Crisp Mornings and Mother Nature's Paintbrush

 

There is nothing that lifts my spirits more than opening the window or stepping outside on a crisp October morning and admiring Mother Nature's handiwork. The air even smells different than at other times of the year. It makes you want to breathe deeply and smile.

I am not one who sees raking leaves as a chore. I love the sights and smells as the crackle and crunch of the leaves under my rake come together in a pile that any child or family dog would love to jump in. You can have your gym workouts. I'll take raking, and bending, and sweeping, while the birds chirp above me and the squirrels scamper here and there looking for contributions to their Winter stash.

I am already well into my stock of apple sauce, pumpkin butter, and maple donuts, but the thing I love most at this time of the year are the colors: orange, gold, greens and coppers. You can have your Rembrandts and Monets. I will take Mother Nature's artwork over all the rest. No one can match her paintbrush.

Sadly, by mid-November, if not before, the leaves will all be raked, the branches bare, and the crisp mornings turned into cold ones. Thankfully I will have saved a few leaves to press under plastic to remind me of those beautiful mornings when Mother Nature was at work and all was right with the world.

And so it is. 

A New Season

 

The tree outside of our front door is having an identity problem. Half of it is starting to drop a few leaves and turn red, while the other half is sure it's still summer. It's not just the trees that are having that problem. One day I wake up to 52 degrees, a cool North breeze, and highs struggling to make it to 70. The next it's in the 80's, followed by several days in a row of torrential rain and a humidity reading of 99%! As a result, I have to keep an assortment of different seasonal clothes at hand in case the days go from summer to Fall in a 24-hour period. Mother Nature, can you please just make up your mind?

It's always a challenge to move from one season to another, both in nature and in our own lives. It seems like only yesterday that I was going on walks that I measured in miles. Now I measure them in blocks and muscle strength. At least I can still garden after a fashion and enjoy nature. Last Sunday I got to help a member of my church family release a butterfly into the world. If you've never had a beautiful, tiny butterfly climb on to the tip of your finger, I can tell you that it is a lovely, eye-opening experience.

The garden is nearing the end of its season as well. Some areas have harvests until well into October. Here we are lucky to make it to mid-September. This year the days and days of heavy rain are going to result in bringing in everything we can and trying to ripen it indoors before it drowns. Eleanor Roosevelt once said: "Do what you, with what you have, from where you are." I'll be she was a gardener!

Whether you are looking forward to moving into Autumn as I am, or dreading moving into the next season in your life, remember that perspective is everything. For everything we must leave behind, something new and wonderful can take its place if we choose to make it so. So, go forward, my friends, and make it the best season you can. 

Peace and blessings.

P.S. As I work to resurrect my Word Press website "Writing A Life," I invite you to check out my new book in the Maplewood Farn series: "Let The Earth Rejoice," available in paperback and e-book from Amazon.

When Life Finally Ripens

 

I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say that in all my years of gardening, I have never had to deal with as many challenges as I have this year: late frost, heat waves, smoke from forest fires, and storms that were worthy of being called "of biblical proportions." Still, here we are in mid-August and finally ... finally ... my tiny harvest is starting to come in. I picked my first cucumber on August 1st, my first cherry tomatoes right after that, and a few tiny strawberries the same day. The herbs suddenly shot up so fast that I'm going to have to buy more jars to keep them in when they are done drying. The butter lettuce looks like a field inside of its of container, and the lavender is waving happily in the summer breeze. As for the flowers, the impatiens are no longer impatient (like the play on words?). The petunias are thriving, and my very first zinnia plant is sporting big, fat, colorful blooms. I think I can safely say that this growing season may be successful after all. 

What I love most about gardening are the lessons on life I have learned: "To Everything there is a season" (Ecclesiastes 3:1-8). Some of the seasons of life are like long, dark winters of disappointment and discontent. Autumn years teach us that sometimes we have to let go to move forward. Spring is the season of hope, and summer is when the evidence of our efforts are finally seen. Just like in my garden, the cold and the storms had to come to make way for the sunshine and growth. 

I think I've also come to realize that I am now in a season to reap more than just cucumbers and tomatoes. I've come to cherish quiet mornings on the porch with my coffee watching the birds at the feeder. I look forward to cooking my dinner and coming up with new ways to use what I've picked from the garden. A good book and an afternoon cup of tea is a treat that's right up there with a yummy piece of chocolate. If I've learned anything from this growing season, it's that, like my mother always used to say, "all good things come to those who wait."  After 77 years of waiting, life is finally ripening for me!

Peace and blessings. 

Faith In A Seed

 

"Though I do not believe that a plant will spring up where no seed has been, I have great faith in a seed. Convince me that you have a seed there, and I am prepared to expect wonders."

Henry David Thoreau

My oldest granddaughter and her family gave me a lovely collection of organic seeds in a sturdy wooden case for Mother's Day. The crazy spring we had (and an even crazier summer right behind it) forced me to put off planting the seeds until way after Memorial Day. Weeks went by in June with barely a tiny spec of green in some pots. and none in the others. I decided that if I didn't see any more progress by the end of June, I would just go out and buy some plants to put in. Between 100 degree days followed by days of endless rain, my seeds were struggling for sure.

