NATURE’S REGENERATION

Sprinkles of daisy dust gather in the centurion sunlight

Dancing to the gentle notes of the forest glen symphony they

ride the transparent ripples of the long since forgotten spring.

Rhythmically holding hands, the dust’s chorus line forms ripples

barely visible to the casual observer.

 

Midday sun rays caress the sodden trunks of long since

fallen oaks. Baring the inner core of once proud hard

woods, this idyllic stream shares the beauty of its bottom weeds,

with speckled trout gleefully chasing dinner prey.

 

Battered wooden slats, wounded concrete boulders, remnants of man’s

brief sojourn in God’s creation, lie silently in the spring brook’s

eternal bed. Undeterred, the spring has recreated its former beauty, 

evident to all who pause and meditate, life above, within, and into its depths,

this tiny speck on man’s maps is a tribute to Nature’s regenerative power.

 

The Silent Leaf

 

 

 Two trees are planted in our simple yard.  They are positioned prominently as remembrances to our deceased mothers.  Knowing we are on the downside of our lives, it is hoped that these trees will display the beauty  of God for generations to come. Yes, it was our way of sharing memorials of beloved mothers.We see this as a  simple and meaningful gesture.  Plant the trees, nurture them in the early years, and nature takes over.

 For any species to survive in the Great Plains is a miracle.  For two trees to battle and endure the harsh climes is amazing. Twenty four months ago, we stared out the kitchen window admiring the latest  6” of overnight snow fall.  As always, the sturdy backyard tree survived the snow, ice, and 40 mph winds blowing south from the Canadian provinces. Mid winter and the soybean fields are now acres of dormant brown splotches. Falling burnt orange needles from the stand of  blue spruce  trees creates a protective bed for rabbits, squirrels, to hide during the arrival of inevitable  blizzards.

As usual, Mother nature awakens us from the dreaminess of  superficial  observations.  A furled, fatigued singular leaf catches our attention.  It remains attached to a narrow limb  on Grandma Gress’ otherwise barren maple tree.  Strong! The leaf hangs on with a determination reminiscent of Grandma.What is the message? Each wintry morning, steaming Colombian coffee in hand, we  gather at the window to see if our friend remains.  Yes, December, January, February it is still attached.

 What is the message? Is there a message?

We struggle to interpret what are  Grandma Gress and God saying? Is she  reminding us about her lifetime of strength, perseverance, indomitable religious faith.? She played such a major role in establishing our life values. Regrettably, on a gray  March morning we jointly notice that the leaf has disappeared. Our friend has slipped away silently into the darkness of a frigid winter night.  Sadness envelopes our hearts.  Will the leaf return?

 This winter has seen 19 days of unrelenting snow in the first 23 days of December.  Temperatures are 6 or more degrees below normal.  Snow storms seem endless.  Beautiful white mounds become a curse when we daily grit our teeth and feel the brunt of early morning arctic cold. We apprehensively part the lace curtains and check to see if the driveway and deck are again covered with more of the white fluffy stuff.  The surrounding forests and fields are again void of leaves and green color.

 God takes us by the hands and leads us to the kitchen window to enjoy the beauty of His snow covered landscape. There it is again, a singular leaf clinging onto  the same tree.  An identical twin of the furled brown leaf from 2 years ago, it beckons for our attention.  Again!Like its predecessor, this fragile gift of nature survives the impossible forces of harsh winter storms. The leaf faces us each time we look out the window.  Is it smiling at us? Is this real or a product of our imaginations? A blessing?  Fervent prayers for healing and perseverance have been heard and answered by God again and again as we have endured medical and other challenges in the 24 months since first being greeted by our leafy visitor. The leaf seems to reach out and encourages us to continue to  pray, to have faith. 

A freak of nature? Accidental, just a coincidence?  We believe those with little faith may have a difficult time explaining away this remarkable happenstance. It is time for us to pray, to listen, to meditate.  We have been blessed.  May we welcome the spirit that rides with the leaf back into our lives and tell us what is wanted.  Now is the time for us to  sacrifice.  We remain convinced that this is more than a coincidence!

