Midnight on a Lake

It is after 1:00 in the morning as I write this.

I'm staying with some friends in a real life log cabin on a lake in Wisconsin for the weekend. We've spent our time tramping around in the boggy woods, building forts, kayaking, eating sloppy joes, star-tipping, and canoeing at midnight. Pretty cool.

This evening, after returning from going out on the lake, several of us just flopped down on the dock and stared up at the multitudes of stars. It's a clear night, and the lake is secluded, so we could see everything.

The first shooting star I saw, I automatically thought of a wish. But after it was gone, I felt unsatisfied. What's the point of wishing for stuff on a dying meteorite? It's just a rock! Instead, what if every time I saw a star, I spoke to the God who created all the flying objects up there? A prayer for each brilliant streak across the sky...

Another celestial light zipped across the Milky Way. Floating beneath a canopy woven by a Creative Genius, I smiled to myself and thought of something to say.

Lost in a Patch of Melancholy Wildwood

(Written while walking by the lake at my college)

Why does walking in the woods make me feel melancholy? Why do I feel sadness at the trees and birds and dirt and leaves?

The humid air can't be the reason, because I feel the same way in the fresh morning stillness and in early spring's snowy slumber.

Wild raspberries
Cattails at the lake's edge
Oaks near the sky
Wind rustling leaves all around me
Distant road noise
Ferns on my left in feathery whorls rising to my hip.
Why the bittersweet longing?
Why the deep sighs?
Why the film of water over my eyes?

Mud, packed hard beneath my shod feet.
One dead yellow leaf.
One sick red leaf, still attached to the stalk.

More ferns, an oak rising from their midst. Steadfast and older than my house.
The hill behind looms like a buried wall mossed over by time. Baby birches try to win each patch of sunlight dappled on the slope.

Crack.
I step on a gnarled twig and wish I didn't have to wear shoes. Shoes are for people who conform to society - to a city life.
I may be in St. Paul, but I'm lost in a patch of melancholy wildwood.
Well, not exactly lost - since I have yet to stray more than a few feet from the hard-packed mud path.

The breeze stirs the water into tiny ripples, dozens upon dozens of neat little lines swarming toward me on the bank. But a net of reeds stops them, surrounding my hidden spot of shade with inch-deep, still pools where a blue damselfly hovers. He comes close to see my shoe, his wings invisible until he comes to rest on a green frond. His bulbous eyes regard me even as I regard him.
Splash.
What was that? Are there fish in this little lake? The ripples grow, then diminish again.

Now a fallen tree, split lengthwise down the trunk, forgotten by the others who still stand tall, piled over with dead branches and fungi.

A board by the lakeside, covered with moss on one half. What is it from? A quarter-sized shard of bright blue plastic rests on top. The husk of a fallen wasp nest shares the clearing, as well as a diet coke bottle, missing its label.

Now I can see a giant crane across the lake, a marvel of metal and cable looming over the full crown of a mature tree in someone's backyard.
I return to the path.

Orange collars around doomed trees and the stump of one already taken. A pink flag half-buried in the sandy soil says "wetland delineation" I think.

Mud puddles in the tire tracks.

Hey! There's another path branching off. Should I take it? It goes up the hill and disappears. But my feet are tired, and the flat path I'm on goes around a bend. I can't alter course now. Onward!

A red-painted stake labeled OAK
Some questionable red-orange berries.
Stinging nettles!

I hear an animal in the ferns. Probably a chipmunk. But no! I see now that it is a gray squirrel. I should have known. The campus here is overrun with the cheeky little blighters.

With all this humidity, it smells like Como Conservatory. I can almost imagine I'm in Florida. I hear the tropical sounds of a chittering woodpecker and the sweet warble of a curious oriole. They must think I'm odd, trying to write while I walk. I stumble over a bump and stand still, hearing more birdsong mingled with the beeping sound of a vehicle backing up somewhere. A robin scolds me, for standing too close to her nest, I suppose. Very well, Mrs. Robin. I shall continue my hike.

At last I come to the place where a stream empties into the the lake, after tumbling over some rocks.

