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.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
The Riches of Non-Ownership
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.
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.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Fullness of Time
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 .
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 .
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
There and Back Again
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.
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.
Monday, March 24, 2008
The Secret Garden and the Desires of My Heart
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.
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.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
February Doldrums
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.
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.
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