Solitude – A single leaf by Christopher Flees.  Used with permission.

 

 

 

 

GOD’S COUNTRY

GOD’S COUNTRY

 

Snow covered narrow two lane roads are perilously paved where loggers once traveled.  A patch of black ice can suddenly appear .as long armed pine trees overarch the darkened pavement.  Circling, higher and higher into the mountain range we tentatively drive 25 mph. Knuckles turn white with anxiety as there are no guardrails, reflectors, painted white stripes on the shoulders.  An errant misjudgment and over the side tumbles our snow tired equipped Honda. Our onboard navigation system grapples to keep up with the intersecting roads which appear suddenly from abandoned farms/

 

Narrow glimpses of mountain peeks emerge through the ever  fogging windshield. The car’s manual promised that fogging problems had been eliminated!  So close, yet so far, we wishfully think that we are getting closer to the summit. Touchable? Not quite.. Reachable with an hour or two of cautious driving, perhaps. The V-6 engine groans from being restrained for hours. Design engineers apparently hadn’t taken formidable challenges into their calculations. The Blue Ridge Parkway is not comparable to this terrain.

 

Well, our calculations are overly optimistic.. Hours later and the snowy peaks still beckon in the distance. With the sun sliding  behind the horizon we can no longer see the snow covered highway’s shoulders.  Rest stops are not part of the landscape. Reaching the summit to see God’s grandeur on display appears within reach.  Appearances can be deceiving.  Another lesson in being patience is being learned. Around midnight we arrive safely.

.

Early morning in “God’s Country”, the  lifting  of a misty fog  valley reveals a long abandoned.  washed out logging path and tangled tree limbs suffering under the strain of wet  snow and sleet storms.  The eastern slopes are impassable. An infamous tornado ravaged the hillside in 1958.  Was it nature’s revenge for man’s   incursion to this sanctuary?  The locals believe this to be  the truth.

 

Western slopes provide a bountiful home  for wild turkey, white tailed deer, black bear dens and ever present beaver clans.  The wonderment of creation , with nature adapting, surviving, and prospering against many ever changing circumstances.

 

The Nordic  type beard glistening in the sun:, salted colored  hair blowing this way and that, the aging   patriarch smiles as he stands on the cut out power line trail in Perry County. Pondering, remembering, his memory tape replaying images of earlier times. Humming, the visitor faces southward near a beaver dam  where he bagged his 1^st antlered buck  as a peach fuzzed teenager. His blood pressure is placid as personal history reveals  a wonderful  return to life  forming  roots.  Memories of frozen faces enduring horizontally blowing snow storms,  numbing cold hands and feet in sub zero temperatures as his eyes pealed across the barren woodlot waiting for a trophy deer.  Deer camp taught him the  braggadocio  arts of talking big, learning to drink beer and play seven card stud  poker. The tail of his hunting shirt was cut off by the elders after he shot at and missed a deer in the dense brush.  How proudly the faded tartan shirt hangs on the cabin kitchen wall overlooking the poker table.

 

Abandoned, scrubby looking two story farm houses  remain.  Crippled corn cribs lean towards the mountainside showing grim evidence of forgotten prosperity. Early morning icy fog rises  from the valley floor revealing recent deer tracks. A doe and her family traveled here during the long winter night.  Sporadic yellow urine spots dot the winter snow.  Deer rubs are numerous .as rutting season has recently ended.  The herd appears to be healthy and numerous.

 

The past is sacred. Nature has her own language and traditions. We are obligated to preserve what has been given to us. Hours later,   the winter sun descends behind the skyline  as dusk approaches.  Austrian wood knobbed walking stick in hand, we track the trail as it leads downwards to the rushing brook which we located while lost many years ago.   Ice is beginning to form. Ah yes, nighttime deer beds abound. They are waiting for us intruders to exit their home turf follow and follow the stream to our cabin for a night of crackling fire and talk of family history.

