Cattail Glory

April 6, 2018April 6, 2018 ~ Beth ~ 2 Comments

In this season between seasons, when it’s not really winter but doesn’t really seem like spring either, the changes occurring in the natural world are sometimes very subtle. Yet, I have learned, they are there. Nothing is really sitting still. Everything is silently, gradually, almost imperceptibly, readying itself for when it’s time to burst forth into newness of life. It does require my camera and I to look harder on these days when a walk still requires me to wear the old winter hat and mittens, but the discoveries we do make of coming spring are only that much more triumphant.

Today I take note: The last of the cattails that have been neat little brown cylindrical sausages on sticks all winter are finally, after months of wear by wind and snow, disintegrating into downy halos of seed. They are dying, giving up of the very last of themselves. Soon the bare stalks will turn soft as well, bowing to the swamp below them nevermore to rise again.

But we all know that somewhere, in other bare nooks in the swamp, baby cattails will spring forth from the downy fluff these tired old stalks are releasing to the wind. There would be no continuance of life if they held onto the gift they possessed; it is only in the letting go that life will go on. They release the old, looking forward unto the new and better things to come—and in the late afternoon sunshine, it’s as though they’re crowned with glory.

“But this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth to those things which are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. .” (Philippians 3:13-14, KJV)

Frosted

February 26, 2018 ~ Beth ~ 3 Comments

When I was a young, aspiring baker, my mother taught me how to frost cookies and cakes. It’s an experience that I remember with striking clarity because, in her kitchen, not just any frosting job would do. Frosting (the verb, not the noun) was not merely a job to get done. It was an art form.

We started with the least fussy of surfaces, a simple 9×13 cake. She taught me how to spread the frosting evenly, thick to the edges but not quite touching the sides of the pan, never letting your knife touch the actual cake. If you did it right, there was this beautifully rounded smooth edge to the whole sweet mass. Then, you went back over the whole thing and made rows of dips or swoops, evenly but quickly so it didn’t look like you tried too hard. If you did that part right, it looked as effortless and beautiful as the wind-tossed waves of sun-kissed lake. If you didn’t—well, let’s just say that’s what my first attempts looked like.

From there we graduated to different surfaces, different kinds of frosting. Whipped cream allowed the greatest abandon of perfection, and was great fun—but one still had to fuss with it a bit, because it still needed to look artsy. Meringue was where deeper dips were needed to create the desired peaks; extra points if those peaks curled at the tips. Glaze required wrist flicking, and the artful contriving of “even” drips all around.

Shaped sugar cookies were the final test of my basic skills, and true sign that I was about to graduate. The technique was just like a cake, only applied with the tippiest-tip of a butter knife, maintaining that smooth rounded edge all around varied curves that included the narrow length of gingerbread arms and complicated crystaled forms of snowflakes. You never scraped you knife on the edge of a cookie. That was what the edges of the frosting bowl were for.

Once I’d mastered that, you’d think I’d arrived—but not so! That’s when I started poring over her folder full of Wilton cake decorating books. I’d hover around the table with my siblings, watching with fascination as my mom turned the sides of a layer cake into a woven basket and created three-dimensional roses on the end of a giant nail for our picture-perfect birthday cakes. It was time to advance to a whole new level.On mornings when I wake up to a frosted world, I can’t help thinking back to what it was like learning to frost. I enjoyed learning, but mastering the techniques certainly didn’t happen overnight. This refined coating of a thousand minute crystals deposited by a sudden drop in temperature, on the other hand, does.

I love how God makes something we have to work so hard to do right look so stunningly effortless.

“He gives snow like wool; He scatters the frost like ashes.” (Psalm 147:16)

Porcupine

January 17, 2018January 17, 2018 ~ Beth ~ Leave a comment

Oh, to be a porcupine up in a tree,

a conspicuous ball of black against the blue,

placidly nibbling tree buds,

oblivious to the -25 wind chill,

whose only response to a curious passerby ankle deep in snow

(after that twinkling in his eye—or was I imagining that?)

is to curl up into a slightly tighter ball,

just to be sure I didn’t forget that he had nothing to be afraid of underneath all that spiky armor.

But I suppose that since I can’t be a porcupine

I can be a city on a hill instead, or maybe a lamp on a stand—or maybe both at once, since they have so much in common.

Especially the way a city glows after dark,

conspicuous for miles around in it’s reflections up to the heavens,

placidly humming with all the activity that makes it a city,

stoplights constantly switching colors,

brake lights flashing and turn signals blinking,

people closing the blinds at night so they can sleep in spite of the constant glow of lampposts.

