Another winter storm in NW Arkansas

Here we go again. Winter storms like this used to be rare in Arkansas, but not so over the last couple of years. At least this one was more snow than ice and the power stayed on. At first it was freezing rain which turned to sleet and then to snow. All and all, we received about one-third inch of ice and then five inches of snow. Here are a few pics I took. At the end of the first day we had a pretty blanket of snow that made our patio somehow festive even in January.





For those of you who know her, here is Talulah in the water garden.

Statues look somehow comical in the snow. We have another one near the upper part of the water garden who is supposed to be blowing something in her hand. I've photographed her before. She had icecycles dripping off her toes..                                                                                                                      How about a nature shot . . . below is a witch hazel tree between our driveway and house. Witch hazel is an interesting small-statured tree. Interesting because it blooms in the winter. There are two species in Arkansas; I think this one is Hamamelis virginiana, or common witch hazel, as opposed to Ozark witchhazel. Here are two pics: one with the flower buds encased in ice and sort of magnified by it. The other is a flower that, I think, bloomed today, because there was no snow or ice on it. The petals are only about a centimeter long (2.5 cm to an inch) and look up close like gaudy Mardi Gras decorations. The woody fruit dries over the summer, winding it's fibers down like a coiled spring. When conditions are right in early fall, the fruit splits explodes open under pressure, flinging the two seeds up to 30 feet away.  Extracts from the stems and bark were used by Indians and later by Europeans as an astringent to stop bleeding or swelling among other things. It is still used commonly in shaving lotions, acne medicine, and hemorroidal creams. We have a bottle of it right now in our medicine cabinet. I have no idea why and have never used any.

 

As I walked around my place, I noticed these speckles on the fresh snow (see below). As I looked more closely, I realized the speckles were freshly dispersed seeds from the sycamore tree in my front yard. Sycamore trees produce round, dangling fruit in the fall that look like brown Christmas ornaments hanging all over the tree. The seeds are crammed into this hard little ball and are not released for a while. In fact, it is oftentimes not until early spring when the seeds are released. I've never really seen them being released and would not have noticed these had it not been for the white background provided by the snow. These seed will seep into the soil surface as the snow melts to be ready to germinate this spring. In fact, the tree that produced these seed itself came from a sycamore ball that I pulled off a tree along the creek at the back of my land. I broke the ball apart and sowed the seed in a flat in the greenhouse. It produced a small lawn of sycamore seedlings. I planted three of these in my yard about 25 years ago. Two were cut down over the years and this is the sole survivor, now producing its own crop of seed.

Here's the seedling grown up about 40 feet tall: 















Seeds are important, not only for making next years seedlings, but also as food for birds and small mammals. These left over seed heads are from Sawtooth Sunflower, a native

perennial that loves the wet, boggy area behind our back yard. Encased in ice, these seeds are unavailable for birds during this rather desperate weather event for wildlife. Fortunately for the birds, there is an ample supply of berries up and down the fence rows of our street--from a rampant weedy shrub called privet (below). This is a European ornamental that has escaped into the American countryside and displaced a lot of our native vegetation. Join me in learning to love to hate this escaped alien plant. But that's a whole other blog . . .
                          

 

 Then there is the native Buckbrush or Indian Currant. This grows along the edges of woods throughout Arkansas and Oklahoma, and planted itself along the back of our house. It is great food for deer, quail, turkey and lots of song birds. The berries are somewhat magnified by the ice.

And check out the frost on these buttonbush fruit (Cephalanthus occidentalis). Buttonbush is native to moist areas along creeks, rivers, ponds, and lakes. But it likes our yard just fine, and is--hands down--our best shrub for butterflies. They flock to the round white blossoms in the summer. So do other insects. I have a photo of a bright green tree frog lying in wait in the green foliage quietly eying its next meal of some unaware pollinator (see post on Tree Frogs in this blog for June 24, 2009) . All of those characters are somewhere laying out the winter right now; summer flowers and insect meals seem far away when you look at this photo.

I also saw Julie's lavender plant that's been growing in that spot for several years now. A really fragrant herb that is incredibly tough--the snow graces the lovely lavendar leaves but does them no harm.