 

An inspiring hike into the past is complete. A future calling, beckoning,  undiscovered.  Nature is patient, waiting for the next generation of caretakers to arrive and leave the woodland unchanged. We share her optimism that the best of the past is persevered and will be handed onto the next generation.

 

God’s Country?  Yes the locals are so right.  He has created and maintained this beautiful landscape.  Let us let nature sleep and enjoy her beauty in revered silence.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

REVEALING OUSELVES

REVEALING OURSELVES

Crunch, crunch, crunch, the sound of  snow shoes walking on  drifts tucked between the rows of blue spruce trees guarding the hillside.Ten gallon bucket size globs of snow intermittently fall from the limb of ice laden evergreens nearly falling on our heads.Unnerving, but we hike on.   At the crest of a hill on the Ice Age Trail, visibility suddenly deteriorates. Clear, crisp blue skylines are transformed into banks of rolling misty fog.We can see barely 10 yards. Logging trails disappear from view. Fallen timbers crossing our path are hidden. We stumble, taking ever smaller steps. Hiking is reduced to a small child’s pace.

Is this one of nature’s unexpected, clever tactics?She disguises and hides her jewels from wary intruders. Trees are bent as their north side appears spray painted with wind driven wet snow.  On the forest floor, moss covered limestone rock lies hidden as it has for centuries past. Fog and snow combine to hide what is usually obvious to the naked eye.   This  artistry of mist, clouds, and fluffy  snow creates a mosaic to be joyfully explored.  Unwritten, unspoken caricatures of Nature provides a brief glimpse into the continuing wonders of the metamorphoses of creation.With delicate effort, ingenuity and prayerful patience we kneel on the wet tundra to sweep clean the snow covered moss stones sunken into the hillsides for centuries.  A parallel to our efforts to cleanse our soul.  Perhaps.

 We sometimes permit the snow and fog of our self imposed disguises to prevent others from appreciating our inner beauty. We hide behind the moss coverings of our personality. Consciously brushing aside our protective fortifications bit by bit, piece by piece, year by year, can dissipate this protective shroud and enables others to discover  whom we really are. The Lord will help us if we ask.

Crunch, crunch, crunch. let us collaborate with  Nature as a docent to discover and share our gifts.

 

 

 

 

NATURE TRANSITIONS TO A NEW SEASON

NATURE TRANSITIONS TO A NEW SEASON

 

The end of the beginning? Or the beginning of the end?  Standing amidst a grove of weak kneed hardwoods, the 40’Norwegain Spruce towers towards the afternoon sun.

Months of summer heat and well timed rain showers have polished the brush like green branches to a glistening, shimmering skyward looking Romanesque statue.  A summertime home for mating cardinals, its needles provided a nesting rug for slim furry squirrels.  How many of nature’s creatures live here in harmony.. and conflict.

Planted by a restless suburbanite anxious to recreate a bit of forest, the evergreen has capture a corner of the yard to proclaiming it his “space”  His “turf”.  With growth and power, ownership has followed.

A meditational aura permeates the evergreen. The sagging outer limbs lead to a dark, almost mysterious inner core. Blackness of a comfy variety.  Welcoming, quiet, a home for the insanely curious,  A place where most do not venture.  Why would you?  Just another tree?  Another Norwegian spruce like millions of others.

Alone, one of mother nature’s majestic gifts.

The needles forming a protective blanket are resting… for what?  Summer has been kind and gentle.  Squirrels have left their footprints.  The tiniest indicator that anyone or anything has indeed gone this way. 

Slowly, yet inexorably the shadows extend themselves. Visiting cardinals become fewer and fewer.  

Squirrels attack a nearby  walnut tree  then scamper for a winter hiding place.  The evergreen becomes a resting place.  Greys pant, taking a breath or two before the next foray.  Margins between survival and death are minimal in this harsh corner of the Great Plains. The enclosure of the evergreen may be the hostel providing a shelter of last resort.

The morning dew lays lightly on the branches.  Change is apparent… yet difficult to define.  Hard to measure.  Look closely.  Take a deep breath.  Visual markers need to encompass all 360 degrees.  Nothing specific .. what is going on? 

