine that the garden around the tomb was typically a quiet place and that the stillness of that morning was broken only by the sounds of the women's footsteps and furtive whispers. The text tells of an angel's presence at the tomb, but makes no mention of anthems or an angelic choir or of disciples showing up in beautiful new clothes.

I came away from just such a service this morning, hungry to meet God in the cold and quiet stillness of the out-of-doors. I noticed symbolism of resurrection and new life everywhere I looked in my own slowly-awakening garden. Unfolding leaves of wild columbine, bleeding heart and tiarella were not showy but they reminded me of rebirth and beginning life anew. Goldfinches growing in new feathers and taking on their bright yellow breeding plumagage matched the daffodils that have been blooming for a while, now. The robins and house finches sang as beautifully as any choir and reminded me of their own eternal Choirmaster.

One of the appealing aspects of Easter sunrise services is that they are often held outside, where God is sought in the simple glory of the early morning. They seem a testimony to the fact that, if we are willing and if we have eyes to see, we will find God's handprints in the wonders of His natural world. He has left living symbols of His faithfulness all over what He has made, if we will but take the time to note and understand them. And if we make the effort to seek out what He has implanted, we will find that even on cold and cloudy Easters, as miniature leaves are just beginning to emerge, we will see glimpses of His grace...just by looking.

The Unexpected

2007-04-03T21:28:00.000-04:00

This was one of the most amazing mornings of my adult life. I have a feeling that, as children, we experience more of these unique and unforgettable times, but we don’t always realize how special they are. We seem to take the wonders of the world more in stride when we are young, as if the wonders are the expected norm…as, indeed, they should be.

This morning started off normally enough, though I did notice that the robin chorus seemed more robust than of late and began singing well before dawn, a bit earlier than in previous days. I wondered about the cause and whether their early waking was due to the full moon, still hanging in the western sky. I also noticed that at 6:30 it was fully light, which took me by surprise, and I briefly questioned whether the clocks had somehow all been reset during the night and whether it were really much later than I had assumed.

One of my favorite reasons for walking early in the day is that it gives the opportunity to notice the differences in the morning light. Some mornings, before sunrise, the light appears pale, almost without color, and the entire landscape looks as if it has been painted in black and white. Some mornings, the early sky has a golden softness and the bare trees stand in dark relief against rising sun’s rosy glow. And some mornings, the world is enshrouded in dense fog, and only in the mind’s eye can you make out the landscape features at all. On this particular, amazing morning, I had the chance to experience all three.

As I said, the morning started off as usual, with me happily striding out my driveway and up our road, really expecting to have more of an exercise-walk than an observation-walk. Of course, even on an exercise-type walk, I am always listening and watching for something that otherwise might go unnoticed. I have been watching a few particular trees, lately, whose identity I thought I had known and a few days ago, the trees’ unusually shaped buds caught my eye. Try as I might, I could not remember ever having seen buds as large or as unfamiliar as these. I was puzzled. To make matters more confusing, some of the trees had buds and some did not, though I was almost certain they were all of the same species. This morning the mystery was solved, or most of it was, anyway. I will have to wait for the trees to leaf out, or for their seeds to be dispersed to know for sure, but I am fairly confident that they are either big-tooth aspens or an eastern cottonwood trees. The large buds I have been seeing have split open to let the catkins emerge, and these I recognize. I have also learned that, for both species, the flowering period for individual trees within a given stand may vary up to a month, which accounts for the fact that not all of them are budding yet. So, good. I am coming closer to solving that puzzle.

