Category Archives: Nature

Dreaming of Oz

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Dorothy singing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow"

Dorothy singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”

I was eighteen years old before I realized that the classic 1939 Wizard of Oz movie was not filmed entirely in black and white. I had watched it every year of my childhood on our sturdy black and white television, enchanted every time by the magic of the Land of Oz and Dorothy’s adventures there. When I returned home for Easter vacation from my first year at college, I settled in front of our new luxury item, a color television, to watch my favorite movie. Of course, the movie starts in sepia tone, close enough to black and white for me not to notice the difference, and I dreamed along with Dorothy as she sang of a land “somewhere over the rainbow.” Imagine my shock and surprise that matched her own when she opens the door of her wind blown house and stands breathless before the colorful landscape of a new world.

Dorothy looking into Oz

Dorothy looking into Oz

Like Dorothy, I feel as if I am standing on the threshold of a new landscape, though I must pass through the long storms of winter before I can step into it.  The Christmas decorations are put away and the house has lost its festive air. The romance and beauty of fresh snow fall has degenerated into rough trampled paths through the woods punctuated by dark bare trees and a leaden gray sky. It is the black and white and sepia tone world of every day life. But the seeds to this year’s garden have arrived and I feel very much like Dorothy, standing in her monotone world while peering into the vibrantly colored Land of Oz.

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It may be a long passage of winter months before I can cross that threshold into the rainbow land of my garden, but the seeds I hold in my hand become a magic carpet in my imagination that will eventually carry me there.

Video clip of Dorothy opening the door to Oz

Video clip of Dorothy singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”

Related posts:
Planting a Seed
The Space Between

Adjusting the Trajectory

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Trajectory:
1: the curve that a body (as a planet or comet in its orbit or a rocket) describes in space

2: a path, progression, or line of development resembling a physical trajectory <an upward career trajectory>
~from the Merriam-Webster Dictionary Online

Janus sculpture in the Vatican Museum

Janus sculpture in the Vatican Museum

A new year. An opportunity to take stock, to reflect, and to adjust one’s trajectory.  In one sense, this new year is a change of calendar date, nothing more. But symbolically and perhaps tuned to some inner clock within the human race, it is also the moment in which we declare a boundary in time, a stepping over an invisible line between then and now. Janus, the Roman god of gates and doors who presides over all beginnings and transitions, is represented by a two faced head, looking in opposite directions; the month of January is named for him.

Diving Trajectory

Diving Trajectory

I love the idea of adjusting one’s trajectory – small adjustments leading to profound change over distance, in the case of moving objects, or over time, in the case of changing one’s life curve. I know from experience that small adjustments work well for me and now is the time to consider what those adjustments might be. “Dripping water hollows out stone, not through force but through persistence.” (Ovid) The potential for a wonderful year lies before me – I’ve been granted a sabbatical from teaching in the fall and intend to spend most of the coming year in the fields and forests of western Pennsylvania, recording and photographing the fauna and flora for the resource material of my new musical project, A Year in Penn’s Woods, which I introduced in the post Wild Sounds.  Building up the stamina and strength required to carry out this ambition is the focus of this year’s resolve. I’ve already begun the adjustments, increasing my yoga practice, walking longer distances, changing some eating habits, and practicing using my camera and recording equipment so that it is second nature to manipulate it without hesitation.  Like Janus standing on the threshold of the new year, I can look back and see all the projects that have led me to this new and more ambitious one, and I eagerly look forward to connecting those experiences with the adventure that lies before me.

Blog of the Year Award 1 star jpegA special thanks to Kerry of Lightscapes Nature Photography Blog for his year-end gift of the 2012 Blog of the Year Award. (you can read more about the ‘Blog of the Year 2012’ Award here) Kerry is an extraordinary photographer who generously shares his experience and his adventures in capturing images of the American landscape. His work is exceptional and every post is a “must read” and “must see” experience. The care and attention that he gives his work is an inspiration to me and has challenged me to improve my photography skills to a higher standard. I encourage you to visit Kerry!

Since this is an award that is to be passed on, I nominate Ogee at Gardens for Goldens, “a Memorial Garden to help honor and rescue Golden Retrievers.” Ogee and her colleagues maintain a lovely garden in California as part of their efforts for the rescue of Golden Retriever dogs, whom they heal and place in new homes.  Not only is the garden a delight, the stories and images of the dogs strolling through the garden are compelling and heartwarming. Please visit Ogee and enjoy her wonderful and compassionate blog.

Finally, I want to thank all of my readers and followers. Your visits and words of encouragement are bright lights in my daily life, and inspire me to continue to think, to write, and to share.  I wish you all the wisdom and patience to live with joy in a world of change.

“I wanted to change the world. But I have found that the only thing one can be sure of changing is oneself.” ― Aldous Huxley

“When people are ready to, they change. They never do it before then, and sometimes they die before they get around to it. You can’t make them change if they don’t want to, just like when they do want to, you can’t stop them.” ― Andy Warhol

A special thanks to goodreads.com for such a wealth of wonderful quotes.

