a silly little thing

My Facebook status this morning read:

Agenda for our first day of summer break: strawberry picking, making jam, swimming.
Weather for our first day of summer break: cloudy and raining. Bummer!

So we didn't get to head into the acres of strawberry fields, stooping low to find those sweet berries, tasting a few as we go (ahem), and staining our fingers red.  Maybe next time.

There was a moment where I was truly worried.  I've been quietly waiting for those roadside signs, made of wood and hand-painted, that read STRAWBERRIES - 1 MILE. Two days ago my van rounded the bend and there it was - that Amish farm sign with that sweet, sweet message - the strawberries are ready!

 The strawberries are ready, just as we are preparing to leave our home and travel to the much warmer air of Texas where there will be no such sweetness this time of year.  There will be water, lots of it.  And family and cousins, and relaxing, and swimming.  But my stubborn mind was anxious to put away freezer jam before this short berry season passed us by.

I did manage to buy 4 quarts of berries this morning and was able to get jam loaded in the freezer.  And, the kind lady at the farm stand assured me the berries would still be ripening when we return from our vacation.  

How silly to fret over a few jars of jam.  How silly to worry that we'd miss the season.  Sigh!

So I'm moving from my silly, but very yummy jam, to packing, laundry, packing, and... did I say packing!

May you know the seasons and all their blessings in every ounce of your being and may you have the sense to stay rooted in this very present moment!

a cold spell

(No, I'm not writing of my absence in this space that could be aptly named with the same title as this post.)

A low of 32 degrees. . . .a freeze warning. . . .followed by a frost warning for the next two nights. . . .

Yep, it's a cold spell.  Exactly one week after some documented "last possible frost dates" in our zone.  Hmph!

And, exactly one week after we introduced all of the starter plants to their new habitat.  Hmph x2!

So, we donned our winter coats and headed out to protect those little plants.  It was quite a sight to see our garden space look as though we had tucked our plants in for the night.  Of course, this effort required a little creativity, a little ingenuity, making useful the many rocks we've been picking out of our soil one-by-one, finding new uses for tent anchors, buckets, empty pots.

Funny how this simple act of nurture offered such a parallel example for much of life.  We are not in control.  We can sow seeds, we can water, we can provide food, but we cannot offer sun and warmth or protect completely from cold.  We can hope and have faith, but in the end, Mother Nature will do as she must.  

We can only respond in openness to all she gifts us.  

And, yes, this cold spell will bring with it benefits that we cannot see or understand.  Yes, this cold spell will force us inside to snuggle with our children.  Yes, this cold spell will cause us to slow, if only for a moment.  And these precious moments are gift enough for me to exert the necessary effort to protect those vulnerable plants and rest in the knowledge that life will go on.

on my commute

How many people do you know that can say they absolutely love their commute to work?  Well, I do!

I've come to know the rhythm and flow of the seasons through my commute.  While I drive these 12 miles nearly every day, it seems I never travel the same road twice. One day I might see land; where heavy rain fall might leave a river the next.  

In the winter, I see snow and ice, barren trees and slumbering fields.  Yet, I see cattle and horses and farmers working despite the frosty temps.

In the summer, I see corn fields visibly lengthening each new week and soy beans in alternating fields.  I see colorful wild flowers which help me track the time - orange day lilies, light purple and white bells, and yellow ragweed (itchy nose, ahem!).

In autumn, I see beautiful shades of green, brown, orange, red, and yellows in the trees and in the fields.  The fields and woods always seem to speak of slowing and resting as fall arrives.

But spring!  Oh, spring!  The earth awakens and I can almost touch the energy coming from nature.  The fields are plowed in neat little rows.  The greens appear, every known shade.  The green of the grass.  The bright green of trees budding juxtaposed with the deep green pines.  The emerald green of the roadside wild flowers almost buzzing as my van drives along.  

Then there are the birds and butterflies of spring.  Just last week I counted nearly 100 flying creatures whipping joyfully near my van.  The butterflies orange, black, and brown.  Small birds dawning the same colors.  Sparrows, robins, blue birds and red.  Even wild turkeys! I hear the woodpeckers, too.

Sometimes, though not as often as I should, I surrender to the urge to stop, and look, and smell, and breathe, (and take pictures!). I'm thinking that when I do, I'll share the joys of the week's commute with you and hope that you enjoy them too.  Here's what's happening this week on my commute:

creating childhood stories

We parent from what we know - our own childhood, what we've learned along our own journey, and attempting to be two steps ahead of what our kids will learn along their own paths.  Papa Bear and I love to share "When we were young..." stories with our eager listeners.  Sometimes we laugh together at those stories.

I remember many of the stories my own parents shared about their childhood.  It seems to me that neither of my parents had a childhood much like that of my own children.  I can recall vivid examples of using their imagination, connecting with communities full of other children, being outside much of each day, and living each day fully.  My children have much more stuff and hardly leave our side, mostly because our fears of their safety preclude us from sending them out into the neighborhood to play.  It is just a different world.

So, when an opportunity comes to remove ourselves from today's world and share with grandparents a piece of their childhood, I'm thankful that not all is lost.  

A few weeks back, on a beautiful, sunny, spring day, we had this opportunity.  The air was cool, my campus was empty of students, and the wind was flying just enough.  Grandma took us kite flying.  

Each of my children took to kite flying in a different way.  One had kites soaring in the air quickly.  Another had some successful flights and knee dropping crashes.  The youngest simply enjoyed rolling in the grass and watching everyone else.  Grandma was behind each child - with praise, with encouragement, picking them up, putting their kites back in the air.