I walked on, idly thinking my own thoughts while noting the stream flow, the flowering red maples, the kingfisher’s rattle, the eastern towhee’s song, the abundance of mockingbirds in the brushy field, and the raucous calls of the Canada geese. I decided to turn back towards home and wait until tomorrow to check on the eastern phoebes down at the bridge, since I don’t work tomorrow but do today. I passed the oxbow and, as I was approaching the cow path that had previously been filled with water, I stopped to take a quick scan with my binoculars, just in case there were any wood ducks about, as there had been the other day. The path lies within a marshy, grassy wetland area and though it is not completely submerged, there are large puddles that made for good dabbling duck habitat. As it turned out, there were no wood ducks. What I did see, though, stopped me in my tracks and garnered my full attention. There in the midst of a muddy spit, surrounded by water, was an American bittern…the first I have ever seen. I have been hoping and waiting to see a bittern for almost 12 years now and the open floodplain I pass everyday is not a place I would have thought to look. On the other hand, you often don’t find American bitterns when you search for them. Often times, you happen upon them almost as if by accident. They are brownish-streaked, marshland birds, larger than a chicken and masters of disguise as they stand amongst tall grasses and reeds. To see one standing out in the open, as I did, is a rare gift and, though I will look, I may never see this bird again.

I stood watching the bittern for a half hour or so, thinking that I could perhaps have a better look if the light were better. Though it was fully daylight at that point, I wondered if the bird’s features might not stand out more vividly with the sun shining directly on its feathers. I decided to watch and wait, realizing that there was plenty of other activity going on around me as well. Down to my right, on the greening oxbow peninsula, were five squabbling geese. I had heard them while watching the bittern but had paid scant attention, since squabbling geese are a fairly common part of life on the floodplain. I turned to watch and chuckled to myself as I tried to figure out just what the altercation was all about. Judging by the sound of their irritated voices, there seemed to be three or four females and one or two males involved in the scuffle and the reason for the disturbance appeared to have had something to do with the defense of a few square feet of land on the very tip of the peninsula. They jumped and squawked and lunged at each other for a bit and then contentedly returned to their foraging, a few feet away. I suppose it all made good sense to them and made for good entertainment for me.

While enjoying the geese and scanning the meadow now and then, I primarily kept my eyes on the bittern. Even as I watched and waited for the direct sunlight, the look of the fields below me began to change. When I had first paused to look, the light had a pale quality to it and the predominant colors on the floodplain were the green of new grass, the white of geese’s breasts and light reflecting off the puddles, the brown of dried clump grasses and bare shrubs, and the grey of geese’s backs and old fence posts. It seemed as if everything in the scene had been colored coordinated. With the sun’s rising, however, all of the various browns took on a reddish hue and the tall dried grasses, glistening with dew, stood out boldly against the green background. Still, the bittern was in a more protected spot and the sunlight hadn’t reached him yet.

As I stood contemplating the colors and the beauty stretched out before me, I was surprised to hear a bluebird singing, quite nearby, from the sound of it. I slowly turned my head and found him perched on a fence post just 15 feet from me. He didn’t seem perturbed by my presence though, truth be told, he had probably been watching me as long as I had been watching the bittern. Apparently he decided that I didn’t appear to be much of a threat. His mate joined him and together they alighted on a nearer post, taking turns inspecting a promising looking nesting hole on the far side. I held my breath as I watched, feeling as though I had stepped right into a Ned Smith painting and wishing that I could stay. In fact, the scene before me could have been a whole portfolio of his works. In addition to the bluebirds, were Carolina chickadees flitting through the multiflora rose branches, song sparrows on the ground hunting seeds in the dry vegetation , downy woodpeckers calling in the trees behind me and red-winged blackbirds singing from the fence posts in the marsh, down near the bittern. It was an altogether transcendent moment.

Just then, I happened to look to the east and noticed that the light was changing once again. Where, just a few minutes earlier, there had been bright warm sunshine, there was now a strange darkening murkiness, as if the clouds had touched the ground and were moving west. And as I watched, that is exactly what happened. Within a few minutes time the air became white and damp, the bushes and stream faded into the fog and the bittern disappeared altogether. Interestingly, though the birds were no longer visible, they seemed to go on about their activity as if nothing strange had just happened. I was still able to pick out their songs and the fog didn’t seem to concern them as they went about their busy tasks. It was as if they were secure in their world and knew what to do to carry on with their lives.

