She went to North Carolina
November 9, 2012 § 2 Comments
The idea of it kept coming up. So I went.
There are cows in North Carolina!
Also, there are lakes and beaches.
Water is very, very important, you know.
I wonder what was here?
I stayed with my friend Carrie in such a pretty neighborhood in the middle of Raleigh, inside the beltline. Tall trees and beautiful houses.
Tres charmant. Wouldn’t you feel cozy here?
I now know what they mean by southern comfort, southern charm, and southern hospitality. I went, I wandered, I saw what I needed to (though I didn’t get to visit the farm with Percherons. Oh, well.). I was so busy driving and looking and trying not to get lost (some of us still stubbornly refuse GPS and smartphones) that of course I didn’t snap enough pictures.
But I did get a full helping of red brick buildings, white steeples, historic paths, and a good barefoot run across that white sand beach of Jordan Lake. I jumped in on a sustainable-friends potluck and I visited Piedmont Biofuels (and met Lyle Estill, author of Small is Possible). I tried not to laugh at the accents (but usually failed to keep back a smile.) I ate well (thanks to Carrie, several food co-ops, and Anna’s Pizzeria) and drove a Fiat and learned a little more about this part of the country. What an interesting place.
Season of mists
October 23, 2012 § Leave a comment
Overcast, wet weather most often makes me want to light a candle and cozy up inside with tea and a book. Other times it makes me want to confront it so that I can embrace it; to throw off the sheltering walls of the house and go where the mists can surround me, their tiny drops prickling like sparks on my face.
Today looked colder than it felt. As I pulled on boots on the front porch I decided to leave my coat behind. This time of year the leaves are layering the woodland floor with yellow, rusts, muted purples, and many browns. The collage of all these colors made me want to spin on it, and I did. Sometimes you’ve just got to put your arms out and spin. And look up, and around, and laugh.
Life is good.
The sky stayed gray-white-blue today in the cover of clouds, until night fell and hid them away. On our walks through the woods, the lines of the tree trunks draw my eyes upward, to where I can see the silhouettes of the trees’ crowns against whatever color the sky happens to be. Today I found myself centered beneath several trees whose fine, small, tip-of-their-fingers branches reached out and overlaid one another, multiple times, so that above me I saw a kind of cobweb, or lace, hung in that space, woven of wood. I wish I could describe it for you better, all those black lines crossing so delicately over one another, so clearly defined against the white of sky. You would understand why there are stories of dryads. You would understand why humans are compelled to create art, tulle-lush tutus, tapestries, linens with fine embroidery, filigree. We want to be of such things, to re-speak them, to be connected with them somehow.
Milkweed
October 21, 2012 § 2 Comments
The milkweed pods have opened. The seeds blow into the wind.
Have you ever pulled them out, felt how soft and almost weightless they are in your hands?
Throw them into the air. Watch as they ride and twirl through the sky.
Be glad for prairie. Wildflowers. Nature’s wondrous details.
Mid-autumn
October 17, 2012 § 4 Comments
This is the time when the most vibrant oranges and reds and yellows begin to deepen and fade; when the blaze has already peaked and now we must slide toward winter.
But there are yet colors to earn attention here. The rust-orange of leaves. Grasses and forbs within a few shades of my golden retriever’s coat. The slate and gray and cool blues of sky. That sky against the shape of trees and the slopes of wheat-colored hills.
No, I don’t mind this part of the season. It makes you take more time to notice. The subtle things often seem the deeper things, to me. As temperatures become more reliably chilly an extra sweater and a jacket are more appreciated.
There is a stillness here before the holiday rush surrounding autumn’s end and winter’s beginning.
Tassie and I, we will walk through it.
Festival
October 15, 2012 § Leave a comment
We had several cloudy, cold days on either side of October 7. But on the day of the festival the sun came out. And so did the people.
Want to learn more about the farm? Visit Hungry Turtle’s website.
Want to learn more about nature experience opportunities for kids? Visit Bluebird Hill Homestead.
Oh, cider, scarves, and pumpkins. Farms and fall. Food. Friends. October.
