Seasonal Surprises

I heard them through the open window the other night. As they were high above on that quiet, damp night, I could not see which way they were heading, but I knew by their soft, syncopated honking that they were geese and must be going to some place with ample food and comfort for the coming colder months. Indeed, in this time of transition, it is a time of change for most living things, ourselves included.

While I feel myself folding inward during these short, dark, rainy days, I’ve experienced enough seasonal changes in my life to know that this is a change beyond my control; one that is necessary and important, even if we may not like or enjoy it. Change is seldom easy, after all. But during the intense, difficult work of growing, reproducing, and simply surviving, time is needed to rest and rejuvenate. We may find it odd and uncomfortable the way this happens. Where there were gorgeous blue skies, there now are moody clouds of roiling greys and intense, bruised, purplish blacks. Where there was pure, sparkling sunlight, there now is misty drizzle and chilling rain. The cheerful chirping of the tree frogs gives way to the mournful cries of those night-flying geese…

There also are moments of beauty and joy in this process. I find myself awestruck by the colors of this season: the ripe, round, red and purple berries that are abundant here, the white, orange, and brown fungi that erupt in the woods and meadows, the brilliant orange, yellow, red, and copper leaves on the trees. Whether pre-programmed or anomalies, there are some plants that manage to bloom at this time of year. Colorful Autumn crocus, chrysanthemums, sunflowers, and sedums punctuate otherwise drab gardens, while vine and big-leaf maples, red-osier dogwoods, and shiny-leaved salal and evergreen huckleberries strut their stuff in the local woods. No matter the weather, it’s always good to don your rain gear and take a walk—amazing what it can do for one’s spirit.

We have one hardy plant that surprises me every year. It is an old rose bush – likely a heritage variety because it smells wonderful—that was here when we moved in 40 years go. We’ve dug it up and moved it several times and, sadly, I never really cared if it survived as it is rather leggy, with a puny lavender color. Not my favorite, for sure. The last place we put it was in a corner garden, just below our kitchen window. With very little care, it has thrived there, growing taller each year and producing continuous blooms all summer long and well into the Fall. Even now, with many fully formed rose hips(fruit) which I’ve neglected to prune off, it is continuing to bloom, refusing to give in to this season of darkness. I know that eventually it will stop, finally resting up for next summer. In the meantime, I cherish its fortitude, for it is a good reminder that a new season is always on the horizon.

 As I remember that my dad said: “Life is a series of adjustments,” I now know how true that really is. We DO need to “Grow where we are planted “and carry on as best as we can. It helps if we hang together on the journey!

"As long as the earth endures, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night will never cease.'"                  Genesis 8:22

Leavings

Leavings pl. n. something remaining, scraps, residue, refuse, etc.

Crisp days of raking leaves - HA! Memories of those take me back to our years of living in Montana and Idaho where great dry masses of fallen leaves were as most of us think. I reveled in the swish and crunch of walking through them, loved raking them and being buried within the huge piles.

 

Here, fall can be a gooey, messy time of year. All those beautifully-colored leaves do eventually fall and with our perpetual rains they form a slick, heavy, sodden mass on the ground, which few bother to even try to rake up. Cheery fall colors and glowing fields of pumpkins and corn stalks slowly give way to wet, rotted leavings - some of which are internal. Unlike spring, with its bright cheerful awakenings, fall is a time of farewells for many of us. Farewell to summer, for sure, but also ever-shortening daylight, colder temperatures, thoughts and activities that often slow down and turn inward...
 

 

So, I was not too surprised when I glimpsed the nest and found it ragged and deserted. All my "good intentions" regarding it during the summer came rushing back. Discovering it fully-formed and humming with activity during our glorious late summer days, I checked on it each time I passed.

 

But I was busy with gardening, coming from or going to the mail box, running those countless errands like we all do. I fully intended to study it carefully, meant to photograph it and its inhabitants in detail, pretty much failed to get any of that accomplished...
 

But it was still there, gracefully hanging from the branch as it had from its beginning. This time, I took the time to study it closely and what an intricate work of art it was!

Sometime last spring, a fertile queen paper wasp emerged from hibernation and began the process of turning raw wood into this sturdy paper home. She used her mandibles to scrape bits of wood fiber from fences, logs, or even cardboard.

 

She then broke the wood fibers down in her mouth, using saliva and water to weaken them. Flying to her chosen nest site - the thin branch of this Kousa Dogwood - she added the soft paper pulp to it for support. As the wet cellulose fibers dried, they became the strong paper buttress from which she would suspend her nest.

The nest itself was comprised of hexagonal cells in which the young developed. The queen protected the brood cells by building a paper envelope, or cover, around them. She raised the first generation of workers on her own.

After they emerged, those workers collected food while she switched to only laying eggs. The larvae were probably fed pre-chewed caterpillars, while the adults fed on nectar.  The nest expanded as the colony grew in number, with new generations of workers constructing new cells as needed, until it reached its final size. Many nests are typically small, usually a few dozen workers, but may contain as many as 100.

