Green Tribe of Belonging

It was a warm day here in Iowa yesterday, in the mid-thirties. The sky was a light gray, no sun visible. I needed to go to the bank, so I drove across town, through city streets. And as I drove along, I was riveted by the trees. In a city, as opposed to a forest, there are thousands of trees that have had plenty of space to spread out in their own way. Every tree is different. Every tree has a personality of its own. And yesterday there was something radiating from the trees that took my breath away. There was an energy glowing around each tree. Really! I know this sounds like I was on an hallucinatory drug. But no, I was totally in my right mind. Actually, I've witnessed this before, mostly in the very early spring when it makes sense that something is moving in the trees, something anticipating spring. Today, in the middle of winter, it was there too. Part of me wanted to somehow warn the trees: don't believe this weather! It won't last! But then I realized that the trees...

 Last weekend, the folks in our Native Turf Helping Circle gathered around a table in the common house dining room. It was time to "clean" all the seeds that were harvested last fall from a variety of native flowers and grasses here at Prairie Hill. The seeds were still connected to the dried parent plant, or surrounded by fluff, or still in hard casings. This is a time-consuming activity made fun by doing it together. After two hours, we weren't nearly finished. But it is only January and we have lots of time before we will plant these little treasures. Working with them made us more aware of the whole story of the seed, tiny little bits of potential, ready to come to life with the right environment. Around a hundred million years ago, flowering plants first appeared on the earth. In contrast, humans have only been here for 200,000 years! It was a huge event when plants were able to evolve and become flowering (and hence seedbearing). Until then, early plants like ferns ...

 I've been doing research on seeds. It's that time of year. I've already sent off orders for scores of native prairie seeds as well as garden vegetable seeds. Even though it's the heart of winter, this is the time we start to think of spring! And from this latest research, it is clear that there are planetary issues about food and seeds, just like there are issues about so many other things. We already know that our home, the earth, is facing a growing number of threats in the near future. And we know that most of them have been caused by human activities and choices. You are probably all too familiar with the tug of war between folks who are trying to save the planet, and those whose short-term gain is more important than long term sustainability. This kind of news hits us in the face every day and it's not fun to think about. In this post and the next one, let's not focus on blame. Instead let's just look at the situation we have now, and use our imaginati...

 It's the time of year when I begin thinking about planting. The winter solstice is behind us now, and the days are getting a bit longer. At our solstice gathering here at Prairie Hill last week, we watched a demonstration of how the earth's tilt on its axis creates the seasons. And though our landscape here is covered in snow and temperatures are still very cold, we've started our path toward spring. Looking out my windows, I see just white around buildings, no green showing. The skies are the only real changing canvas, and they give a welcome show of clouds, sunset color and flocks of birds flying through. Everything else seems pretty dead and bleak, though we know that this is merely a dormant season and life underground and in holes or dens is just waiting for the temperature to trigger a renaissance.  At this time of year, we have to use our memories to remind us that this cold barren world is only a passing thing. The older I get, the more I get intimations that all l...

  Shadow Her soft, resonant name describes her nature, gentle, unassuming, quiet and steadfast, my sweet feline companion, shiny black coat  with a white patch under her chin. Curled up on my bed during the day or basking in the sun through a south window. She was the miracle kitty. One morning  she seemed almost dead. I rushed her to the vet where they connected her up to life-saving tubes and miraculously she survived, almost thrived. She had a heart murmur from the very beginning, and later an injury that gave her a lasting limp. We now limp around together in our home, Both of us putting up with our imperfections, though she is more patient than I. She has a streak of independence, so won’t tolerate being picked up. But on her own terms, she snuggles up to me when I am sitting up in bed, my notebook in hand, she in perfect comfort, purring, purring. Before sleep, when I’m reading in bed, she climbs to my side again, a loyal companion. When I turn off the light, she kn...

Wandering Moon looking through my window, Geranium blooms smile back at her. Wind whistling through fallen leaves, Clouds racing through the sky. Moon so very far away, Yet she feels just like a friend. Nights shaped by her circling glow, Days lit by her cousin the sun. As they wander across the skies, So we wander here on earth, Our footsteps moving through the grass, Their bright trails moving above our heads. All together, we make a world, Sun the father and moon the mother, Air the breath, soil the ground. Light and rain make us complete. A treasure-house of living forms, Wandering far through soil and air, Sacred family,  small and large. We all belong. This is our home. NF 12/5/22

 This  Thanksgiving holiday has connected me to my family. And when our family gets together we talk about our childhoods: how my dad would fall off his chair if we ate our beans, how we used to compete about how many ears of sweet corn we could eat in one meal. We shared memories of our school bus driver, of our classmates. Being with family seems to root me, to give me long deep roots. It reminds me that I belong somewhere.  This time the family experience reminded me of how I used to play outdoors. As I grew old enough to be on my own, rather than under a mother's careful watch, I could go anywhere I wanted on our big farm. My cousin John was just a year older than me, and he often led the way. We climbed up to the top of the silo and looked out across acres and acres of crop land. We built a tree house on the bank of the Wapsinonoc Creek and hung a bag swing off the tree so that we could swing over the creek. We went out to the middle of a corn field and ate soft smal...