Fast forward two weeks after I put in the plants I bought: the seeds did, indeed, start to sprout. First came the peas, then the basil, then the strawberries, and the rest followed. It is now almost mid-July and I am trying to support a cucumber plant that is threatening to take over the entire garden!

Henry David Thoreau, my mentor and the one who guided me to move here to upstate New York 34 years ago, had great faith in a seed. Not all seeds are alike, just like not all people are alike. Some take longer to germinate, then start to grow, then blossom. That goes for people, too, It takes some folks longer to break out of their shells, take that first step out beyond their comfort zone, and, finally, to bloom. Patience is not only a virtue, it is the key to living a happy, healthy and content life.

Plant that seed. Water it, talk to it, love it, and give it time. Then be amazed at what grows. 

And so, it is. 

This Little Light Of Mine

 

I went outside the other night just after sundown to get something I'd left on the patio. I stood for a moment to look out over the yard and, especially, over my little container garden for this year. Although it had been a warm day, up into the low 80's, June has been a crazy month weather-wise. This after following on the heels of an insane month of May where we saw everything from 90-degree heat to frost warnings on the last two days of the month! Needless to say, my plants are playing catch up. The seeds I planted the last week of May are just now starting to peek out!

As I stood there looking out over the lawn, I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head and looked but saw nothing at first. Then ... there it was again, a blink of light. A lightening bug. One solitary lightening bug! The first little light of the season!

I think most of us can remember summer nights when we were kids spent trying to catch those little lights and put them in a jar to make a lantern. Even as a child I always thought there was something wrong with that even though all my friends thought it was what we were supposed to do. I kept thinking of those poor, frightened bugs all shut up in those airless jars blinking for their lives. It seemed to me that doing that was not only a mean thing to do to them, but it was keeping them from doing what they had been created to do - light up the darkness and bring some light to the world.

All these years later, after decades of fighting for animal rights and to heal the earth before we lose all the lightening bugs (and the earth itself), I can't help but think that we humans are doing the same thing ourselves. We're shutting our light up instead of using it to light the world and those who live in it. I remember teaching my Sunday School students the song, "This Little Light of Mine," and hoping they'd get the message. Now they are all grown up and I am hoping that they, and all of us, are recognizing that only light can see us through the darkness. 

Let your little light shine. All those little lights together can illuminate the world!

Peace and blessings. 

Mother, May I?

 

I've been giving Mother Nature a hard time lately for which I humbly apologize. I've been complaining about the weather - from cold, to hot, to frost, and, of course, the endless rain. It's the kind of thing that grates on the nerves of all gardeners whose hands are itching to get into the dirt and start planting. So far, the only dirt I've been able to get my hands into are my houseplants! Meanwhile with all this rain, we're still trying to mow the lawn for the first time before we need a machete and a jungle guide.!

Mothers' Day is tomorrow. I want to tell Mother Nature how sorry I am for complaining to her all the time and not thanking her for all the blessings she has always bestowed on me. Thank you for bringing the leaves back on the trees and showering me with blossoms whenever the breeze blows. Thank you for the morning birdsong that greets me every morning and the sound of baby birds chirping in the nests. Thank you for the first tiny shoots of green coming out of the ground, and the promise of tulips and crocus to come. Thank you for the return of the geese who are my spirit guides and inspiration to not be afraid to fly. Thank you for breathing life into all of us.

It's sad to think that we humans often forget to thank the mothers of this world until a holiday comes along to remind us to do so. We forget all that they do for us, not just our own mothers, but those who are mothering all of us: teachers, doctors, nurses, pastors, friends, even the lady that cuts our hair. When you care for the needs of others, you are mothering. So, to all the women of the world, and some men as well, I want to say, "thank you," for nursing us, feeding us, guiding us, and loving us. Without you the world would not survive.

And so it is.

An Accidential Garden

The other day I was walking around in the yard measuring out my ideas for the new garden layout. Even though things are blooming in the southern parts of the New York State,  here up north things are just starting to come out. It's still too early to plant outside since it is not unheard of for us to get frost in April, but I can measure, draw, and design, order planters and other materials, and get ready for May to open the door to gardening in earnest. 

Anyway, as I was walking around, I noticed a small patch of Forget-Me-Not sticking out of the ground in a space when I knew I had not planted them. In fact, my entire garden last year was a container garden. I mentioned this to my great-grandson who is just getting into gardening and ready to be my partner this year. Smarter than the average 12 year old, he said: "You know, Gigi, maybe the wind blew them out of the pot or your hand when you were planting them last year, or maybe a bird did it." Never under estimate the power of a child to set you straight.

How many times in our lives do unexpected things turn up where we would least expect them to, or a door that had been closed for years suddenly open? How many times have we "planted seeds," in our lives or careers but given up hope when nothing sprouts, and see have it burst into bloom years later? I think the most important lessons I've learned in my life came from seeds I planted years ago only to see them finally shoot up now in my "golden years." Perhaps it was a mix of hope, experience, and wisdom that comes from living 70+ years that finally made them bloom. I think the idea is that hope is the seed we plant, experience is the soil, and wisdom is the fertilizer. 

Have you planted seeds in your life that haven't bloomed yet? Maybe it's time to change your soil, sprinkle a little fertilizer, and never, never give up hope. You'll be surprised what pops up in the most unexpected places.

And so it is.