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Appreciating the Beauty and Wisdom of Nature

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Heartwood

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When we had a beautiful newborn child come into our lives in the mid-eighties, I remember laying her on the bed with a colorful, hand-crocheted baby blanket and taking her picture. I took the film photos of her on the same blanket once a week. By the time we actually got the film developed and saw the pictures, it was astounding how much she had changed each week in those early months of her life! That is how the last six weeks of Spring have been—an astounding transformation from remnants of snow on the winter-desiccated landscape to fully leaved-out trees, green grass, and blooming flowers! Both are sure signs of the miraculous metamorphoses of Life!

Two weeks ago, on Mother’s Day, I was happy to visit Afton State Park with our son Aaron and his girlfriend Zoe. The park is a short drive to the east of Saint Paul on the Saint Croix River. My first impression was that it was ‘crowded’ with people, as are most of the parks that are easily accessible from the Cities. It had been a cloudy, misty morning, but skies were beginning to clear by the time we arrived. The Saint Croix River is an indomitable body of water that marks the eastern border of Minnesota for part of its length and joins with the Mississippi River not far south of Afton State Park. Afton is one of five state parks that preserves the wild beauty of the Saint Croix River bluffs. We followed the North River Trail, an old railroad bed that followed the River. From the built-up height and railroad bridges, we looked down on the flood waters that crept through the trees and housed dozens of waterfowl.

The leaves of the trees were fresh and light green in their annual coming out celebration. Going from bare branches to abundant, distinctly-shaped leaves covering those branches is a Spring miracle that never fails to amaze me!

Looking over the bridge into the rippling flood waters and tree reflections was a bit disorienting.

The flood plain and riverside are perfect places for Eastern Cottonwood trees to grow tall in height and large in girth. They love having their roots so close to the water.

If my first observation of the park was an abundance of people, my second was the absence of Spring wildflowers compared to the central Minnesota parks. We saw these delightful variegated ferns emerging and found a few clumps of golden-starred Puccoons, along with some white-flowered Rue Anemone, but that was about it.

Green was the color of the day, however, and after a long, white Winter, it is a welcomed change. The flooding and movement of the River had created sandbars, pools of water, and piles of debris. The receding water left patterns in the sand, mats of old vegetation, and opportunities for new spikes of green grass. And isn’t it amazing that along with new leaves, some trees have flowered and fruited already? Winged Maple seeds had flown from their new places on the branches to the sand below.

We left the riverside and began to climb the bluff on the switchback trail that led us up to the top. We saw the distinct, pocketed cap of Yellow Morel mushrooms, the most hunted wild mushroom, I would guess.

Close by was another mushroom, colorful and cute, that I should have taken a closer look at (as in the underside), because it is probably either a Golden Chanterelle (edible and desirable) or a Jack-o-Lantern mushroom (toxic). The Jack-o-Lantern has distinct gills on the underside and has a green bioluminescence when fresh! They glow in the dark—well named!

I also loved this bark palette of blue and green lichens. Mother Nature’s beautiful art.

We climbed past a stand of Red Pines and saw a broken branch that perfectly illustrates why the innermost, oldest part of a trunk or branch of a tree is called heartwood.

At the top of the bluff was an overlook of the Saint Croix River and a backpack campground. It is where the little baby I took pictures of in our old home in Missouri, camped with her college friends.

A bright flower-of-a-bird, the American Goldfinch, flitted from tree to tree, and sitting near the top of a dead tree was a Sharp-shinned Hawk watching the passers-by.

When we returned to the trail where we began, the sky had cleared and reflected blue on the water. There was even change in a couple of hours!

Spring brings constant changes, hour by hour, day by day, week by week, as Mother Nature transforms from dormancy to vibrancy. It is exciting to see the new leaves, plants, fungi, and flowers return. Mother’s Day is a reminder to me of the pregnancy days, the baby days (and nights), those fun-filled elementary days, the incredible growth of personhood in the middle and high school days—how fast they all go! Then the winged children fly away to college and beyond, to different states, different jobs, and different loves. Mother’s Day is now bittersweet for me—I no longer see the daily, weekly, monthly growth of my dear adult children. I can no longer take the weekly photos to stash those memories—not having those reflections is disorienting at times. I cherish the time I get to be with them and mourn the ‘childless’ holidays. I can only hope that they have loved having their roots grow from mine and that they have learned to appreciate Mother Nature’s art and miraculous science. And as they change and I change, I hope they know the love of my heartwood grows with them.

Something Old, Something New

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A couple of big things have happened in the last two weeks—we celebrated an old marriage, and Chris got a new hip! The hip came first—I am just amazed at the technology that a robot can help the surgeon take out an old, damaged joint and replace it with a new one that works better. Along with the fact the person walks out the door just hours later! Wow! But just as miraculous is forty years of marriage! It’s a relatively old marriage, though perhaps more middle-aged when I think of my friends who have crossed the sixty-year marriage mark. We looked at pictures from that day forty years ago when we were new adults, newlyweds, new partners. It was a sweet and wonderful day!

Hip recovery requires care, some new equipment, patience on both our parts, practice of therapy exercises, pillows, and ice. This second phase is super important to make sure the excellence of the first phase remains. So we c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y went on an outing this week, packing up the needed equipment for Chris to sit under the old giant Pines at Belle Prairie Park while I took a hike. He looked out over Old Man River whose water overflowed its banks with Spring flooding. Something old—the old River reminds us and ties us to the past—the hard times and the good times.

