Green Tribe of Belonging

 Rather than being alone on this earth, we live among an enormous landscape of living creatures, large and small. It blows my mind to think about it. Everywhere I look here at my desk, there is evidence: the sparrow eating echinacea seeds outside my window, the cobweb behind the file cabinet, the geraniums blooming on the sill. We exist within a multitude of others. And we, the creatures of the earth, have formed a trillion ways of communicating with each other. We are so used to this phenomenon that mostly we don't notice it happening. But when you stop to look more closely at what is going on around you, it is remarkable and awe-inspiring. Even when I was young, 7 or 8, I became fascinated with communication. I had pen pals all over the globe, and my favorite time of day was when the mailman drove up to our mailbox with letters. It was so exciting to be actually exchanging words, stories, life experiences with people around my age who lived so very, very far away. By the time I w...

 One night last week, my porch was filled with spectators, community members who were there to witness the opening of a bud on my night-blooming-cereus plant. We sat around talking, checking on the status of the bloom and enjoying the evening air. One 7-year-old even brought her sleeping bag and sat sketching the stages of the bud opening. It always feels magical when this unlovely gangly plant shows off its spectacular flower, a bloom that opens after dark and is finished by morning. It's a once-a-year event, and that makes it special. I had been sure it would happen while I was on my trip, but it waited until I got back. My good luck... I did a bit of research on the plant. Mine is one of four main kinds of night blooming cereus. It's Latin name is Epiphyllum exipelalum, Queen of the Night. The other three varieties bear fruit, but apparently this one doesn't. I wondered why. Is it not near enough to its rightful pollinators? Too far north, too far from its native home? I...

 I climbed into my car exactly two weeks ago and headed east, then south. I sped along the countryside, a smile on my face, following my impulse to travel far. Fortunately, my daughter April and her family were glad for a visit from me, which gave me a ready destination: Asheville, North Carolina. I lived in those mountains for 35 years and it still feels like home. Driving across eight states, I went through a quilt of different land forms. Whenever I was out of the cities, it was wonderful to see the skies, fields, and forests, and watch flocks of birds flying south just like me. And in the evenings, the huge red sun slowly going below the horizon painted everything with a brush of glowing rose. I took a new route this time, avoiding some of the busiest super-highways. And at the end of the second day, I left the Ohio rolling hills and crossed into Kentucky's mountains. There I took a deep breath. It was good to come into the nestled comfort of those tall tree-covered ridges. And...

 I've been fascinated with the urge to migrate lately. Wikipedia gives us a lot of interesting facts about this phenomenon. Migration means the movement of various species from one habitat to another, usually on a yearly basis. There are a number of reasons why some creatures would do this: temperature fluctuations, escaping the rigors of winter, more plentiful food somewhere else, the mating urge. It is interesting that we find annual migration patterns in all major animal groups: birds, mammals, fish, reptiles, amphibians, insects and crustaceans. And maybe humans.... Here at Prairie Hill, I've been noticing the flocks of geese heading south recently. And from the lack of visitors lately at the hummingbird feeder, I suspect those small vivacious birds have already started their long annual journey south as well. This morning we woke up to the coldest temperature yet this fall. We actually had to wear a jacket early in the day. So change is in the air. Wikipedia says that  bi...

 I've been thinking about purpose lately. Maybe fall nudges us to step back and take a wider view. What have we accomplished? What other things do we want to do? Even though here in Iowa it is still very hot, the taste of autumn is in the air. Hummingbirds seem to be sipping nectar with frenzy, stocking up for their long migration. Squirrels and chipmunks are hiding stores for the winter. Geese are passing through. The days are getting shorter, and evenings cooler. And so I look out my window and wonder about purpose. My own purpose, for instance. For humans in the 21st Century, purpose can feel very complex. Depending upon your age, it might have to do with succeeding in your business, getting high marks in school, finding a partner, raising a family. Or all of these things. Our purpose gets fractured, with conflicting needs and aspirations. And then there's the question about whether you're succeeding in your purpose. How do you know what is enough? In this competitive cu...

 More than usual, interactions with other people have been challenging me lately. I asked my astrologer friend what is happening. Can I blame this on something outside of me? Is there something in the air or earth energy or planets that is making us all more irritable, more reactive, less cooperative? I would like my interactions with people to be honest and gentle and sensitive instead of frustrated. This seems a reasonable wish. Yet all too often I've been feeling unhappy with how some human interaction has gone. I know that I need to look to myself for the solution, not blame other people, even though in the moment of frustration it is easy to be tempted to place the blame elsewhere! The only thing that has helped me with this is to sit quietly somewhere outside, and notice what is going on in the natural world. This morning I could feel myself becoming frustrated with little things. Nothing seemed quite right. I was not patient with my kitty when she threw up in my bedroom. I c...

 This spring I was disappointed that the four clematis vines I planted a year ago were not blooming as much as I'd hoped. Two of them had a few short-lived purple flowers, but the other two seemed to be putting all their energy into vines. Until last week, the whole entrance area on the south side of my place was covered with lush vines. It was beautiful, but I kept telling them silently that I wished they'd made more blooms. Then suddenly everything was covered in white, and now there are thousands of blooms. I'd forgotten that two of the vines were fall-blooming! And they are doing themselves proud. It's made me think about timing. There are so many subtle influences in the world that nudge us one way or another. Why some clematis vines know to flower in the spring, and others in the fall is a mystery to me, though I'm sure scientists have an answer. We can assume that earthly influences like warmer temperatures spur perennial plants to begin growing again. The sa...