As I finally headed home, I glanced back once again, and was surprised to find that all I could see was fog. There was no meadow, no floodplain, no stream, nothing at all, in fact. It looked as if the world ended at the edge of the road and seemed as if all I had witnessed might have been nothing but a dream. It felt like a dream, actually…or like being in someone else’s book about their own walks through the natural world.

In these moments I realized, once again, how much more I feel a part of this outdoor world than the man-made world I usually inhabit. I am far more comfortable standing on the edge of the old meadow, watching the light and listening to bird song, than I am going about the day to day interactions that make up my own life. I don’t expect to ever really understand why this is so and I don’t really need to. I am just grateful to live in a place where being able step out of my world and into this one is only a walk away

Who knows what tomorrow’s walk may bring?

Contentment

2007-04-01T16:57:00.000-04:00

This word has been creeping into my consciousness the last few days, ever since the subject came up as a comment to my last post. Actually, I have been giving this word a great deal of thought for a long time now… decades, in fact. I am puzzled by the concept and what it really means and does not mean.

God's people are sometimes fond of admonishing one another to be content in all circumstances and I have been examining a couple of the passages often quoted. In 1 Timothy 6:6 Paul writes, “Godliness with contentment is great gain” and in Phillipians 4:11 he says, “I have learned to be content, whatever the circumstances”. In its rightful context, the first passage is clearly speaking to the hazard of making the pursuit of financial advancement and the acquisition of wealth a goal and, thankfully, that doesn’t seem to be my problem. In the second, the Greek word for ‘content’ means self-sufficient, needing no assistance, adequate… Not so much a state of emotion as a that of being able to live in the midst of whatever the situation entails, without help, if need be. I’m not sure either is helpful in thinking through the attitudes and feelings I have struggled with in regards to my own contentment over the years.

In that last post, I wrote that I am satisfied to stay in our homeplace here, rather than looking for another setting, but I realize I am able to say that because of how our property has changed over time. Almost everything on this half acre, with the exception of the physical structure of the house, has been altered over the last 18 years. Have I manifested contentment as I have made the changes? I do not know, for sure. Certainly, adding the new trees and shrubs and filling the yard with herbaceous plants has created beauty, fed the wildlife and made me smile, but I am still planning and planting, even as the gardens now seem full and almost overflowing. Am I content with the way things are? Should I be? Is a gardener ever truly content? A couple of years back, while talking with my artistic daughter, I asked her at what point she knew that a painting was finished. She answered that it was finished when she could not see anything else she could do that would make it better. Recently, I thought to myself that an artist may have a realization of when their work is done, but I’m not sure that a gardener ever does. There is almost always something else that can be added, subtracted, moved or changed. (This very fact is the reason I love the book and movie title, The Constant Gardener and wish I had thought of it first.) But isn’t that what makes gardening a creative and fulfilling pursuit and passion? Not to mention that it is also following in God’s footsteps.

The Aldo Leopold quote, below the blog title, still holds true for me and I believe the main reason I am content to live here is that here is also where wild things live. What has enabled me to be content here has been as a result of providing for what I have loved and, come to think of it, for what God has loved. Perhaps that is my answer, for now anyway. Perhaps when we throw ourselves into caring for that which we love, contentment comes to us as a by-product, not as a result of our seeking, but of our serving.

Homeplace

2007-03-28T23:08:00.000-04:00

We have been thinking, lately, of moving to a small, simple, homey house perched up the hill from a wooded creek, a few miles away. Naturally, we have been discussing the pros and cons of relocating versus staying where we are. On the one hand, we would like to live in a woodland setting, the house is newly cleaned and refurbished, and maintaining the property would require less time and energy than where we live now. On the other, I have been planting and tending the gardens and habitat around our current home for 18 years now, the knotty pine kitchen I love was made by my son’s own hands, and the small bit of woodland I have planted in front of the house has finally, this past fall, hosted squirrels. We have been thinking about the decision for almost a month and a couple of days ago a new perspective was, unexpectedly, granted.