The dark inner core beckons.  I crawl to the trunk .. and look up.  The absence of green limbs is apparent. Rust prevails.  From the inside out needles are proclaiming their last gasp.  A celebration known only to evergreen families is in full force.  The transition celebrates another wondrous seasonal cycle.  Slowly, then in full conquest mode. 

The heretofore proud emerald green tree is now splattered with rust.  The rust is a new color on nature’s pallet.  Constructive.  Opening our vision to the unexpected.

Is there a message?  If so, what is it?  Once again Mother Nature is talking with us. Note, with us, not to us.

The orange background lasts for a short while.  Colored needles flow quietly to the floor.  There they shall remain, undisturbed.  Like the manger in Bethlehem, a safe haven for whomever and whatever happens.

Are we part of nature’s transition or passive observers?  The silver haired gentry dominate our social circle.  The change from dark heads has been gradual.. purposeful.  At varying speeds.  Some buy chemical compounds to hold back the aging process.  Others are proud of their silver fox mantles.

Like the evergreen, aging is inexorable.  There is a beginning of the end and the end of the beginning.  Do we stand proud and provide for others who  come to us for help.. for  sustenance to beat back the Visigoths of age and failing health? 

Camouflaging ourselves using rust colored garments is a feckless vain, attempt to create a being who is not really us.  A fake.  An imposter.  A mean spirited charlatan. Perhaps that is who we really are?

The evergreen wears this fall season mantle for only a short time. Then it returns to the emerald green associated with health and prosperity.  What choices do those of us with silver mantles have?  Yes, we can choose to provide shelter, comfort, and food to those standing at our door, in dire need of our touching our hands of compassion.  

WORLD CLASS SILENCE

The humanness of animals or is it the

animalism in humans?

Humans have a soul – a deference for right and wrong.

Animals are instinctive, sly, honed for survival.

Evolution has sharpened the differences – or magnified

the similarities?

Silence – does it exist in our two environments?

Groups of “social trekkers” who crash through woodlots on their Sunday

afternoon walks frequently  talk loudly, laugh incessantly, and are

generally noisy intruders. There is an OBVIOUS lack of  appreciation of

being present in the secluded home of feathered and furry out of doors

residents. Noisy, always noisy, these aliens to nature’s realm are devoid of an

appreciation of the benefits to man and beast associated with  silence.

Oh yes, there is cacophony in the  animal world: rutting season, migrational

passages, the horrific life and death battles taking place daily between

hunter and stalked.   These outcries blend into the larger fabric of life on the

plains. 

Just the right note is sounded, the opera of life is exactly on key.

The absence of dissonance is remarkable.

Which returns us  to silence.

Listen intently in the oak stand on a   mountain side venue in which every

 sound, each noise is part of an Integrated symphony… composed, conducted,

 and played by the instruments of nature, may indeed

be an orchestra of silence.  The music of nature is at such a perfect pitch, so

soothing, that  our capacity to hear/interpret/comprehend  is stretched to the

 limit.

 The creator’s way of protecting and celebrating the deity’s own.

A view from a differing side of the oracle’s temple ­ which differs from the

common understanding –nature’s symphony is a complement to our senses. It

 soothes as does the vaporization of sound we call silence.

Silence – with a twist, a variation on the theme: given to us as a gift by the

Great I Am.

THE THIRD DIMENSION – PART II

Nike walking shoes carry the urban trekker from prairie grass

Into the edges of the emerging woodlot.

The unusual combination of hardwoods, evergreens and palms

again amazes and confuses him..  as does so much of mystical nature.

In his last walk the diamond shaped sun spots danced off the

leaves of tiny red maple trees.  The light was an usual combination

of yellow and peach.

This third dimensional presence remained  in place: he walks ahead.

Stomach churning in anticipation,  beads of newly created sweat on his brow,

 he slowly inches forward, one cautious step at a time.

Quiet: dark:  local birds in residence are talking with each other.

The woodlot seems to be  a world unto its self.

The light briefly appears from the north.  Not east or west? The north?

Has the earth deviated from its axis?  Wrens  swirl about disoriented, confused.