As fall approaches, colonies produce males and new queens, which leave the nest to mate. After mating, the new queens burrow into the ground where they spend the winter. All workers, the males, and the old queen perish around November, leaving any young behind in the nest to also die. Old nests degrade naturally over the winter months, so each spring new ones must be constructed by the new queens as the process begins anew.

 

I tore open one of the still-sealed cells and shook out a fully-formed dead wasp. Evidently, it had not matured enough when everyone else left the nest - or the temperatures dropped low enough to kill it. A few other cells remained sealed but most were empty, so it seemed that a lot of wasps were produced in this nest.

 

It has been nearly a year now since my second-oldest sister entered the hospital with a severe case of pneumonia. None of us imagined she would be gone before Christmas. They say it takes a full year, at least, to begin to adjust to such losses, but who are "they" and what is a year when I'd known her for nearly 70? This sister was 14 when I was born, left for college when I was 4, married and moved away when I was 7. With the age difference and distance, it might seem that we'd have nothing in common, but that would be wrong. We shared a love of sewing, cooking, reading, the outdoors, the arts, and American Indian history and culture. She was the one who showed and explained to me all the parts of a living grasshopper and how to fish for trout in a cold mountain stream. She and her family came back to visit every summer and the memories of those times are priceless. We kept in touch - not as often as we should have, probably - with letters, phone calls, and occasionally emails. She was the one who always said "Oh, I intended to call you before now, but I just didn't get around to it..." Yeah, I know how that goes.

 

A cold wind rustled the trees and a light rain began. I tossed the ripped-open wasp's nest into the woods and smiled. True, I never did study and photograph it while it was at its peak of activity, but its remnants were still beautiful and intricate. Perhaps I'll get another chance - for I'm remembering that new queen tucked safely away just waiting for spring.

 

"Don't cry because it's over.

Smile because it happened."

Dr. Seuss

 

Other fall meanderings:

The Last Leaf

Tree People

 Prickles

Northern Harvest

Winter's Rest

Every year I feel it and try to ignore it - at least for a while. For I let go of summer quite unwillingly and in a year like this, with a short summer season at best, I am foot-stomping reluctant to move into winter. To ignore it I may try, but the cooling, darkening, slowing pace of other life around me finally pulls me down to the rhythm of Fall-heading-toward-Winter.

I do know the signs: an unwillingness to rise early; an appetite for hearty, warm meals; less inclination to dig in cold, damp earth; spending evenings snuggled under quilts and nights sleeping under flannel and wool. Like a willful child, who loudly shouts that "I will NOT take my winter's rest!" I am led to a quiet place, where weariness is acknowledged and rest is finally accepted.

For many of us, summer can be a time of busyness. We eagerly dive into barbecues, gardening, vacations, camping, traveling and attending a variety of community events. There are yards to care for, special outings, children to transport here and there, and never-ending activities for everyone in the family. For many, these are added to an already full work schedule. Fall brings the return to school, regular work schedules, and a plethora of activities related to those. Is it any wonder we grow weary?

In the days when our ancestors grew and harvested their own crops and stored them for the winter ahead, fall was a time of gradually gearing down. There was still wood to be chopped and animals to care for, but many activities changed with the seasons. There's no doubt that winter was still a working time, but the pace slowed. Sewing, quilting, mending of clothing and equipment often took place by lamplight and with lengthening darkness the working hours became less. In many cultures and areas, this became a time for socializing, story-telling, and sharing meals, especially when the weather limited travel.

Birds, squirrels, and other animals have raised their young, so are less frenzied in their search for food. Various types of dens and nests are prepared and many creatures are ready for longer sleeps or hibernation. Some, like insects, have lived their lives and are now gone, leaving behind their eggs or pupae to carry on next year.

Deciduous trees and shrubs slowly change color and drop their leaves, putting their stored energy into slowly developing new buds for spring. Conifers and other evergreens slow their production of sugars and other nutrients and go into resting states. Many plants die off, depending on their underground root systems or scattered seeds to carry on next year. For all of them, their heavy work of the year is done and it is time for rest.

Perhaps there is a lesson here for us, also. "To rest" does not mean that our work is done. It does not mean that we have necessarily completed a task or abandoned it. It certainly does not mean that we are lazy, shiftless, or unmotivated. Rest is vital to a healthy existence - our bodies, minds, and souls require it to function well. We all need a break sometimes - whether an hour, a day, a week, or several months. For if God took time to rest, certainly we can.

There remains, then, a Sabbath-rest for the people of God; for anyone who enters God's rest also rests from his own work, just as God did from his. Let us, therefore, make every effort to enter that rest... 
Hebrews 4:9-11

The Last Leaf

"October is a symphony
of permanence and change."

~ Bonaro W. Overstreet

As fall is quietly, nearly imperceptibly, ushered in, leaves on various trees and shrubs begin their slow decline. Their work of producing food for the plants is done and preparations are in order for the resting season. The angle of the sun's rays and shorter hours of daylight cause chemical changes to occur within leaves, revealing the yellows, oranges, reds, and browns that have been hidden there all along.

Watching this color show of autumn emerge, it is interesting to note the differences in the trees. Some shed their leaves quickly, seemingly dropping everything overnight. Others drop them gradually, one by one, often until only one leaf is left.