Cities, like porcupines, don’t really know who might be wearily traveling

down long highways way off in the darkness,

gazing at the lights,

moving towards them and their promise of things to eat and places to lay their heads—

but they shine on steady through the night anyway.

“You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.” (Matthew 5:14-16)

Frost Fire

January 1, 2018January 1, 2018 ~ Beth ~ 2 Comments

There’s a new year rising, about ready to break over the horizon just like the sun was on this breathtakingly frosty morn.

What will it hold?

Naturally, not one of us can predict exactly. We can talk, dream of and discuss plans, goals and resolutions until the clock strikes midnight—but no one really knows what will happen. This we do know, however:

“Commit your work to the LORD, and your plans will be established.” (Proverbs 16:3)

Because of that, just as the hoary treetops turned to fire, aflame with the hope and oncoming glory of the new day, this new year can be bright with hope on your horizon, too. No matter what it holds, if we acknowledge Him each step of the way—be it exciting, ordinary or difficult—He will make our path straight. Cling to that!

Whitetail Buck

November 6, 2017 ~ Beth ~ Leave a comment

It should be noted that, since there is no hunting season on shooting photographs, I generally secure my photographic venison on whatever random day of the year and in whatever random location (such as my flower garden) it presents itself.

I actually took this one’s portrait back in July, when his antlers were still velvety knobs—but since it’s Hunting Season, which is as good as a national holiday in this neighborhood, it seemed like an appropriate time to join the fun and talk about the deer I “shot” this year, too. I suppose that the fellow above would hardly be considered a trophy, but like most hunters, I also find that the bucks are elusive and capturing one, however short his antlers may be, is something worth celebrating.

He was foolish enough to pause before bounding off with a woof, so he is literally my first buck, at least so far as I can tell for sure. See? There he went, after that long curious look, finally deciding to flee the lady with the giant black eye. He will, however, have to call upon more wariness than that if he doesn’t wish to be caught by his foolish hesitation and end up in small packages in someone’s deep freeze within the next couple weeks!

“The prudent sees danger and hides himself, but the simple go on and suffer for it.” (Proverbs 27:12)

Chipping Sparrow

September 10, 2017 ~ Beth ~ 2 Comments

I almost missed him there on the ground. Amidst the bark and leaves, the neutral shades of his feathers had blended in so well I literally almost stepped on him. Then, when I did notice him just in time, I wondered if something was wrong with him. Surely he would have flown away sooner otherwise? But I think he wanted his picture taken. I got within three inches with my camera before he finally took flight. Lucky for me, he seemed quite unafraid of the big black lens!

Sparrows are good to think about, especially when you’re feeling down, or overwhelmed, or forgotten. They are, as I found, the sort of creature one can almost step on if you’re not paying attention. Small, unassuming, modestly attired. Even in song, they attract little attention to themselves. Which is why this verse is so significant:

“Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father…So do not be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows. “ (Matthew 10:29, 31)

If He sees even the sparrows, you can rest assured that He sees, remembers and cares for you. So whatever your lot may be right now, take heart, dear friend!

Goldeneyes and a Chimney: a Birthday Tale

July 18, 2017July 18, 2017 ~ Beth ~ 1 Comment

“Why are there ducks zooming around and around our house?” I asked my husband between bites of pizza. It was our youngest daughter’s first birthday, and we were celebrating out on the porch. There was a chocolate cake resting in state on the kitchen counter, awaiting its demise, and the sunshine of a splendid June day was slanting long across the green fields. She was grinning happily as blueberry-purple-carrot puree dribbled down her chin onto her bib, oblivious to the fact that this was all supposed to be about her. “It’s almost like they’re playing or something.”

We see plenty of ducks flying around here, but they’re generally zeroing in on the lake–so this was odd. Around and around they went at top speed, wings whistling, tilting around the tree tops. I’ve never been to an airshow, but this kind of seemed like one. I moved my camera setting to Sports and attempted a few flying shots in vain. I couldn’t even find them in my viewfinder, let alone get a clear photo!

Then, as I stepped off the porch in hopes of a better vantage point, I noticed something else. Whenever they’d pass the garage, they’d kind of pause and flutter in around the chimney before taking off to resume zooming again. Not just once but every time. Now my curiosity was definitely piqued!I began creeping my way across the yard, in hopes of catching a photo during one of these chimney pauses. And then the plot thickened: as a couple of them were fluttering about, one landed… IMG_1935-1 poked its head in the chimney……and then disappeared! What?!