Autumn
September 27, 2012 § Leave a comment
Yesterday I went for the most wonderful drive. Morning, and straight east into red-orange hills. Classical music on the radio, golden retriever in the backseat, a jar of steaming coffee in the cup holder. I was going out to Brett Laidlaw’s place, Bide-A-Wee, to borrow a cider press for our upcoming festival. Brett had come to our brick oven workshop in August, and also happens to be the author of Trout Caviar – both a blog and a book about foraging in the north woods. His two griffins came to greet me; Tassie hesitated and even growled a little at these unfamiliar dogs, but eventually she got over herself enough to run around the acreage and explore their space. They followed her with interest and a bit of determination to retain their territorial rights.
The air was September crisp and the hills were so burning with color that you could almost smell smoke. This is the time for woodstoves and campfires. Brett met me with a smile, we caught up on ovens and farms and projects and festivals, and then he showed me the pieces of the press, how to put it all together, how the apples will grind and press into cold, delicious cider. Bright sun, plaid shirts, vests, boots, cast iron, goosebumps. I shivered in the cold but also the very delicious autumn of it all.
Once we had loaded the press into the back of my truck, we talked about France, which always makes me glad, especially to find someone else who loves it the way I do, and not for all the popular things people love it for (ooh la la!) but also for the countryside, the small gîtes and the regional ciders and the roads winding through woods and hills that look so similar to here. Then back in the truck, me and my girl, to make our way home, my mind full of old memories and future plans, and a sense of the season’s reliable goodness.
Boats & boulders
September 12, 2012 § Leave a comment
We decided to canoe the St. Croix River. My sister, her husband, me, and my best friend. This river keeps drawing me back to where it winds between two of the Upper Midwest’s finest states, Minnesota and Wisconsin. As states go, you might call these two frenemies. Football fiercely divides us. Yet we are variations on a theme.
The small towns here in Wisconsin remind me so much of my Minnesota childhood. The geography of hills and trees, water, woods, and farmland – it’s the same. The snowmobiles. The jetskis. The shabby cafes, the corner gas stations that also sell bait, and the Dairy Queen in every town. Rows of cabins along lakes. Small golf courses. Many small churches and their faithful parishioners. There is one such church across the street. I listen to the bells.
The St. Croix makes for a happy meeting place for me and my Minnesota-dwelling favorite people. So. We found ourselves in canoes on the water.
We love boats.
A small island in the middle of the water simply had to be explored.
Chats with friends in nature are always welcome.
Canoe trips in general are welcome.
I wasn’t ready to be done. Next time, I want to camp overnight somewhere amidst evergreens and stars and the hooting and howling of wild creatures.
Instead, while the other three headed back to the Cities, I wandered around the boulders and potholes on the Minnesota side of Interstates Park.
Creepy.
Then I found a spot on a rock where the river view and the light were just right. I sat there and thought. I read. I journaled. I prayed. I let my spirit get all settled, and the day wound down.
As it should.
September on the St. Croix
September 2, 2012 § Leave a comment
Yesterday evening we went hiking.
This is what one ought to do on one of the last weekends of summer, when the sun is warm and the breeze begins to feel cool.
Interstates Park (the states being Minnesota & Wisconsin) is full of climbable rocks, trails along the St. Croix River, a small lake, and many trees.
As the sun slanted its low evening light, we followed the terrain up and down.
Scrambled just enough to where I felt scared, momentarily, on a too-steep wall, which gives such a nice rush of adrenaline. Rested at the top.
The view!
We wandered back down the trail to another along the Lake of the Dalles, listening to children play at the beach and the shouts and conversation of kayakers. I tried to sit on a rock and read, but a certain golden retriever kept trying to pull me into the water.
So, we made our way down to the pet-friendly picnic area and watched the mist and the evening settle over the St. Croix.
Peanut butter and honey and a sweet sixteen apple.
I read Brennan Manning, whose words have often brought my spirit solace and joy.
“It is always true to some extent that we make our images of God. It is even truer that our image of God makes us. Eventually we become like the God we image. One of the most beautiful fruits of knowing the God of Jesus is a compassionate attitude toward ourselves. . . . Healing our image of God heals our image of ourselves.” (Manning, The Relentless Tenderness of Jesus)
It is right for me to be in these places of beauty. It is right to make time to reflect. And to remember my truest identity, which has been established by a Creator’s love.
Kinds of Honey 