Packing peanuts and Styrofoam coffee lids? Tut-tut.

I sit down by the mini waterfall and inspect the rocks. These look man-made. Yes, I believe they are. Someone has poured concrete over the little rocks on either side of the rapids, perhaps to control erosion. The water smells brown. Crusty foam eddies up into the crevices by my feet. If I was feeling more adventurous, I'd hop across on the damp rocks to the other side. What interesting sights and smells lie over there?

But I have a bag full of sketchbooks and my Wacom tablet, so maybe that wouldn't be a wise endeavor for today.

People wade in the shallows upstream. Talking, but I cannot understand them from here. I pick out the word "slimy" and that's it.

And now I reach the end of the path. As I step out into the empty parking lot, the hot sun instantly causes my neck to prickle with sweat. Ah. The enchanted walk is over. The melancholy has evaporated. Life is back to normal.

Time for a snack.

Exploring Sherwood...

At last... my medieval costume entry for Maid Marian's Wardrobe! The rain stopped for a few hours today, so out I went into the forest. Pictures or bust!

I made the cloak, but purchased the dress from an african booth at our state fair's international bazaar. :) The blouse is from Kohl's.

My lovely mother took the pictures for me (it's rather hard to take one's own picture), and then she returned my camera so I could take pictures of my sister, Hepzibah. <--- Check out her blog, too!

Snapshots of My Autumn Life

A tree fell on our house a few days ago. The wind was pretty strong that day, and we didn't know it, but the limb was rotten. It made quite a clatter. I thought the cats had gotten into the dishes and broken a few, but alas, it was our maple. And I wanted to build a treehouse in that tree! I guess it's a good thing I didn't. (We made a movie instead.) The tree guys came and chopped it all up and put it through the TREE SHREDDER! *wince* Terrible. Just terrible. And they didn't stop there! Oh no, they had to cut down two other trees near our house! Of course, those were dead already, but I feel like we're losing trees right and left. Last time a storm came through we lost Gandalf and part of Treebeard (now he looks ever so much more like a real Ent).

Anyway, that's the pain of autumn storms.

A few nights ago was the first frost, so we raced down to the garden after dark to save the food! We covered my dad's (GIANT) pumpkins with cozy quilts and I picked my herbs. My dad also had a ton of tomatoes, so we filled two whole boxes of 'em and brought them indoors for safekeeping, a.k.a. canning. My mom has been busy making pizza sauce and salsa. And tonight we had sausage tortellini soup with fresh tomatoes and basil and parsley. Mmmm... perfect for cold weather!

I felt like taking a nap this afternoon, but when I climbed up my ladder to my loft bed, this is the sight that greeted me. Five innocent* cats had already claimed my bed, and there was no room left for me. So I was forced to lay on the couch instead. I know, I'm hopeless. I can't even fight off snoozing cats for my rightful place.

*Sarcasm.

The muted colors of early autumn...

And last but not least, a makeshift cover I created for my upcoming Christian fantasy/sci-fi novel, Bluewillow, that I'm going to write for NaNoWriMo. More on this soon!

Musings on a Shy Grasshopper

This evening, while I was watering my white pine sapling, I saw the sun shining on the wet needles and I ran to get my camera. When I came back, I noticed that I had a guest. A grasshopper had taken up residence at the very top of my little tree. I tried taking a picture of him, but I soon discovered he was camera-shy! He kept moving around to the other side of the branch to hide from me. But I just walked in a circle around my tree until he finally stopped hiding and let me have a peek at him.

I'm not very fond of insects. Yet as I looked at this tiny, frightened grasshopper I saw beauty. The almighty God of the universe created and cares for all seemingly insignificant bugs because they please him and bring him glory. God knows how old this hopper is, and how many stripes are on his body, and what he sees with those dark eyes. God gave him a place to perch in a nice young tree, away from cars, robins, and other potential dangers. God provides food and water and warm weather, and the grasshopper lives to give God glory.