One of the other ducks fluttered confusedly about and then landed on the ridgepole. It eyed me suspiciously as though to inquire, “What did you do with my friend?” I took advantage of its distraction to get a good close shot before I ran back to the house.

“I think one of those ducks just went down the garage chimney,” I informed my husband. We both went to investigate. He opened up the chimney pipe and peeked inside. Nothing. He shrugged. I shrugged. Maybe I had been mistaken. We waited a few minutes, then turned to leave.

Ka-boom!

Without any warning, one winged body exploded from the chimney pipe, followed by another. Two ducks! In the garage! Bang! Crash! Suddenly everyone was ducking and running, yelling in excitement. A crack in a garage door was all they needed, however, and then they exploded out into freedom. I watched them settle onto the mirror glass of the sunset lake, shaking their little bodies as though to rid themselves of the memories of claustrophobic chimneys and dark unfamiliar garages.

Well, that was exciting. And now that we’d had our free entertainment for the evening, it seemed like a good time to break out the chocolate cake and the bird identification books and find out what kind of ducks they were and what they were doing. Did you know that common goldeneyes (the identification we finally settled on) are some of the few ducks that are considered “arboreal” which means that “much of its nesting is done in cavities found in mature trees”. Did they think that our garage chimney was a just another hollow tree? Seems like a reasonable explanation. But why so many of them interested in it all at once, this late in the season? This answer was not to be found in the books. If you know the answer, let me know!

Moral of the story: Some birthdays might just unexpectedly be for appreciating the sometimes taken-for-granted fact that on the fifth day “God said…”let birds fly above the earth across the expanse of the heavens.” So God created…every winged bird according to its kind. And God saw that it was good. And God blessed them, saying, “Be fruitful and multiply and…let birds multiply on the earth.” (Genesis 1:20-22)

The Voice of the Turtle

June 28, 2017July 18, 2017 ~ Beth ~ 2 Comments

painted turtle / rejoicing hills We like turtles around here. However, I must say that the biggest turtle enthusiast in our family is my husband. He’s the one who knows the interesting facts, has found rare turtles species in the wild and knows how to pick up a snapper without getting snapped. It’s an affinity that began for him in his childhood, and was one of the things I immediately liked about him when we first met—and still do.

If we’re lucky, one will come through our yard at some point around this time of year, looking for that perfect place to lay her eggs, and he’ll take the girls to trail along at a respectful distance to watch in fascination. He’ll turn our vehicle around when we pass one along the road, and go back to get a closer look. If said turtle happens to be toiling across the middle of a treacherous highway, he’ll help it the rest of the way across in hopes that it will avoid getting crushed by a car. Sometimes, if we’re not along, he’ll even bring a particularly interesting one home for the rest of us to see. I’ll hear him drive up, then call in through the door, “Hey, come on out here girls!” and I’ll know without him saying another word that he has a turtle to show us. He was totally using his I-found-a-turtle tone of voice. He’ll show the girls their pretty painted shells or how they can snap a stick in two, and then he tells them stories about the turtles he caught and saw when he was a boy. (Yep, he’s pretty cool.)

snapping turtle / rejoicing hills But me? While I do have nice childhood memories of watching for turtles sunning around the edge of a pond we passed during family walks, oddly enough, the first memory that comes to mind when I see a turtle is also one of the biggest Biblical disappointments I ever received as a child. There was a verse my mom would read us in the spring, from the beloved lyrical King James Version we were raised on. It goes like this:

“For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.” (Song of Solomon 2:11-12)

As a child, my imagination was completely captured by the idea that a turtle could have a voice. The turtles I knew did not make any sounds, so I imagined that the author was referencing some sort of exotic Middle Eastern variety of turtle, or even perhaps a variety of turtle that has since gone extinct. And since it was described as “heard in our land”, and referenced in poetry, surely that must mean that it was a distinctive and compelling voice. I imagined it as some cross between the sound of a crocodile and a frog, but a bit more musical.Imagine my disappointment, then, when one day we decided to dig a little deeper into the actual Greek behind the Scripture reference and found out that “turtle” was just an abbreviation for “turtle dove”. Of course that made more sense, but my childish fancy had been crushed. I never quite got over the disappointment.

Until—

A few years later, as an adult, I discovered that the Bible did support the idea of talking turtles.

