the talk of the trees

The pines reach into the sky with determination -- they are straight, narrow and top heavy with their boughs. Like enormous butterfly nets, they catch the breeze and in this moment they call out to me. Like the old wooden floor boards squeaking under your feet, or the wicker chair exhaling as you sit down, and the violin being tuned before the concert...W O W. I missed these sounds being on the plains. Yes, the cottonwoods sound like a rain as the winds jostles their leaves, and yes it is beautiful. But oh, the pines of my home state still my heart with their creaks and moans.

Who leaves the pine-tree, leaves his friend,
Unnerves his strength, invites his end.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Woodnotes"

the joy in being present

adventure with dog

Last night, Coop and I explored parts of Littlejohn Island that we had not been to before. I pretended nothing was off limits and walked through the woods like I used to do before the big houses were built on the tip of the island in the pines. It was just getting dark and we were very quiet. 

It's amazing to me that when I'm out in the woods, exploring and getting dirty by myself, I feel the sparks of childhood still deep and strong in my soul. Why do so many people lose this as time passes? Business suits replace muddy overalls and suddenly wonder, imagination and silliness have vanished. I will never let this happen. Don't let it happen to you. 

The light before the sun set framed every living thing in a glow and we were soaking it up. Coop felt his animal instinct set in and his nose carried him from tree, to mud flat and beyond. I followed carefully and  quietly, enjoying every second of light before the darkness settled in for the night. 

this morning in Maine

I have not been posting a lot because I have been outside breathing in and out and in and out. The air this morning is heavy with dew and I feel like I can bite into it and swallow down Maine. It lives deep inside me. 

 

from NE to ME

I have made the journey back to Maine for the month of December. On the drive back, I counted red tail hawks, but lost track somewhere around 50 or so. 

The air is moist, smells of pine and salt. I cannot tell you how much my soul has missed it here. I think I may have a few Nebraska followers on this little blog, so here are a few shots from around my mother's house in southern Maine.  I am paying close attention to the trees here and am enjoying being back in the pine tree state. 

a recipe: roasted red pepper soup

Call your mom and say I love you. 

Have your husband call his brother and ask about roasting peppers.

Put some garlic in the oven, like you used to do when you worked in the kitchen at that place.

Mix up and keep mixing in flavors that you like.

Love your animals and thank them for waiting as you make the soup. 

Enjoy it on a cold early winter evening with your love. 

So This Is Nebraska

I have a friend here who loves Nebraska like I love Maine. When I read the poem below, I thought of my friend.

The poet Ted Kooser can make us all at least appreciate Nebraska. In his poems, he captures the essence of this place and no matter where you're from, or what landscape you consider beautiful, you can imagine beauty as you read each line of this poem. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

The picture is from my walk this morning at Nine Mile Prairie.

So This Is Nebraska
By Ted Kooser

The gravel road rides with a slow gallop
over the fields, the telephone lines
streaming behind, its billow of dust
full of the sparks of redwing blackbirds.

On either side, those dear old ladies,
the loosening barns, their little windows
dulled by cataracts of hay and cobwebs
hide broken tractors under their skirts.

So this is Nebraska. A Sunday
afternoon; July. Driving along
with your hand out squeezing the air,
a meadowlark waiting on every post.

Behind a shelterbelt of cedars,
top-deep in hollyhocks, pollen and bees,
a pickup kicks its fenders off
and settles back to read the clouds.

You feel like that; you feel like letting
your tires go flat, like letting the mice
build a nest in your muffler, like being
no more than a truck in the weeds,

clucking with chickens or sticky with honey
or holding a skinny old man in your lap
while he watches the road, waiting
for someone to wave to. You feel like

waving. You feel like stopping the car
and dancing around on the road. You wave
instead and leave your hand out gliding
larklike over the wheat, over the houses.

the art in quilts

I went over to the International Quilt Study Center and Museum this afternoon to see an exhibit on quilter Yvonne Wells. I love this one, called Going Home. You can see the whole exhibit here. Click on each quilt to see it close up and read what she said about each one. Beautiful.

through the fence

Beyond the protected tallgrass prairie are cornfields, cut down to the soil for winter, like when a dog gets shaved at the vet for surgery. The crows have finished picking through the dead corn stalks and are up in trees looking down at the deer who sprint across the fields in a panic. I stopped and watched through this barbed wire fence. The land I stood on must mourn for the loss of these neighboring acres. 

 

passing through

Aaron and I spent some time in the car last week, passing through Nebraska, Iowa and Minnesota. We didn't talk much, driving through this moon-like landscape. We were mesmerized by the steady turning of the turbines.

 

bark totem

vacant nests, golden prairie

The golden colors of the prairie this morning were so warm, like freshly baked bread. The wind picked up and I could imagine the pioneer women in their long dresses getting blown about in the strong winds of the plains. The bare tree branches swayed in the wind, and vacant nests held on tight. 

 

will you make sure to take notes on small happenings?

I'm away next week and this blog will be, too. Will you be sure to take notice of the deer tracks, the butterfly wing, and the cracked honey locust seed pods while I'm gone? Or, in the early morning, will you hear the sound that the last leaves make as they sail downward to frost covered grass?  What about the smell of cold as the day begins to disappear in the late afternoon? I know you will. I'll be back soon.

BURRrrr Oak

This morning on my walk, this Burr Oak pointed the way for me. I had only a few minutes to take this picture before globs of heavy wet snow fell from the darkening sky. The temperature dropped and I quickened my pace to get back home. Any day I can spend a few hours in the woods is a good day, regardless of the weather.  

making soup

in the prairie, in the wind, continued...

Pawnee Eagle Corn

Look at the lower kernels -- you can see the blue eagle in flight. I've never seen anything like this. It's beautiful corn and you should read more about it here.

in the prairie, in the wind

walk into me

Cooper, smiling into the wind

movement