 Here's an old bell attached to our shade house, sharing a post with twining trunks of trumpet vine. This is the very bell that my mother would ring when I was a kid to call me in for meals as I played with my friends in the woods behind my house. The bell is now cracked and doesn't really work. You'll have to ask her if it ever did work in rousting me out of those woods.

We have lots of gray squirrels around our place. They grow fat off the leftover dog food in the dishes and rob the bird feeder. Our dogs seemed to have lost their fascination with chasing them. Every now and then I see a fox squirrel pass through. These are the kind we had where I grew up in southeastern Oklahoma. I think they are more handsome than the grays, what with that big bushy, reddish tail. It seems this one had a close shave with some trouble. Check out the reverse mohawk down his back.

 

 Well, that's about it for now. I'll leave with a moon rise over the snowy Boston Mountains that we saw at the end of the day.

 Check out the beauty in your own backyard soon. Peace . . .








                          

Snow

It’s January again and we are experiencing, in NW Arkansas, our third or fourth snow of the winter. I’m already losing track. Not a big deal for Northerners, but significant for us. Even more significant is the temperature and windchill: At 7:08 AM right now on a Thursday, it is 9^o F, with a wind chill of -7^o. It is projected to be -1^o when I awake tomorrow, with a high of 9^o. Pretty chilly for the mid-South. I’m glad of two things right now. First, that I am not experiencing temperatures like those in Minnesota and the Dakotas. Secondly, that we are not under a layer of ice, as we were this time last year—see last January’s blog.

We had a pretty, 3-inch snow on Christmas a couple of weeks ago—the first white one here since 1983, the year I moved into this house. Here is a poem from a contemporary poet, named George Bilgere. He writes poetry I can digest. Google him and check it out. Some of you may be put off by this poem, especially wives, and perhaps grown children, but it is sweetly philosophical for me.

Snow

A heavy snow, and men my age
all over the city
are having heart attacks in their driveways,

dropping their nice new shovels
with the ergonomic handles
that finally did them no good.

Gray-headed men who meant no harm,
who abided by the rules and worked hard
for modest rewards, are slipping

softly from their mortgages,
falling out of their marriages.
How gracefully they swoon—

that lovely, old-fashioned word—
from grandkids, pension plans,
winters in Florida.

They should have known better
than to shovel snow at their age.
If only they’d heeded

the sensible advice of their wives
and hired a snow removal service.
But there’s more to life

than merely being sensible. Sometimes
a man must take up his shovel
and head out alone into the snow.

George Bilgere's latest book, Haywire, won the May Swenson Poetry Award in 2006, and he received the Ohioana Poetry Award in 2007. He lives in Cleveland, Ohio, and teaches at John Carroll University.

The Awe-Inspiring Beauty of Nature (let's call a truce).

I am routinely struck by intricacies in nature that I see as I go about my day. I am literally awed by many of the things that I observe or learn about. As awe-inspiring as our natural world is, I am convinced that it is only a shadow of the beauty and complexities of heaven, which are really only reflections of God Himself.

The Depression-era hobo of the desert Southwest, Everett Ruess, [thanks, Dustin, for bringing him to my attention--see Adventure magazine, from National Geographic, the April/May, 2009 issue] wrote to his brother from Southern Utah or Northern Arizona saying, "I've seen almost more beauty than I can stand." I don't think Everett--or anyone on earth--has seen the half of it.

And it's too bad, this enmity between people of faith and people of science. The Christian knows God but often understands poorly the many natural reflections of His glory; the scientist understands the creation, but often not the Creator. Perhaps some dialog between them--and some mutual respect!--would be of benefit to both sides. If the people of faith would quit trying to protect God from Science [He does not need the "help".]. And if scientists would quit trying to protect science from God, maybe more people could learn to see God in His greater glory, and appreciate nature for all that it is.

Where Geometry, Biology and Poetry Meet

Here is a little poem about lost love from Robert W. Service that should be a humerous brush-up in geometry (and biology) for you . . . enjoy.

Maternity

There once was a Square, such a square little Square,
And he loved a trim Triangle;
But she was a flirt and around her skirt
Vainly she made him dangle.
Oh he wanted to wed and he had no dread
Of domestic woes and wrangles;
For he thought that his fate was to procreate
Cute little Squares and Triangles.