“And I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and in the sea, and all that is in them, saying, “To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be blessing and honor and glory and might forever and ever!”“ (Revelation 5:13)

And just like that my fanciful notion became a future reality, and I went from being charmed by the idea to sort of quaking in my shoes at the awesomeness of it. One day, the voice of the turtle will be heard in the land, along with an innumerable host of others that are currently voiceless (skunks! salamanders! butterflies! etc!).

Now think about that.

View From a Hammock

June 19, 2017June 22, 2017 ~ Beth ~ Leave a comment

There’s a breeze coming in off the lake, this hot afternoon in early June. There’s blue sky smiling down at me through a lacy frame of green, green leaves. Summer is in the air, and I am, appropriately, drinking it in from the luxury of an airy vacation hammock. If the air is full of summer, the views are no less so—and so I offer you these vignettes, all visible, more or less, from my leisurely post.A kayak,

slice of orange against the liquid lake,

dreams of sliding through fleets of miniature maroon lily pads,

suspended on the dainty ropes of their anchored stems,

beneath the deep shadowy green of overhanging trees.A jeweled beetle climbs relentlessly upwards

as small hands tip a stick back and forth

and inquisitive eyes watch in fascination,

filling with tears when it finally loses patience

and flies away.Relentless waves

wash a thousand coiled empty snail shells

all the miles

down the long lake.

They come to rest here,

on this smooth spit of sand suddenly rising to block their path—

and so it becomes their final resting place.

And then, chubby baby hands clutch them tightly,

turning them around and around

and over and over

in sheer enjoyment of the sensory shape. Bare feet,

sandy,

dripping wet,

run up and down long flights of stairs,

earning the right to ice cream cones and fat slices of watermelon.Ducks dabble along the quiet green edges.

A family of geese tests the calm waters of evening,

with a babysitter in tow, just in case.Great clouds sail sedately by,

swimmers leaning back against the cushion of a swim trampoline,

squinting into the sunshine to watch them mesmerized,

rocked in the cradle of the waves,

laughing at a joke I’m too far away to hear.

And I leave my hammock to go join them. Because if there’s anything possibly better than celebrating our Father’s good gift of a beautiful day in the stillness of your own soul, it’s celebrating it with others.

“We were like those who dream…then our mouth was filled with laughter and our tongue with joyful shouting…The LORD has done great things for us; we are glad.” (Psalm 126:1-3)

“I will thank you forever, because you have done it. I will wait for your name, for it is good, in the presence of the godly.” (Psalm 52:9)

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All These Things

June 7, 2017June 7, 2017 ~ Beth ~ 1 Comment

This is the story of a search for morel mushrooms. Twice I went looking…Twice I returned empty-handed.But, in process of closely examining large stretches of forest floor in vain, I did make a lot of other wonderful discoveries. Once, I sat quietly staring into a stand of fiddleheads so long, a grouse thought I’d left and started drumming his log within ten feet of me. For just a minute, I thought my heart was palpitating—until I realized that he was really just that close. Then he exploded suddenly off into the woods when I tried to shift to a spot with a better view, which is, incidentally, when my heart rate did increase.I nearly stepped on the elaborate den of some creature (I’d like to imagine it a fox den, but it more likely belongs to far less charming skunks), and happened upon a wolf track, perfectly dried and preserved in last week’s mud. IMG_0886-01 I chanced upon a place where jack-in-the-pulpits preached in a woodland meadow to spears of blue flag leaves……and another where the wild plums were wreathed in clouds of frilly white.I didn’t find what I was looking for—but I did find so much more.

The search for the elusive edible delicacies of the forest will continue. One day, I’ll find what I’m actually looking for—and we’ll fry them up in butter and eat them—but even after that it will continue, because then they’ll be gone and we’ll want more. It’s one of those kind of searches, never ending, always new, always exciting. The desire is insatiable. If you don’t like morel mushrooms, I’m sorry that you won’t be able to identify with this, but if you do, you know what I mean.

And along the way, the search is always guaranteed to be fruitful.

Because, see, regardless of whether I came home with mushrooms or not, I did come home with my head and camera full of spring’s splendor flung glorious across the forest. (Such riches!) And I did find information to help me with future searches. (Now I know where they’re not, sigh.)

It reminded me, in a happy, unexpected sort of way, of another ongoing search I’ve been challenged to, one in which I continually search for one thing of great value and end up with so much more along the way.

“But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.” (Matthew 6:33)

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