The year my father lay in the hospital, dying, my son and I took a train  to Montana to join my sisters in the bedside vigil. Our vacation that year had been planned for months and was to be several weeks later. Some things cannot wait, so we went early. Over the course of the week Dad hung on, clinging to life long after the doctor predicted. He was surprisingly lucid most of the time and although his strength was sapped to the point where he could barely speak, his eyes, and the squeeze of his hand, told us he knew we were there and took comfort in our all being together. We gave him a small notepad, where he would scratch out the few things he wanted to say. Our family has never been one that does much talking on deeply-felt emotions, but we all knew and understood: life is precious, had been lived fully, shared selflessly, and was coming to an end. We had loved each other well.

As I watched my energetic, robust father slowly ebb away, I was torn. I did not want to lose my Dad, for I loved him dearly and could not imagine life without him. But he was a mere shadow of his former self, was in pain, suffering, and I knew he did not relish this life as he once had, before Mom died and his health declined. I wanted him healthy and happy again, but I could do nothing to bring that back, so simply prayed for a quiet, peaceful ending. It did not come that week, so we packed up and went home, having other responsibilities and no idea how long the dying process would take. It took longer than any of us expected, but several weeks later we returned for his funeral. By then, reality had sunk in and I knew life without my mom and dad would never be the same.

Things changed, and indeed life never has been quite the same, but I cannot say that it is worse. There is always a gradual shifting between generations and when it is your turn to be one of the senior members of the clan you begin to see things differently. This is the time in life when one begins to sift through life memories and sort out the things that really matter - and to throw out the things that don't. When you realize that your time on earth really is limited and you begin to measure how to use what's left of it. It is a time for the sweet savoring of what is dear to you and ignoring of petty differences and irritations. It is a time to LIVE quite intentionally.

As I watch the leaves fall one by one, I am aware that beneath each spot where they were attached to the twig a new bud is beginning to form. Throughout the winter those buds will slowly develop and swell, until they burst open next spring. Where there is now death, there will be new life. Where the last leaf falls, the last bud forms and you might think that it will not emerge at all, but do not give up on it. Life may change with the seasons, getting old and passing away or arriving fresh and new, but it will always be here in one form or another. Rejoice in it!

A generation goes, and a generation comes,

but the earth remains forever.

Ecclesiastes 1:4

The one red leaf, the last of its clan,
That dances as often as dance it can,
Hanging so light, and hanging so high,
On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky. ~Samuel Taylor Coleridge




 

Done with Summer

Like a willful child, I am dragged kicking and screaming away from summer. Bright dewy mornings, warm, sunny days, and frog-chorus evenings seem too sweet to leave behind. Wave after wave of color has dotted the landscape as flowers, each in turn, carried out their mission of attracting bird and insect. Fall slowly creeps in and the flowers - mission complete - are brown and dying. Some have stored their summer energy below ground and will rise again in the spring. Others, too tender to survive the winter, will depend upon the seeds they’ve produced to carry on. Just as Spring is the season of awakening, Fall is the time for passing. In an endless cycle, one thing changes to another.

As a child, I missed the carefree, lazy days of summer, but welcomed the crisp, expectant days of a new school year. In the dry Montana clime, leaves turned, dried, and fell. Yards, sidewalks, and boulevards became carpeted with them and their dusty, musky, smell and swishing sound when walked through remain with me still. Raking them before the snows came became a challenge - and a game. One of my favorite things was the making of “leaf houses”. Neighborhood kids would work together, carefully raking leaves into lines, forming imaginary walls of a gigantic mansion. Breaks in the lines became doors and windows, with intricate details telling you which was which. Equally intricate rules accompanied the various games we’d play around and within these houses. Woe be the kid who didn’t enter the house properly - through the “door”!

Other times we’d each make our own house, playacting as we visited each other and showed off our various “rooms”. Well-appointed homes were complete with leaf-pile “chairs”, “sofas” and “beds”. Designing and creating one of those dream homes took up hours of after-school time and sometimes a whole weekend. There was, of course, risk involved in this activity. An ill-timed windstorm or vengeful bully might easily destroy it all in a single evening, leaving nothing but scattered piles strewn across yards. After that, raking totally became a chore.

With frenzied days of growing, producing, reproducing, and storing nearly past, there is a collective sigh and tentative easing. It’s as if the entire plant world says “ENOUGH - time to rest.” Or, perhaps - “I’m done.” We could learn something here, I think...

Sunlight in Fall has a special, crystal quality unseen in summer. It is a good time to stop, take a deep breath and a close look at the world around us and our part in it. Could be it’s a time to sit back and rest; maybe regroup and shift gears. Maybe it’s time to close a chapter on some area of our life and then open another.

Bask in the waning rays and some silence, then listen to your soul. Winds and rains come, risk is everywhere, and the rules of life’s game are complicated. But there are doors that are open, a house that can’t be destroyed, and you’re always welcome.

“The grass withers and the flowers fall,
because the breath of the LORD blows on them.
Surely the people are grass.
The grass withers and the flowers fall,
but the word of our God stands forever."
Isaiah 40:7-8