New Direction

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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.