Interestingly, and at a surprisingly appropriate moment, my daughter recently posted a piece about loss on her own blog, A View From Wood Road (see side link). We all know loss of some sort or another. Sometimes it is of lesser importance and sometimes of much greater, sometimes of tangible objects, people or relationships and sometimes of hopes, dreams and ideals. Recently I received a letter from someone very dear to me, that caused me to face the fact that I have spent a good many years of my life hoping for something that was already gone, long before I ever had the chance to search for it. He wrote about the changes the years have brought to the culture and people of the Appalachian mountains and about the fact that he, himself, missed what used to be, a few generations back. As I read his words, I realized that, intellectually, I had known what he said was true, but in my heart of hearts for all these years, I have hoped that it wasn’t. I have hoped for the chance to return to Kentucky and find some remnant of what has been lost, some whisper of how it used to be long ago. I hadn’t put that longing into words until reading his letter and I was suddenly faced with the fact that it wasn’t going to happen, that it was too late, and actually, that it had been too late for a long time.

In trying to sort through the rush emotions his letter provoked, I did what I always do when I need to think-I walked. I took my usual route past woods and fields, past the creek and the oxbow and, though the way was familiar, I paid scant attention to my surroundings, busy as I was wiping the tears out of my eyes. After a while, my senses finally awakened to what was happening around me and I began to pay attention. The phoebes were back on territory and singing exuberantly, joined by a particularly noisy flicker. Where previously there had been one lone, belted kingfisher, now there were three, calling and chasing one another up and down the creek. In the field, an Amish farmer and his eight mules were busy plowing, readying the land for planting and I wondered if he felt at home on his own land, doing what he has done for so many years. I thought about the fact that I never wanted to be from here, but that here is where I am. I always wanted to be from, and live in, the mountains, but except for a couple of years in college, that wish has been denied me. For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to feel at home somewhere, I just haven’t been able to figure out or find just where that might be.

And then, surprisingly, as I walked in the early light of a new day, the raucous sounds of spring all around me, I finally realized where my homeplace is. It is here-looking out over these meadows, living in this house and tending the land I have been given. Perhaps someday we may move after all, but it won’t be in search of what I have thought was lacking.

Sometimes loss seems so keenly unbearable and without reason. And it almost always hurts. But sometimes, in spite of the pain, the longing and the grief, loss can be a doorway into what lies ahead. Whether we walk through that door, and embrace the opportunity given, is up to us.

Life in the Garden

2007-03-25T18:40:00.000-04:00

Today I spent the afternoon engaged in activity shared by hardy, driven souls all across the country, at least where weather conditions have allowed. I labored in my gardens, removing dried stalks, beginning the spring weeding and generally surveying the new growth in the hardy perennials, eager for spring. It is an activity that, though I might sigh to myself about how much there is to be done, I thoroughly enjoy. Squatting or kneeling with one's face to the earth, fingers probing and poking in the damp soil is a great way to be reminded of what is important in life and to be nudged into giving thanks for simple joys.

I cannot imagine a life unconnected to the earth, to its rhythms and its ways, for I know that I am enriched by its bounty and deeply thankful to God for its provision. I love the verse in Genesis 2:7 that says, "The Lord God formed the man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being." God did not make us out of nothing, nor out of thin air! He put the very fiber of the land itself into our being and I, for one, hunger to share in its life and its workings.

I fully believe that, as our society has advanced in technology and mechanization, we as a people have become impoverished through our loss of relationship with this land that sustains us. We have more to keep us indoors now, more to keep us occupied, entertained and distracted. We have shopping malls, computers, DVD's, and supermarkets that bring us food from all over the world, no matter what the season. As a people, I fear, we miss out on the spiritual truths that God has written into creation and the lessons that come from working the soil and observing life in the natural world.

