December 16, 2023 by Beth

Ornaments Stir Memories, Gratitude

The ornaments hanging on our family Christmas tree hold memories of people we cherish, events from our lives, times past and present. Most were gifts from family members, close friends, and students whom I taught in middle school; all are meaningful.

As I hang them on our tree, memories flare to life. I recall the excitement and happiness of the gift givers, especially our young son and my students. Their faces, shining with excitement and joy to share their presents, were gift enough.

Some of the ornaments are handmade, such as the madonna and child that my sister cross-stitched when she was pregnant with her first child. A hand-knitted pair of tiny green-and-white mittens, a child’s wooden rocking horse, miniature Winnie-the-Pooh and Piglet figurines, and a sliver of a Santa moon are just a few of many special ornaments we received when our son was a baby. As he grew, he created his own decorations; from his toddler hand print and “Christmas countdown” paper chains, to a Nativity creche, candle, and beaded snowflake ornaments made in elementary school. He was so eager to show us his creations that it was hard for him to wait until Christmas!

Many of our ornaments symbolize nature’s gifts: Owls, warblers, black-capped chickadees, cardinals, a bumblebee, cricket, chipmunk, raccoon, miniature bears, Christmas acorns and pinecones. They evoke memories of hikes, biking trips, and quiet days spent at our cabin. I recall a family of barred owls raising a ruckus on a nightly hunt in the oak trees, the red fox family that lived under our porch one spring, wood thrushes’ morning chorus and the serenade of crickets on hot summer nights.

More than two dozen tiny red apples punctuate the branches with bright bursts of color. They are from former students and from my mother, who always finished her tree with the bright globes. This is our sixth Christmas without Mom. I recall the aromas of balsam fir and freshly baked Christmas cookies that scented our home each year as I grew up. Old-fashioned butter cookies, merry mincemeat bars, Christmas cake cookies and spritz are just a few of the treats that Mom baked each December. There are also jolly snowman ornaments that my dad gave to our son. They are happy-looking fellows that remind me of Dad, who died little more than three years ago. I miss him and we are so grateful for the joyful Christmas we shared together his last year.

Fragile glass and delicate handmade ornaments, created by a group of Ukrainian nuns, add a traditional touch to our tree. There are six soft-blue Wedgwood ornaments from my aunt. Old-fashioned glass icicles, teardrops, globes and other shapes glow in the soft white light. They stir my earliest childhood memory of Christmas: My brother and I would make a blanket nest under the lighted Christmas tree. In our darkened living room, we listened to Christmas carols and talked softly. We watched the multicolored lights and our reflections dance across the glass globe ornaments hanging above us. I felt peaceful and content. I never wanted the Christmas season to end.

In the yearly ritual of decorating our tree I experience, again, the love and joy of so many cherished people — both living and those no longer with us. I hold them close and bless each one in gratitude.

November 27, 2019 by Beth

Opt for Gratitude

Eastern tiger swallowtail (Papilio glaucus) and Joe-Pye weed (Eutrochium maculatum).

Gratitude is a choice, a state of heart and mind as clean and uncomplicated as a butterfly, or a sky-blue October day. It requires a shift from ruminating on the negative to touching all that is good about a particular moment. Gratitude is not Pollyannaism; one acknowledges that life is often difficult and sometimes unfair, but chooses to find and embrace joy and goodness anyway.

A perfect October day in Minnesota.

Gratitude is unique to each of us and our circumstances at a specific point in time. As we celebrate Thanksgiving Day, I am grateful for nature’s endless beauty, a stranger’s warm greeting, the radiant smiles of my niece’s baby and preschooler, my husband’s tenderness and patience, our son’s thoughtful calls, my aging dad’s mostly positive attitude, the kindness of my siblings and friends, and the insights and laughter of the women in my spirituality group. What inspires gratitude in your heart?

Monarch (Danaus plexippus) and common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca).

November 20, 2018 by Beth

For the Beauty of the Earth

For the beauty of the earth,
For the beauty of the skies,
For the love which from our birth,
Over and around us lies,
Lord of all, to thee we raise,
This our hymn of grateful praise.

The St. Croix River Valley near Afton, MN.

Being a lover of nature, this simple hymn became a favorite of mine the first time I heard it. The story is that in 1864, 29-year-old Folliot S. Pierpont was walking in the English countryside near the River Avon and was filled with joy by the beauty of creation. He composed a poem, originally titled “The Sacrifice of Praise,” that was set to music by Conrad Kochler (and later by others).

There is such natural loveliness, both simple and complex, all around us. If possible, take a few minutes to notice nature every day — whether you live in a city apartment, or a house in the country; whether it is autumn-going-to-winter, or spring-going-to-summer in your part of the world; whether you can just look out a window at the moon and sky, or are able to walk in the woods. And, if possible, share it with a friend, child, parent, spouse, neighbor or other companion. I find that it makes for a grateful heart and a lighter outlook on life. Here are a few images of late autumn nature in Minnesota. What delights you in nature where you live?

A spider web catches the sun on the bank of the Snake River in Pine County, MN.

Prairie native big bluestem or turkey foot grass at Woodlake Nature Preserve in Minneapolis, MN.

Milkweed seeds are abundant in late November.

Late afternoon sun glows on prairie grass.

Pink-tinged seed heads of native Joe-Pye weed add color to gardens and prairies.