Now it happened one day on that geometric way
There swaggered a big bold Cube,
With a haughty stare and he made that Square
Have the air of a perfect boob;
To his solid spell the Triangle fell,
And she thrilled with love's sweet sickness,
For she took delight in his breadth and height--
But how she adored his thickness!

So that poor little Square just died of despair,
For his love he could not strangle;
While the bold Cube led to the bridal bed
That cute and acute Triangle.
The Square's sad lot she has long forgot, And his passionate pretensions . . .
For she dotes on her kids--Oh such cute Pyramids
In a world of three dimensions.

-- Robert W. Service (1874-1958)

It's Just the Kind of Day I'm Wanting

There are three things, lately, that I've noticed about myself. And that is that I place high value in these things: beauty, wonder, and contentment. Beauty includes not just the physical beauty of some people (we are inundated with that by the media), but beauty in nature, in art, and in music, for instance. Even fragrances. I try to stop myself and literally "smell the roses" (i.e., any fragrant blossom that I come across)--and if I'm too busy for that, then I'm too busy!

And the wonder of it all. To take the time to be amazed by things, to ponder the intricacies of things, and to see God's hand in wondrous things.

Contentment, however, is a little more tricky. Discontentment plagues us when things do not pan out like we'd hoped--when expectations and reality do not overlap. The way I see it, there are two ways to combat our discontent: we can either reduce our expectations, or we can be philosophical about our disappointments.

An extensive scientific study was done several years ago by some sociologists who wanted to know who were the most happy, contented people on the planet. They studied diverse cultures all over the world--urban, rural, rich, poor, sophisticated, backward, first-world, third-world, etc. The conclusion was that the most happy people were those who had almost nothing, but who expected almost nothing. These were third-world people who first-world people would pity--for their lack of prosperity--but were none-the-less more content than others. Most were in poor, tropical countries like those in Central America.

The key, the researchers found, was that their relatively poor "realities" best matched their relatively low expectations of life. In our 21st Century USA, having genuinely low expectations is not realistic, what with our culture, our media marketing machine, etc. For Americans, contentment is probably more attainable by mentally "taking it all in stride". By putting things in context--in perspective--we can re-orient our thinking so our attitudes do not suffer from the little things that go awry, while forgetting the big things that are still on track. That's why a funeral now and then is good for the soul (someone else's funeral, that is!). Also, why a trip to a third-world country (not the tourist spots) is also good for gaining perspective.

Thanksgiving (focusing on all the good parts of your life), too, is a great means of promoting contentment.

For the Christian, regularly focusing on what the Gospel means to our future is a powerful attitude adjustment. The Apostle Paul told his protege, Timothy, "But godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that." And to his friends in the town of Philippi he wrote, "I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength."

Of course, lack of things or money or food are not the only sources of discontent. It could be our situation (family circumstances, family individuals, job, where we live, etc.). Many of these are things we can't change anyway. Like the weather.

My dad, the late Dr. Charles K. Holland, loved "the people's poet" of his generation, Robert W. Service. He passed that love on to me. Here's an appropriate one for you to chew on. Don't mind the ol' timey language with the Scottish brogue; and don't worry, Service wrote light verse, not the deep, incomprehensible kind.

Contentment

An ancient gaffer once I knew,
Who puffed a pipe and tossed a tankard;
He claimed a hundred years and two,
And for a dozen more he hankered;
So o'er a pint I asked how he
Had kept his timbers tight together;
He grinned and answered: "It maun be
Because I likes all kinds o' weather.

"For every morn when I get up
I lights me clay pipe wi' a cinder
And as me mug o' tea I sup
I looks from out the cottage winder;
And if it's shade or if it's shine
Or wind or snow befit to freeze me,
I always say: 'Well, now, that's fine . . .
It's just the sort o' day to please me.'

For I have found it wise in life
To take the luck the way it's coming;
A wake, a worry or a wife--
Just carry on and keep a-humming.
And so I lights me pipe o' clay,
And though the morn on blizzard borders,
I chuckle in me guts and say:
'It's just the day the doctor orders.' "

A mighty good philosophy
Thought I, and leads to longer living,
To make the best of things that be,
And take the weather of God's giving;
So though the sky be ashen grey,
And winds be edged and sleet be slanting,
Heap faggots on the fire and say:
"It's just the kind of day I'm wanting."

-- Robert W. Service (1874-1958)