I was reminded of a simpler time, even that of my own childhood, and was grateful that my children can know a little of that time.

Thank you, Grandma!

sweet lessons

What a glorious day it has been!

75 degrees and sunshine on this very first day of Spring.  Seasonally unusual, they say.  I'm 38 years old and I cannot recall a start to Spring that has been as graceful, as colorful, as welcoming!

So I played hooky.  Ahem.  Not exactly, but I did volunteer to chaperone eight second graders on their maple sugaring field trip.  This is a first for us and having read Amanda,who writes so beautifully about the community inherent in the traditions of maple sugaring, we were quite excited.

I was so impressed and a little intimidated by what these second graders knew.  As we traveled station to station through the sugaring trail, they answered questions about American history, identified trees, predicted new inventions and materials used to make sugaring more efficient.  Smart little people, they are.

I quickly realized that they weren't the only smart creatures that required a bit of attention and reflection.  It occurred to me that every bit of nature is as smart as these little people and far more wise than humanity.

The flowers. They know when it's time to wake their nesting bulbs and peer through the earth.

The birds. They know when it's warm enough to fly north.

The trees. They know how to store food during winter and exactly when and where to deliver that food store as the days grow longer and warmer.

Totally in synch with the earth and the seasons.  It's probably six weeks early this year.  But, each and every creature knows that it is time.

I stood awe-struck at the wisdom of nature.  What lessons we can learn!

I've been thinking, for quite a while now, about the idea of being called.  As I walked through the woods today I wondered what inside each tree prompts it to awaken.  Does it have a calling, a sense of something larger than itself compelling it to do what it does?  

I wondered if being called and honoring that calling could really be so simple.

The notion of being called brings my mind immediately to religious icons such as Mother Teresa.  In her stories and others, I always imagine a calling to be quite clear.  Somewhat of a "slap me over the head with it" kind of knowing.  

I also imagine that being called amounts to something big - something really big - for example, the legacies of Ghandi or Martin Luther King.  I wonder if being called was as clear and convincing and compelling as it seems only knowing their stories.

It, too, seems to me that nature knows its place and purpose.  It seems to me that nature keeps itself open to possibility.  It seems to me that nature remains connected in ways that make fulfilling its purpose possible.  It seems to me that nature does not get in its own way.  

It simply becomes what it is supposed to be. Perhaps that is the sweetest lesson of all!

ice

Cold, yet beautiful.  Striking. Delicate. Causing me to retreat, to hide, to long for warmth.  Yet, when I see the sun pour through it, the weeds twinkling on the side of the road, I soften.  The brilliance stops me in my tracks and calls for me to look.  Somehow the blue of the sky, the shine of the sun juxtaposed against the clear encasing on colorless foliage that no longer lives, the white of the snow covered ground brings a feeling of peace. 

Perhaps its the awe that Nature can create beauty from lack of life and will turn this barren land into bounty within months. There is hope in that thought, an expectant promise.  If only for a moment.  For later today, the ice will be gone, gray skies returned, and it will be a dreary winter day. Again.

calling for clear skies

Parker Palmer on winter: "Another gift [winter gives us] is the reminder that times of dormancy and deep rest are essential to all living things. [Nature] has gone underground to renew itself and prepare for spring.  Winter is a time when we are admonished, and even inclined, to do the same for ourselves" (from Let Your Life Speak).

A few weeks ago, this scene would have looked quite different - shiny and sparkly, the sky a little darker in the moonlight of the shortest winter days, brightly lit with reds, greens, whites and other festive colors.  Houses were adorned with pine and red ribbons.  Lighted characters of Christmas gathered on the lawns.  Nearly every house in our neighborhood was lit.

Now, in the calm of January, the neighborhood sits still and silent.  I was surprised, this night, to see a neighbor walking the streets (it was a balmy 42 degrees!).  The landscape screams more of whites and greys and an occasional pale blue.  Lights are few and many houses dark as I return home from work each evening.

The earth and trees and gardens are resting, renewing, refueling for there is work to be done in spring and summer.  It's funny how connected my mind and spirit are to the seasons.  How cyclical my motivation and energy and thoughts. . .

"Winter has an even greater gift to give.  It comes when the sky is clear, the sun is brilliant, the trees are bare, and the first snow is yet to come.  It is the utter gift of clarity." (Palmer)

Clarity.

Each January I spend an inordinate amount of time and energy reorganizing and reconfiguring our house as we put the Christmas decorations away.  Shelves are emptied and cleaned.  Furniture rearranged.  Toys and games reorganized. I've always been that way.

It's funny how thoughtless this process used to be and how I now see it as preparation.  It's about cleansing - a way to start fresh, remove the distractions from my view, and embark, again, on a journey toward clarity.

Winter has only begun.  Same with the rest that nature calls us to.  I'm hopeful for my share of clear blue days that keep my perspective and spirit fresh and renewed.  

Welcome winter.

A little late.

But . . . welcome!

Christmas Greeting!

In a year spent discovering other religious traditions so as to strengthen my own faith, I've found delight in the connections displayed throughout the world's religions - music, nature, miracles, belief in humankind, sanctity of life.  But, I've also felt blessed to come back, periodically, to the tradition that has grounded me for so many years. 

So, my Christmas gift to you, dear readers, is to share a very special piece of my faith tradition.  Each of these nativity sets was gifted to me, most by my father.  They are beautiful and such a meaningful expression of what Christmas is in my heart.  Enjoy!