As you think of it, take time this spring to watch and learn from the outdoors. Take a moment to step out onto your porch, for no other reason than to see what is beyond your walls, to breathe deeply and to look and listen. The creation is not perfect and is certainly not as whole as it once was. But it is still a window into the heart of God and the means by which He sometimes whispers to us of His presence.

Hide and Seek

2007-03-22T08:44:00.000-04:00

Do you remember those Hidden Pictures pages in the Highlights magazine of our youth, where the artist hid real objects amid a detailed scene of something else? When you first looked at the picture, all you would see was the subject matter portrayed, but the more you looked, the more the hidden objects became evident. This morning's walk was something like that. Today I decided it was time to start carrying my binoculars again, after a winter of leaving them at home, and it was the close up views of what first appeared empty that revealed the surprises I would have otherwise missed.

I don't know when I have last seen so many song sparrows, perhaps 200 or more in a 2 mile walk. Apparently they are migrating, returning to their breeding grounds and these are good days to see them.... except that to see them, one has to pay close attention. Without stopping to look carefully, it is easy to mistake the small, brown sparrows for dry leaves or stalks of grass moving in the wind. They blend so perfectly into the colors of the muddy stream bank, muddy farm fields and muddy ground beneath the brownish grasses and goldenrod stalks that it is very easy to miss them. Once the secrets of their camouflage are uncovered, however, and you become accustomed to their movements, you may find them everywhere. Watching and solving the puzzles of the natural world is part of the real fun I find in being out and walking.

The wet meadow also hid its share of lurking mysteries. What first appeared to be a forlorn and empty looking stretch of dried grasses and barren multiflora rose bushes soon revealed life going about its business in every direction. The grass clumps hid Canada geese thinking about nesting sites. The multiflora rose held numerous mockingbirds and cardinals, silently foraging amongst its berries and Carolina wrens, less silently, searching for insects. My favorite surprise was in the middle of a cow path that, right now, is more like a canal as it carries water from the melting snow down a gentle grade towards the creek. I would have easily said, just looking with my eyes, that there was nothing in that water, but once again I would have been wrong. Amid the seven mallards, squabbling and splashing in the puddle, was one bright male wood duck, standing out like a multi-colored jewel set in the still-drab winter setting. What a treasure, revealed just by taking the time to look! How easy it would have been to have missed him.

While I was walking back towards home, I thought about the fact that so often, if we insist on rushing through life, we miss so much that it has to offer. I don't think it is possible to live a hurried life and an observant life at the same time. I need to remember that. If we want to see what is around us, sometimes all we need to do is to take the time to look. As I was mulling all this over, and thinking about how to express these thoughts on the blog, I happened to glance up and noted, quickly moving away from me, a large raptor, unlike what I usually see around this area. It took me a moment to pull my binoculars up to my eyes and, with a sinking feeling, I realized I was seeing a northern harrier heading over the rooftops and beyond my line of sight. I hurried to get a better look but it was as if the sky, itself, had swallowed him up.

I chuckled to myself over such a fitting end to my reflections. Most times, if we want to see, all we need to do is to apply ourselves to observation. But sometimes, serendipity kicks in and all we need to do is be in the right place in the right time, looking in exactly the right direction. I'm sure there is a good illustration in here somewhere but I haven't yet figured out what it is :)

The Oxbow

2007-03-20T16:26:00.000-04:00

I have been dismayed by the concept of time for as long as I can remember. Now and then, people have remarked they think me odd for not liking to look at long-ago pictures of family and friends. I suppose that, for them, reminiscing about past times helps to keep those times alive in the present and integrated into their current lives. It doesn't seem to work that way for me, however. When I look back, I tend to do so with a profound sense of loss and sadness that what once was will never be again. It is almost as if time is a tangible foe, always working against me, taking away what I have loved most.