Some flying into the trunks of trees and then dropping to the forest floor.

Yet our traveler is entirely at peace.  A calmness envelopes him.

His  stomach is quiet.  Beads of sweat dry and disappear. Worries

exit from his psyche.

What is this power that effects birds and animals but not our human friend?

Are we indeed one with nature?  What if that is no longer true?

Mind stretching – this questions a basic tenant.

What if there are multiple creators?  What if our ecosystems are both interdependent

and independent?  What if humans are not the superior beings on earth?

The questions give him pause. Peering  into the mirror of creation is good for the soul.

The light follows then leads our intrepid hiker.  Where will it lead?

Is there another strange ecosystem broaching the swamp we are approaching?

Is this a voluntary walk? An act of free will?

We search for a known frame of reference  – is the light real – or a creation of our imagination?

A dream facing us when we are awake? An illusion?

The temptation to explain away the phenomena as imaginary,

Illusionary, or the product of derangement  overcome our determination to block

out all thought and conjecture.

When we quantitatively  evaluate forces of creation which are outside our established

tradition, beliefs and cultures we are forced to examine ourselves in a new

light.  Some times illusionary.  Some times with trepidation.

Thoughts, ideas, concepts cling to our psyche forever.  They

are part of our eternal being.  Be courageous, take the risk, permit

the light in the forest to lead you to the heretofore  unknown world

of the third dimension. God is watching you.

A walk in the third dimension

Mother’s Living Tribute – May it Last for the Ages.

In their 70’s they  flew  via United Airlines  from

Philadelphia to Chicago.  A long journey for novice travelers.

The windy city with its combo  of noise and rushing

business commuters brushed past the elderly,

bent back, nervous yet determined travelers  fighting their

way up the cramped and strange jet way tunnel.

Grandma smiled her best hello… this was indeed her  trip of

a lifetime.

A WWII veteran who saw worst of the worst  with death

around him as the  blood of comrades covered the flight deck in the

South Pacific, Bud protected  the love of his life, jaw set forward, the right

arm tattoo displaying USN on his formidable right forearm. A proud

member of the greatest generation, he was on a mission.

They had come to Wisconsin to catch a glimpse and share hugs

with their wanderlust son and family.  What indeed was this state

known for cheese and beer really like?  Would they be safe, and protected,

after the challenges of Warsaw and Eastern Europe.

The plains had given up a dairy farm for a modest housing development.

Large grass yards welcomed the strangers ..not common in the East.

Strikingly absent on the flat barren plains were trees to welcome guests

and protect one from the harsh winters they had read about .

“ A sugar maple, Bob”..   you need a sugar maple in the front yard .. What can

one say but “ Yes. Mom:

And so we sweated and groaned and dug a circular hole in the virgin sod.

Always in command, Bud’s brow spewed forth sweat from deep inside. His

arthritic, gnarled hands would not be denied.  Ruth stood close by,a silent

sentry observing the two men in her life working in union.

Always the perfectionist wanting the best for her family.

OK Ruth? Bud queried:

 Dirt splotched travel pants awash with perspiration  and pride.

Knowing he had done his very best, and that was indeed very good.

The roots of the sugar maple spread and dug deeper as years passed: 

the winters had no impact: 20’, then 30’tall., “Mothers Tree as it is known to

our family  is a tribute for the ages.  Pictures sent across the miles answered

her annual question – how is my tree doing?

The steel gray clouds of winter, dripping with snow and ice envelope this silent

sentry.   A reminder of the interlocking hands of human kind and nature.  As

she slides into darkness in her last days, the ever vigilant silver maple wards

off all who would do her harm. 

The chimes  strung out on the tree’s underbelly  resonate with tones which call

 out for peace and serenity.  The maple projects strength and silence  with an

inner perseverance given to   few among us.  A shelter to all who crossed her

threshold, mother is now the ward of this decades old tree: a gift of thanks

from our Maker.

Mother’s Tree —  my mom’s unknowing gift to remind us each and every day of

 who she was and where she is going.   

Hug your mom while you have the chance.