Winter 12/21/12

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Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice.  ~Robert Frost

The wind howling outside my window woke me up early this morning.  WInter is on its way to Western Pennsylvania, after sweeping through the Midwest and laying a trail of snow across the country. It is still warm and wet here this morning but that is predicted to change in a few hours, a change carried by the wind that is now shaking the bare treetops in a wild dance. I am of two minds about winter. When there is snow and ice, it is breathtakingly beautiful but also dangerous. When there is no snow and ice, it is brown and gray but less harsh as well. Perhaps I enjoy both and the constant shift between.  As I contemplate another winter solstice, one surrounded by a great deal of speculation, fear, and hope, I offer a song that I featured last year at this time. Enjoy the return of longer days.

You can’t get too much winter in the winter.  ~Robert Frost

For the Love of Layers

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Moravian Star

Moravian Star

As I decorate the Christmas tree in the family room, I am suddenly struck by the process.  Coming off of a semester that was a roller coaster ride of depths and heights, accompanied by occasional screams of fear and exhilaration, I finally have time to return to quiet moments and friendly celebrations. A little weary, but still smiling, I turn to welcome the rituals of the season.

As if I were doing this for the first time, I had to ask myself how to dress the tree – where to start? how to proceed? Oh, of course, start with the lights. Take time to test each strand and then drape it through the tree boughs. As I was tying in the strings of tiny white lights, they reminded me of pattering percussion – suddenly I realized that decorating a Christmas tree was really about the art of layering. And the art of layering has been an aesthetic pursuit in my garden, my music, and my everyday life.

The coffee table held the treasures, shiny and dull, textured and glossy, a cornucopia of collected bits and pieces that state a theme, a color palette, and my own take on how they fit together. I have thought more than once that my deep affection for Christmas and the decorations that go with it are really the deep need of the gardener deprived of her living palette, finding winter surcease in filling the house with faint echoes of summer’s bounty.

This particular tree has a woodland theme, all green and brown and copper. The tree itself is a firm structure with a defined shape, a good starting place from which to build. The lights spread throughout it to form the first layer, carefully distributed throughout the green branches. The next layer is the shiny reflective surfaces of simple round balls, hung deep inside the branches to reflect the light without drawing undue attention to themselves.

Now the stars come on stage – those collected whimsies of fuzzy bears and raccoons, glass owls and foxes, ceramic and feathered birds, copper birdhouses, and benevolent woodland Santas. They get first pick on advantageous branches that showcase their unique appearance. The supporting cast comes next, dark metal dragonflies, hammered stars, dried mushrooms and pinecones, to fill in the open places like the lower brass of the orchestra with their deep hum and supporting presence. The final layers spiral around the tree in the winding lengths of feather and glitter garlands, topped in the end by a metal Moravian star, perched like the cherry on a sundae. I step back, seeing each layer contribute to the whole, a panoply of rich muted color, texture, and shine – a gestalt of glitter and gladness.

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I think of how often I create music and gardens in much the same way – starting with the permanent anchors that give structure, painting soft washes of color around them, then playing and experimenting with shifting points of colors, texture, and sparkle, layering  combinations that spiral into a larger whole. It evolves into a creation that is bigger than the sum of its parts but which is still composed of all those little parts nonetheless.

As I begin to celebrate the season, I reflect that this is just one more lesson to learn, one more construct to understand. I step back and look on the tree, now fully dressed in its finery, and realize that it is an expression of a love of layers and the magical way in which they hide and reveal themselves when seen from various points of view. Perhaps the crowded and seemingly chaotic past few months in my life will reveal this same spiral of layers, hiding and unveiling new beauty and new insights if I can step back far enough to see the whole structure.  For today, I am simply inspired by a tree of lights and color and content to enjoy the coming weeks of joy and celebration. Peace.

Quiet, not Silence

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Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all ~ Emily Dickinson

moonThe silence this morning was deafening. The dark days are upon us in the northern hemisphere – each bright day shrinking, each dark night expanding, until the solstice shifts the tide in a few weeks.  A full moon and its subsequent reduced appearances have awakened me each morning long before daylight.  I admit to a modest glass of chardonnay sipped yesterday morning at 5:30 A.M. – the moon was so bright that I couldn’t sleep, it seemed more like night than morning, and so I paid homage to its lingering light. Balanced on the edge of night and morning on an unseasonably warm night, the moon and stars ruled the pre-dawn sky.

This morning, however, the moon had already set and I stood in the dark before dawn, with no dawn “chorus.” A moist and silent cloud of dampness filled the air – no birds, no insects, no creature noises filled the void, only a distant hum of traffic.  Who is up and about at 5:30 A.M.?  And so a damp cloak of emptiness became a shroud of sorts.  I can do without sunlight but can I live in a silent world?  Isn’t that the real nightmare of the imagined apocalypse? Not the visual destruction but the absence of sound?

Now, at noon, a dozen birds have added their voices to the world.  Bluejays, cardinals, sparrows, woodpeckers, and hawks all spin their songs around me as Angel and I venture into the woods.  It is a comfort, to know that stillness and silence may dwell within but the murmur of the natural world goes on, each voice in its perfect place in nature’s orchestra. I sigh and something inside, a tight kernel of fear and tension, relaxes and dissolves.  I take a deep breath and enjoy the quiet murmur of nature’s world around me, every sound, every voice, every song present and accounted for.  All is well, and if it is quiet, that is the way of things in nature in this season.

Why most birds don’t sing in winter

And birds singing in winter.