Jesus said, "Consider the ravens: they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds!" and "Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass, which is alive in the field today, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will he clothe you!" (Luke 12:24, 27-28)

I admit that I often feel about insects the way this grasshopper felt about me-- I'd rather just hide! But if God loves bugs, maybe they aren't so bad after all. And if God so cares for a tiny insect, how much more will he care for you and me!

Spring Song #2

Spring Song 2

It's fun to watch snow

melt

melt

m

    e

l

   t

down, down

into the ground

like a shrinking island

like Atlantis

like a vanishing cloud

poof

poof

plop.

The snow is no more

I can't wait to see

what spring has

in store.

more

puddles?

plop

plop

SPLAT.

Snow is wetter

on days

no better

than a haze

of clouds.

melt

melt

m

    e

l

    t

down, down

into the ground.

Tiny stranded islands

like white white sands

soon they will 

melt

melt

m

    e

l

   t

down, down

into the ground

icicles fall

and hit people

on the 

head-

like that

plink

plink

-smack-

The sun laughs at me

I jump over a snowdrift

it will

melt

melt

m

    e

l

   t

down, down

into the ground

where the gophers dig

where the worms hum

where life

stirs

stirs

stirs...

Spring Songs

The stirring of spring has urged me to write poetry about March and Spring. Here is the first of my  "Spring Songs."

Spring Song 1

March

snow marches

Fall

snow falls

Spring

snow springs

March.

March

lion marches

Blow

lion blows

Sleep

lion sleeps

March.

March

flowers come dancing in like a song,

like a robin-bird,

dancing, singing, blooming flowers

March

birds come in flocks from warm places,

coconut beaches,

winging, singing, gliding birds

March.

More trees...

I went to a used bookstore on Saturday, and I got a new book!

Actually, it's an old book, Trees: Yearbook of Agriculture 1949. It caught my eye because I was looking for a good book to alter, and the cover with the leaves and the title seemed just perfect. It has some great illustrations in it that I can highlight on my pages, and it has maps of the US inside the covers. I'll use it for a nature or tree theme. I can't wait to get to work on it!

Oddities and Trees

More altered book pictures! I completed two more pages. Yay! 

This one is titled "Whims and Oddities," and it's supposed to be a collection of odds and ends... and a vain dude admiring his reflection in the little mirror. (The vain dude is actually a picture of Lord Byron that was already in the old history book I altered). I used gold thread to stitch around the mirror to add some elegance to the page. I put in a gold leaf, and the gold squares are pieces of a credit card. :) I also put in a photocopy of a skeleton key. This page didn't turn

 out as good as how I imagined it, but I'm just having fun and learning. This is my first altered book project, after all!

Enter the Forest! This is the very last page of my altered book. I wanted to do more pages, but I'm afraid the binding is going to fall apart if I do any more. I painted the trees on the pages, fleshed them out a little with colored pencil, attached a paper butterfly and some leaves, and finished it off with some larger gold and

 green leaves (they didn't show up very well in the picture). I might do a repeat of this theme in other books, because nature is one of my favorite themes.

On to new altered books! I have ideas for about 8 different themes I could expand on, but I haven't come to a final decision yet. I'll let you know what I decide.  I got some cool papers and inks with my Christmas money, and I can't wait to try them out on a new project!

A Sample of My Writing

I hope to post some fiction or poetry on my blog sometime, but for now, here's an essay I wrote for my college English class this past semester. It's a true story. Enjoy!

Meal or Menace?

First they attacked my aunt.

She was strolling down a deserted gravel road with her sister-in-law, hoping to enjoy the nature and maybe catch a glimpse of the wildlife that lives on the 200-acre farm. Neither of them knew that they were being trailed. The stalkers prowled on stealthy legs through the nearby rye field, their savage eyes never leaving the two walkers. They snaked their way through the swaying rye and at last darted in front of the startled women. With a scream my aunt and her sister-in-law turned and dashed back up the road toward the safety of the farmhouse. One of the group still pursued them, and his powerful legs kicked up a small sandstorm behind him. He only halted when they had reached my grandparents’ mailbox near the house. With a cluck of satisfaction and a rustle of feathers, he sauntered away.