Something new. New leaves. New flowers. So tender and sweet and pristine. Hope for the future.

Something borrowed. The beavers were busy using the floodwaters to their advantage, borrowing the young trees to make their home. It’s easier to move logs in water than across land. They are building for a long, happy life.

Spring flowers fit for a wedding! Wood Anemone is no flash-in-the-pan flower. It takes a single plant five years or longer before flowering! Commitment and tenacity.

The marsh and the forest are a combination of Old and New. The marsh is always ready to accept the Spring floodwaters, year after year, which in turn nourishes the lovely, brilliant Marsh Marigolds. Their buttercup flowers and glossy, heart-shaped leaves are a swath of sunshine through the Spring forest.

Old bark on old tree trunks shows the signs and scars of age and wear. Living long takes its toll, even on trees. Right beside them grow the young ones with smooth, gray bark—a long life ahead of them. And both get new leaves every year. Renewal is for everyone!

Something blue. Violets were scattered along the trail, warding off evil and giving me nods of good luck.

Surprises. Both of these surprises could be seen from far away at this time of year—before the leaves offer a shield or camouflage. An Oriole nest, a marvel of construction—does it house a nest full of eggs?

As bright as the Marsh Marigolds was a Scarlet Tanager, though with flaming red feathers and contrasting black wings. A handsome gem in the Spring forest!

Then back to the Mississippi River with flowering Wild Plums growing along its banks. The big island trees had their feet in the flood waters, as the new foliage began to cover their impressive Winter silhouettes.

“Ol’ man river just keeps rollin’ along.” Oscar Hammerstein

The wedding tradition of ‘something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue’ incorporates values and qualities that we wish for every new couple. It honors the long river of the past and the people who came before us, it encourages hope and prosperity for the future, it advises to learn lessons from the people who have already traveled that path, and wishes good luck—to do good and avoid evil. All four values are enveloped in love. For forty years, Chris and I have committed to these values. We have seen hard times and good times with surprises of both. With the scars and signs of age, we know there is always renewal and along with it, sweet hope, like nectar for our souls. We have learned that the old builds the new—what was is the foundation for what’s to come—whether of ideas, emotions, mistakes, or actual physical manifestations. We keep rolling along, building our long, happy life together.

Beside Myself

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I was beside myself this week. And I had moments of satisfaction and happiness. But mostly I was beside myself—overcome with worry and anger and extreme sadness. We have made progress—good, satisfying progress on our church becoming a trauma responsive church. It is a nascent initiative that holds great promise, and it is extremely difficult to navigate into a practical, workable existence. Especially in a week like this one. The George Floyd trial wrapping up in Minneapolis. Another shooting death of a young black man just north of there. And so many other mass shootings in just one week’s time that I can’t even keep track of them. Then a friend with a devastating diagnosis, and the untimely death of yet another who deeply felt the pain of the world. Trauma upon trauma is piling up on us all, and the more vulnerable are paying an unsustainable, body- and soul-pounding price. And with each and every one trauma, the ripples of distress and devastation roll out into the lives of families and to society as a whole. I am not exaggerating.

This week’s weather has depicted the ups and downs of the week at large. A beautiful, life-sustaining rain gave rise to opening leaf and flower buds. After the long Winter months, there is a hold-your-breath moment when dormant trees and plants begin to show that life is once again flowing and growing. With a sigh of relief and wonder, I whisper, “There it is.”

‘Life-sustaining’ is a phrase that should be on our lips and our minds in all we do. Is this a life-, person-, earth-sustaining practice? Animals, plants, and people alike respond to practices and gestures that sustain life.

By mid-week, clouds rolled in again. As snow fell, I sent a card to a dear old friend, happily baked a cake for a young one, and laughed on a phone call I received.

The news can be devastating and yet we put one foot in front of the other. We gather our food and nourish our bodies. We help one another the best we can, even when our attempts seem to fall far short of what is actually needed.

We are all in this together—in this society, on this Earth, in this time in history.

By the end of the week, we had sunshine, warmth, and blue skies.

Sun-drenched catkins will produce pollen or seeds before leafing out in the life cycle of a Poplar tree.

Honeysuckle shrubs produce leaves before flowering. Every Spring plant and animal is intent on creating and sustaining life. Therein we have Hope and Beauty.

The phrases ‘beside myself’ and ‘out of my mind’ are used to describe the dissociative ways we deal with overwhelm and trauma. We are not ourselves—literally—in body or mind when events or occurrences produce such overpowering sensations and feelings. We make space, turn away from, become ‘not like me,’ do things and say things we may regret later. We step out of our bodies and ‘lose our minds’ when the trauma is ‘too much,’ when the discord between our life view and reality is so great that we literally can’t stand it. Many people are experiencing ‘too much.’ A common way for people to turn away and make space from overwhelm is to try to ‘calm’ our bodies with something that makes us feel better—I tend to use food, others use alcohol, drugs, shopping, or gambling. They are coping mechanisms that can lead to addiction and to other collateral damage. So while it seems like a good idea in the moment and can actually give us some relief temporarily, in the long run, it can be much more problematic. So what do we do? We start small. We find small things that give us a feeling of relief or happiness or satisfaction. I do qigong every morning to stretch and move my body. Yoga works. Running works. I walk in Nature to calm my body and mind. Hobbies work. Reading works. Connecting with others in some form of affirming communication is probably one of the greatest life-sustaining practices we can do. Love and acceptance activates the parasympathetic branch of our autonomic nervous system that calms our body and minds. And once again, life is flowing and growing.