The soft seed heads of asters attract many birds, such as cardinals, goldfinches, chickadees and nuthatches.

The sky’s beauty is more visible as the trees shed their leaves. Just a few apple leaves remain on our tree.

October 11, 2018 by Beth

Brightness in the Gloom

Maple and ash leaves contrast with gray skies and sidewalks on these gloomy days.

Cold, rainy, dark. These adjectives capture the weather and mood of the past three weeks here in Saint Paul, Minnesota. No blue October skies and warm afternoons so far, and none in sight, according to the National Weather Service. I hear lots of complaints from people to the tune of, “My grass is lush green, but I am so crabby;” or, “I just want to read and sleep all day;” or, a straightforward “I am so depressed!”

I don’t like it either and I understand these sentiments. Most of all, I miss gardening and walking outside. As dank as it is, my husband and I have walked in the rain a few times and I gardened in it for a half hour last Sunday. I feel happier and more energetic after I go out to garden or walk, even though I get wet. I’ve noticed others doing the same — students at morning recess in the mist, gardeners cutting back their spent plants, even a few people trying to mow saturated lawns in the persistent drizzle.

When we walked yesterday, I was struck by the contrast between the heavy sky and the splotches of color lighting up the gray sidewalks — maple, birch and ash leaves — their hues more vivd for being wet. The rain and strong winds tore down the leaves prematurely, but I am grateful for the beauty and glow of their colors on these gloomy days.

The leaves of the white ash (Fraxinus Americana) turn orange, red or purple in autumn.

June 9, 2017 by Beth

My Mother’s Peonies

In my mind’s eye, I see a cobalt blue glass vase holding three white peonies. It sits on a white linen runner that contrasts with the dark wood of an old mahogany table. The heavy scent of peonies fills the small dining room that is illuminated by a south-facing picture window. A few black ants crawl in and out of the many-layered petals, though we tried to shake them off outside.

Mom’s simple bouquet’s were perfect. Whether peonies, or other flowers, she fashioned a simple, understated arrangement of whatever bloomed in our back yard. I wish that I had photos of them, but only the memories remain — and they are mine alone. Mom does not remember much of the past because she has dementia. So, I tell her about the white peony bushes that grew at just the right height for me to breathe in their heavy perfume and stroke their silky petals. I speak of warm afternoons when I was very young and how we lingered in our garden to watch bees in the flowering almond, and looked to see if new seedlings had popped through the soil. I speak of the giant basswood tree that shaded the back yard and scented the evening air. Most importantly, I tell Mom how much I loved being with her in the garden.

This week, the first peony opened in my own back yard — white blooms first, then royal red and finally pink. I still touch their soft petals and smell their perfume. I remember with joy the days when I taught my own young son about nature, and I think of Mom with gratitude for all that she has given to me.

September 22, 2016 by Beth

September Days

Woodland sunflowers (Helianthus divaricatus).

The morning’s first light dawns purple, builds to a soft pink, then strawberry red. Crickets and other night creatures punctuate the mild air; the birds are quiet. As the sun climbs the eastern horizon, its light flares and glows green in the tops of river birches, maples and cottonwoods. There is only a hint of autumn color in the trees, but the wildflowers are dominated by gold — the gold of woodland sunflowers, goldenrod, a few butter and eggs. The first asters, purple and white, softly accent the gold. In the coolness of the morning, voices of early walkers rise from the sidewalk. “A beautiful morning for a walk!” women call in greeting to each other.

Plumes of Canada goldenrod (Solidago canadensis) surround a pond.

Butter and eggs, or common toadflax (Linaria vulgaris Mill) was introduced by European settlers in the 1800s. Unfortunately, its bright flowers are considered invasive.

Butter and eggs, (Linaria vulgaris Mill) was introduced by European settlers in the 1800s. Its bright flowers are now considered invasive.

Native heath asters (Symphotrichum ericoides) are at their peak bloom now.

Later, in the afternoon, I walk the hilly paths. The sun is warm, an easterly breeze is mild. Barn swallows twitter overhead, swooping and soaring in pursuit of small insects. At a nearby pond, a dozen Canada geese perch on a half-submerged snag and a green heron alights briefly at the tip top of a skeletal maple. Close to the ground, small butterflies flutter across the wildflowers bordering the pond.

A red admiral (Vanessa atalanta) sips nectar from New England asters (Symphotrichum novae-anglica).

I sit in the sun to breathe in the peaceful scene and soak up the sunlight. Its radiant heat soothes and relaxes. I miss it so much during the long winter. I wish these late-summer afternoons would never end. I am grateful to be outside surrounded by this abundance of life.

November 26, 2015 by Beth

Gray-Day Gratitude, Bright Autumn Colors

One morning last week, I walked in our garden between bouts of rain. I wanted to enjoy the warm, mild air before a cold front rolled in that evening. Chipmunks had retired to their underground dens, birds were quiet, and I saw no insects. The exposed wet earth in the gardens smelled almost as fresh and pungent as in spring. Oregano and sage still scented our little herb garden. (I miss the aroma of fresh herbs so much during the winter.) A few bright patches of color accented the beige, russet and brown of mid-November, tiny remnants of a beautiful summer and autumn. I am so grateful for gentle autumn days and memories of a lovely, bountiful growing season. What nature and garden memories bring gratitude to your mind and heart?