Who were these attackers? Thugs? Gangsters? Robbers? No. My aunt was attacked by wild turkeys.

These once-rare birds had first been spotted the previous Thanksgiving, when we all gathered at my grandparents’ house for the traditional family feast. The turkeys lay low in the woods, only daring to make their appearance after we had filled our stomachs with one of their unlucky cousins. Nobody knows where they came from or why they suddenly appeared.

My grandma, delighted with the huge birds, adopted them as her feral pets (to join the bunnies and the deer). She dotes on them with corn and birdseed, and she worries about them when it gets cold. Plenty of hopeful hunters have come up to ask if they could hunt on the property, but my grandma won’t allow it. “No one is going to shoot them!” she says fiercely. “My poor babies! Mommy’s looking out for you!”

However, since she started feeding them, they’ve come back every day looking for more. And they’ve gotten pushy about it, too. If you don’t have any food, they chase you. If you don’t come outside, they peck at the house and peer in the kitchen window. Many times my grandma has been startled by a “peeping tom.”

The turkeys’ appearance alone can intimidate a wildcat or send a Rottweiler running off with his tail between his legs. Their heads look like they were dipped in lard, then stuck crudely on their scrawny pink necks. Most of the males have “beards” in the middle of their chests, which they puff out while they strut about, giving the impression of a pompous judge or a wealthy businessman. I don’t know why my grandma keeps feeding those fat old vultures.

Ever since that first incident with my aunt, the turkeys have chased everyone from the mailman to the meter reader. Whenever someone comes over to my grandparents’ house, my grandpa tells them, “Watch out for those turkeys.” Oh, and I would like to add some of my own advice: don’t hang around in your car too long. The bloodthirsty birds will attack your vehicle.

However, there are some advantages to having these crazy birds around. The turkeys keep away trespassers, door-to-door salespeople, and other unwelcome intruders. When I’m safe in my bed, I can sleep peacefully knowing that a rafter of wild turkeys is patrolling the block. I almost feel sorry for any prowlers out there. Almost. I have to say I would love to see those vandals who break the windows of my grandpa’s barn screaming in fear as they run from a pack of man-eating turkeys.
***

I would appreciate any comments or suggestions- I'm desperate to improve my writing, and I'm always curious to hear what people think about my writing.

New Camera!

One of my passions happens to be photography, specifically of nature and animals. Unfortunately, for two years I've been stuck with a hand-me-down digital camera that has no zoom, is all automatic, does not respond well to lots of light or very little light...and has only 1.3 mega pixels. Yeah. I'm not exactly complaining -I got a lot of good pictures out of it and I learned a lot- but I think it's a good time to upgrade.

After months of saving pretty much all the money I earned while working at the library, I finally got the camera of my dreams- a Canon Digital SLR, with 12.2 mega pixels! I got it on Saturday, and I used it for the first time yesterday, taking a Grand Total of 294 pictures in one day!

The difference between my old camera and my new camera is incredible.

It's the difference between this:

And this:

(Click on a picture to see a bigger version)

Both are pictures of the same subject: fiddleheads in spring. Can you tell which picture was taken with my new camera?

Yesterday a chickadee flew into our sliding door screen and fell to the deck rather dazed and befuddled. It took a long time to recover, and while it caught its breath I picked it up and set it on the railing, out of our dogs' reach. Then I grabbed my camera while the poor little thing was too shocked to notice me and started taking close-ups.

Seeing this tiny, living piece of God's handiwork at such a close range gave me a new appreciation for the complexity of Creation. God designed the intricate feathers, bright eyes, and sharp claws of this little bird, and many people don't even think twice about this common songbird. And God cares for the needs of this insignificant creature that lives outside in the storms and droughts and heat and cold all of its life. Jesus reminds us, "Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? And not one of them is forgotten before God. Why, even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not; you are of more value than many sparrows." (Luke 12:6-7)

This is why I love photography: I am constantly reminded of the complexities of God's awesome creation, and that none of this could ever happen "by chance." I am always eager to head out into the woods to see the world in a whole new perspective- through the viewfinder of my camera.