When I watch a stream or a river flowing by, on the other hand, I find myself relaxing into a welcome sense of timelessness. This morning's walk took me past a nearby stream that flows through an expansive, pastured floodplain. I stood on the road above it and watched, thinking to myself about how this creek has probably been flowing for hundreds of years and how, if left alone, it will continue to flow far into the future. I know perfectly well that what I think of as “the creek” is really made up of so many individual water molecules, each rushing past me only once on their way to the Chesapeake Bay. But I prefer the larger, the more eternal (if faulty) view that this creek has always been and always will be. It brings a sense of peace.

Today I watched the water, higher now with the added volume of melting snow, swirl through an oxbow formation in the middle of the pasture. One day the water will complete its work and the small peninsula being carved out of the meadow will become an island. I noted that its neck is appearing even more narrow these days and I see evidence of new wear on the steep and eroding bank... All of which caused me to return to my musings about the passing of time and its accompanying changes. I thought about my mortality and about the fact that I am as powerless to stop the flow of time as is the creek bank to stop the flow of water that washes its soil away. I realized something else as well, however. It was the water's force that created the creek banks in the first place and it is this same force that continues to create a place for bank swallows and belted kingfishers to excavate their nesting sites each year. The banks, battered as they are by the inexorable, relentless flow of the water are continually being sculpted into something beneficial for the lives that depend on them. It is my prayer that I might allow time, and whatever it brings, to have the same effect in me.

For a long time I have been wanting to sneak down the hill, under the fence, through the pasture and out to this particular spot to spend time on the peninsula sitting, watching and reflecting. I'd better do it soon for, given a few more storms, it may be too late.

The Spring Snow

2007-03-18T19:12:00.000-04:00

And so the snow came on Friday. And everything that was turning green and starting to grow was blanketed once again, and the robin's song was stilled. There will be time enough to begin singing once more when food is plentiful, as it was before the snow. Fortunately, the crabapple trees, the hollies, the winterberries, and the cranberry bush viburnams still have berries left to provide some measure of sustenance until the ground is bare again and the search for worms can be resumed.

I have been planting our yard for wildlife for more than 10 years now and am rewarded by being allowed to observe the creatures that come. When we first moved here, although the house was seven years old, there was not one tree planted on our half acre lot..Not one. There were three ungainly, upright arbovitaes in front of the house and that was it. Now there are 70 or so species of trees and shrubs on the property, and more than 200 species of herbaceous plants, most being native to eastern Pennsylvania. They have been chosen to provide food and habitat for the birds and insects of the region that have been crowded out or displaced by our unbridled human development.

According to Genesis, "The Lord God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it." My heart for wild things and their well-being is my response to this charge, though I recognize that my efforts are second best to leaving valuable habitat intact in the first place. Nevertheless, I hope to make a difference and seeing catbirds, house-wrens and bluebirds raise young, and white-crowned sparrows, red-breasted nuthatches and brown creepers winter here are the happy outcomes of my labor. And I do believe the sight causes God to smile and nod His head in affirmation of my attempts to partner with Him and follow His directions.

Snow, Hymns and Robin's Song

2007-03-16T09:45:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, as I wrote about spring’s arrival, I knew that today’s forecast called for snow. Spring is like that. Snow today does not change the fact that the season we are all longing for is still, in fact, on its way. Early this morning as I started off on my walk in the sleet and drizzle, I noticed the neighborhood robins once again. Do you know what they were doing? They were singing! In the cold, grey dawn of a wet and snowy morning they were singing… as I had suspected they might be.

Immediately the words of a favorite hymn came to mind “No storm can shake that inmost calm, while to that Rock I’m clinging. Since Christ is Lord of heaven and earth, how can I keep from singing?” (How Can I Keep from Singing by Robert Lowery). I was reminded anew of God’s utmost faithfulness to us, His children, even in the midst of our sometimes hard and trying circumstances. And of our own need to trust Him and to sing and rejoice in His very presence with us.