FALL COMES TO DOOR COUNTY

There are dimensions of time and space which are so apparent

We sometimes take nature’s messages for granted.

The beauty is, after all in the details.

Let’s silently pause to consider the reflection of the shimmering sun on the lake

The splattered spheres heighten our curiosity.. where did they come from?

Why aren’t the sun spots geometric clones?

The  white spheres act as sentinel  guideposts to our study of the

Newly fallen leaves in their queenly attire float in unison over Door County

Rocks

What have these carriers of nature’s palate seen this summer/fall?

Secrets of the woods: of humanity, of God’s gifts to us.

An incredible combination of dazzling color, primal texture, and resilience.

They have decorated the hillsides for months –and now this craggy shoreline.

Endurance and stealth amid the hardwood forests.

Appreciated by all yet ignored by most when they lay dormant in the tide

pools.

Resting after an extended summer.

Knowing generations to follow are poised o spring forth when the seasons turn.

Secure in the knowledge that they Have fulfilled their duty

to beautify the hillsides and valleys of this secluded peninsula.

Confident, bold, and courageous the lineage of the hardwoods continues.

Such a simplistic picture: a lakeside landscape enjoyed countless times.

Or, did you really see? Just glance and move on>

Have you considered the parallel between the Kodak moment and yourself?

Will generations who come later take for granted that you have been a

conscientious steward

Who ensures the continuation of the glorification of Mother Earth?

Do you accept your responsibility to continue the centuries long tradition of

Leaves dressed for us to enjoy

earthly care taker?

 

Photo courtesy of Jim Templin

THE POWER OF CHILDHOOD INNOCENCE

A muggy humid day on the Monet-like flower covered wood lot

with ancient lakes and soaring pines in the hills of northern Wisconsin.

Adults scrambled for shade, natural ice tea, a cold Budweiser.

Eagles and squirrels snuggled quietly in nests and high grass.

 The world snoozed.

Almost asleep  – almost but not quite.

A child’s curiosity never sleeps.

Heat and humidity are non entity’s as life’s journey  has just begun.

Flowers, bushes, fallen tree trunks are a new adventure.

Rising to her waist and beyond, long stems of yellow greet her eye to eye.

A mutual hello, how are you? Curiosity, respect, welcome.

Golden wildflowers to be lovingly fondled for the 1^st time – creator’s gifts.

An audible sigh of delight flows from the bed of wildflowers.

Indeed a shriek of glee and amazement.

She reaches out, gently touches the flower. They converse with each other.

Intense, passionate, innocent, playful.

A lifetime relationship consummated in a millisecond.

Adults lovingly observe and are amazed.

Unknowingly  they see their values passed on to another generation.

They marvel at the pure joy residing in the hearts of their offspring.

Proud of her curiosity, beauty and respect for Nature.

“ Lookie at what I found”.. the flower is sooo big.

Exclamations of joy and discovery.

Our memory tapes speed back  through the years.

Attempting to recreate feelings we had at age 2 or 3.

Each corner turned beheld a new jewel. A shriek of joy.

Adults of the carriers of culture, customs, knowledge, values

plus admiration of all that is beautiful and wholesome.

Generation builds on generation.

Reclining on our decks, collectively “ solving the world’s problems”,

Retelling family tales of accomplishments and times passed.

Somehow our childhood sense of wonderment, amazement

Innocence: of 1^st time events are nourished in the pantry of knowledge,

Experience and culture.

Upon finding solutions to life’s problems- do you emote a youthful a ha?

A sense of discovery, a return of innocence> Do you feel the guttural repeat

of joy, heart pounding thrill of a 3 year old bouncing over fallen tree limbs and

through waist high savannah grasses?

Confidence regained? Giddy to see more, hear more, solve more?

No adult singed cynicism or over wrought analysis.

Let us listen to nature and our inner childlike voice revealing the truth about ourselves

Including our limitless capabilities to be spontaneous as the youngest among us in

the flower filled wood lot.

Photo provided by Jim Templin: jtemplin@ymail.com

Childhood Innocence