Divine Hour

There is a Divine power

in the early hours.

The morning star a tiny twinkle,

yet bright enough to make your eyes crinkle.

 

The hoe’s sharp blade breaks the soil’s crust

and pulls back a dark moist mound before another thrust.

Pungent earthy smells blow past my nose.

Here is a good home for pea roots to grow.

 

Sacred seeds of possibility

planted by hands soiled with humility.

Tenderly placed within the prayer of earth’s fertile womb

asking for each to bud and bloom.

 

Oh the ambitious garden projects spring pushes us to complete!

The sky’s daylight is beginning to retreat.

The gardener’s body is stiff and bones ache.

Just one more row for goodness’ sake!

 

I rise with Divine power

of the birth hour.

Today’s tomorrow,

can’t be begged, bought or borrowed.

 

 

 

Any “birdie” home?

The hum of my early morning barn chores is temporarily paused to listen to the prayerful song of returning migratory birds. With each passing day a growing variety has been calling our home theirs. From the woods, I hear the unmistakable throaty flute-like song of the Wood Thrush. Not to be out sung an Eastern Phoebe, perched on its favorite Maple tree, joins in with a two-parted song that it is named for; “fee-bee, fee-bee”. The Phoebe family has been returning to the mud and grass nest they constructed under our eave for the past ten or so years. It’s the warbling, musical whistle coming from the direction of our prairie that turns my ear away from all the other melodies. The expressive song is soft and gentle. As I make my way to a good viewing position of the nest box mounted in the prairie, I see a glint of azure blue flicker on the ground. The most heavenly blue I know.  Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah, the bluebirds are back!

In the mid-20th century, the Eastern Bluebird numbers plummeted, mostly due to the depletion of nesting habitat. Due to the efforts of many organizations and nature loving people, the Bluebird population has rebounded. Gardeners are richly repaid for attracting Bluebirds to their yards as their diet consists almost entirely of insects. Long before backyard gardeners, farmers cultivated this beneficial friendship. In the beginning of the conservation work, farmers lead the way by creating “Bluebird Trails” on their land. Open fields near wooded areas are a favorite habitat. People once understood the importance of these interspecies relationships. Unfortunately, it seems to be something we have to relearn. My experience with the Bluebirds gives me hope.

Thanks to an environmentally conscious Uncle and his gift of a bluebird nest box, I became part of the efforts to bring their population back from the brink of extinction in the 1980’s. We banded fledglings, counted pairs and kept records on brood batches. I am eternally grateful for my early introduction to “Blue Birding”. I still have the gifted nest box. It’s nearly 30 years old and usually one of the first nest boxes of the dozen or more around our property to be claimed by a mated pair.

The delightful gentle greeting of the Bluebird’s song each spring reminds me of the worthiness in friendships. Relationships forged and fortified over time.  How together, each one saves the other. We must be vigilant of the fragile friendships we have with the natural world. I believe in the undeniable strength of our interrelatedness. It’s much better to think of ourselves as a part of the whole together than it is a piece apart. We are all living one life.

All I can say about my prayers for the Bluebird is that sometimes they are sturdy, built of wood and mounted on a high post with a predator guard.

Note: As the feature image above shows it’s always a good idea to attach entrance predator guards to help limit predation of the nest box.  Sassy kitty’s can put their paws in but they can’t reach down and get at the young birds. Remember to clean out the box after each brood has fledged. The bluebirds will build a new nest on top of the old nest material with each hatching (1-4 each season), raising the nest dangerously close to the entrance hole.

Earth’s Breath

On the cusp of this new season, Mother Earth’s breath smells of tender grass, sunlight and infinite possibility. Oh, the ambitious garden projects spring pushes us to complete in the light of one day! I’ve learned much about gardening over the years. All that collective wisdom can be summed up in one sentence. Garden chores may stiffen my bones but they soften the soreness in the world.

“In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.” ~ Margaret Atwood

Unknown Territory

Here in Northeast Wisconsin, warmer weather is arriving painfully slow. Spring makes an appearance then disappears, taking her green magic with her. This time of year we experience what I call Old Man Winter’s dark white. The extended transition time weighs heavy on the spirit of many folks. As each dark white day passes, the anticipation of spring  grows green in our hearts. We know spring will come but we worry about how long it’s taking to get here. It’s precisely this “knowing” that stirs up the crazy in people.

I watched a pair of robin’s, hopping through the snow, stopping occasionally on a grassy patch to cock their heads sideways and listen for worms. Later, they were bouncing through the branches of our crab apple tree gobbling down shriveled up fruit from last season. They don’t “know” when or where their next meal will come from, yet they survive on the unknown, living life in complete acceptance of what is.

Weather, a master at teaching non-judgment and surrender, gives us daily lessons on how to release control and follow the flow. The robin’s made it look easy. Following the flow is all about the awareness of whether you are flailing or floating through this fleeting moment.  To arrive at this place of complete surrender, give up the narrow mindedness of knowing and widen your mindfulness of the unknown—explore the great unknowns.

“It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”~ Mark Twain

Deep Softness

All winter under a white shawl of snow and cold Mother Earth’s dreams kept her buried in warmth below the frost line. The line is gradually melting away and I feel her stir beneath my feet. Her deep softness rising. All of Mother Earth’s children are opening. Our brothers and sisters living in nature remember the gift of opening is to let light and warmth out as much, maybe even more, as it is to let it in.  Spring, the season for our deep softness to rise and shine.

Spring Heraldry Poem

On this, the calendars last day of winter,

my glance is drawn toward the bouncing crab apple branches to my right.

They’re laden with a feast of red wrinkled berries for a winged-one.

I saw the round bird’s gray-brown feathers with warm orange under parts flutter joyfully by.

On wings of anticipation the migration prayer has been consummated.

Springs ambassador has returned!

The vernal song hibernating within us is aroused.

“Cheerily, cheer up, cheer up, cheerily, cheer up”! The Robin sings.

On this, the calendars first day of spring.

 

American Robin photo by Dave Menke- US Fish and Wildlife (public domain)