Spring's Arrival

2007-03-15T15:17:00.000-04:00

Every year, for as long as any of us can likely remember, we tend to experience a sense of almost giddy gladness at the seeming end of winter. This year is no exception and even though I know what to expect, I am still amazed as winter thaws and spring begins to arrive. What amazes me about the changing seasons, the one sliding into the next, is the regularity and predictability of their progression, regardless of whether we humans are attuned to them or not.

A couple of weeks ago the grackles and red-winged blackbirds returned to my area of south central Pennsylvania, followed by the robins who moved back into our neighborhood a week or so ago. At first the robins were quiet, keeping their melodies to themselves, but now, a few days later, their singing begins before dawn and their chattering will not fade away until well past dusk. The cardinals and song sparrows seem unable to contain themselves any longer and their chorus begins as day breaks and the sun peeks over the horizon. Up until these newcomers’ arrival, the morning serenade began with the perky little Carolina wren’s song, and even though he is outnumbered by other species now, his voice may still be the strongest amongst the throng. It has always been this way and will be, hopefully, for a long time yet to come.

These days it seems like everywhere something calls out to be noticed and each day brings some newness to discover. Today, in our yard, it was the hazelnut, or filbert, catkins. All of a sudden they are green! They have been brown and dried out looking all winter and now they are plumping up and softening and turning green, in preparation for another year of reproduction. It just makes me smile :). The other new sight in the yard was something I have never seen before in all my years of watching bees. Now, I must admit to being only a casual bee-watcher and some of you readers have likely known about this phenomena for a long time but I had never encountered it until yesterday… I was crouching down on my knees, watching two bees take what sustenance they could from the blooming snow crocuses when I noticed, concernedly, what appeared to be orange parasites on their back legs. The blobs looked, for all the world, like orange aphids or ticks, even. Was the bees’ hive infested with yet some new organism that was working to compromise their survival? Well… no. Some quick research revealed that the orange areas were pollen baskets and are only found on the back legs of female bees. When the baskets contain no pollen they are not evident but when they are full, they bulge and take on the color of whatever pollen the bee has found and placed there for safekeeping. At this time of year, a few snow crocuses are what will sustain those bees until more plants begin flowering. The color of those pollen baskets was exactly the same hue as the orange pollen on the flowers themselves. Now I know!

What are you seeing as spring comes creeping in?

First Post

2007-03-14T15:59:00.000-04:00

I’ve been giving a good deal of thought as to why I would have a blog and what I hope to accomplish through it. I have decided to give it a try for two reasons.

It is not uncommon for most of us to live our day to day lives without sharing much about our inner selves with those we care about, with those we love, even. The first reason for this blogging venture is especially for my grown children (Hi, kids!) and for anyone else who cares to know me better. I did not really know my parents though I grew up with them, of course. I knew what they did and what they chose to talk about but, now that they are gone, I wish I had asked them how they felt, what had really mattered in their lives and what they would have liked yet to accomplish, had they lived longer than they did. I hope that this blog might be a way for those who care to learn more of my heart and heritage find what they seek and be able to pass it on to their own children someday.

The second reason for writing has to do with my hope that readers may feel invited into my observations of the natural world that surrounds us. Many of us live busy lives and don’t always stop to notice the wonders and the joys of such sights and sounds as say….the first honeybees buzzing amongst the early snow crocuses in March, the cone-head katydids singing on a warm summer evening, barn swallows swooping through an August sky or the first brilliant red fall leaf coloring of a black gum tree in early autumn.

Perhaps if you read of such things here, it will bring you a sense of peace and also a sense of curiosity that may drive you outdoors to see for yourself. If so, let me know. And please post to the comments section what you, yourselves, are seeing. There is always something new to learn, for all of us.