I TOOK A WALK YESTERDAY...

For over an hour I tromped through the 9 inches of snow and ice that had fallen 3 days earlier and knocked out both power and phone service to all of Adams county. When we arrived at Prairie Pond Woods to remedy a potentially frozen water pump and pipes, it was overcast and the land grayed out. But today, after the blue sky welcomed the sun back to its arcing route, the landscaped gleamed glorious!


Every tree and exposed vegetation not buried by snow was encapsulated by frozen rain. The woods glistened white and brittle, except where the damp, darkened bark contrasted almost black against the mounds of snow heaped on their branches. The prairie looked like acres of cotton balls, where thick crusts of white covered mounds of big bluestem and Indian grass. In every direction I looked, almost constant white, with bursts of prismatic color nearly too intense for my eyes. It was magical!

I took more than 200 hundred photos over two days, and grieved that, for my skill level anyway, it was impossible to truly capture the magic of each vista. In my heart of hearts, I also wanted badly to share this beauty, but the lack of electric power (no water) and no phone (not even cell towers were functioning), prevented me from inviting anyone to come and see it.

After I could not think of any angle or place where I had not taken a picture, I returned to the house, and we continued on with the business of “surviving” the ordeal that began the evening we arrived in the dark…and I mean…DARK. It was spooky.

Craig mentioned on the drive down that he planned to string a 50-foot extension cord, and then some, to the water pump down the slope behind the house so the lights in the housing unit would keep the pump from freezing.

“Really?” I asked, rather disbelieving. “And where are you going to get that many extension cords?”
“I’m going to make one…a 100-foot one when we get there…from the romex I bought at that garage sale…and then I’ve got all these other ones,” he said pointing to the back seat. There behind us laid a huge pile of neatly wound red, yellow, green, brown and off-white colored extension cords.
“Okay, whatever you say.” I said with pure resignation. I love my wanted–to-be-a-Boy Scout husband and his “can do” attitude.

So when we arrived, as if on a mission from God, he fastened male and female ends to the off-white cord by the beam of the truck headlights. We threaded it through the garage window and uncoiled it down the slope with our headlamps on and our fingers crossed. We really wanted this to work, especially since the next night’s temperature was dropping to 7 degrees. After several trips back to the garage (9 inches of hardened snow is difficult to walk in) for electrical tape, adaptors and walkie-talkies, that mission was finally accomplished. But we still had to address our relative safety and comfort in the house. Not to worry, my hubby had a plan.

Again, with the dedication of a first responder, he strung five extension cords upstairs, which all flowed from one large cord coming from the garage across the basement and up the stairs. These would power the wood burner fan, the fridge, the freezer and a couple lamps. The long cord traversing the backyard met up with the cord coming from basement and they both went underneath the garage door straight to a $13,000 generator we call the Roadtrek Van! It all worked flawlessly.

So, I write this from a battery-powered computer, near a bright window with a deck-full of snow reflecting in. The very element that took away my light now helps me see, and for that I am grateful. It is a good thing to be reminded of how fragile we are, how dependent we’ve become on modern conveniences, and how wonderful it is to experience the reward of resourcefulness. Each time we thought of some new, efficient way to do something, or figured out the best sequence of actions, we would high-five one another for being so darn capable!

After days of scooping buckets upon buckets of snow to melt by the fire for flushing, we turned our aluminum garbage can into a receptacle that will capture the snow melting off the roof soon. We went to bed before 10:00 every night and got up at 7:00, in synch with the daylight and our own tired bodies. 
After 5 days without a shower or bath, I boiled some roof water and took a sponge bath on the freezing side porch, while gazing out at the hills quickly losing their diamond-like adornment. It made me happy and content, this small act of self-care that needed only snow, flame and a thick towel. I felt like a wild woman. And, after standing there with the wind chilling my damp body, I decided I am a Wild Woman, and went inside to stoke the fire.



TO SEE MORE PHOTOS OF PRAIRIE POND WOODS BEDAZZLED BY WINTER, CLICK HERE.

I TOOK A WALK TODAY...

I took a walk this afternoon around 4:30 in the rain. Not exactly what I had planned, since I’d waited for hours for a break in the showers, but as soon as I stepped off the porch it started up again...or rather, down, again. I decided to forge on because the temperature was so mild for January 10th, and a little rain never hurt anybody.

I had been walking less than 2 minutes, when I spotted three white flags waving and moving up towards the prairie ridge, as I walked towards the bottom. Definitely not a surrender, but a retreat from someplace close to where I stood. I think deer are one of the most amazing creatures on the planet. They are not exotic, or terribly interesting, but they have the supernatural ability to appear and disappear like four-legged wizards. I decided not to track them, as it was getting close to dusk and I wanted them to find their favorite place to bed down for the night…which is probably what they were already doing. Oops.

When I got to the woods, I stopped to listen to the clacking of raindrops hitting the dried leaves on the forest floor. It was strangely similar to the sound they made hitting my nylon raincoat. Not the muffled thud of a summer shower absorbed into the soil and the decomposed leaf litter. This was crisp and clear. I closed my eyes to hear the syncopation and wondered, putting a twist on the proverbial riddle, if I wasn't there in the forest would the rain still make a sound?

I remember having the other question posed to me as a young girl and found it philosophically intriguing, "If a tree falls in the forest, and there's no one there to hear it, does it still make a sound?" But as a pondered this, my head tilted back receiving the sprinkling of holy rainwater, I realized that the question is anthropocentric at its heart. The glorious truth is that there are thousands, if not millions, of other organisms in a forest that would hear or feel the falling of a tree. Human receptors are not the only indicators of whether something is real or not. It reminded me of a similarly poignant question posed by musician Bruce Cockburn in a song about the rainforest, "If a tree falls in the forest, does anybody care?"

Finally, as I traversed back through the prairie, the rain let up. I headed for the house; making one last stop to check for any damage the deer had done to the fruit trees planted this past fall. It was minimal, for which I was grateful, so I think they’ll make it. Next year, we’ll probably see lots of deer helping themselves to our peaches, cherries, and apples...or maybe we won’t. If I stand in the orchard and don't see any deer...does that mean they're not there?

RESTORATION

Restore; 1. to give back. 2. to return to a former or normal state, or to a position, rank, use, etc. 3. to bring back to health, strength, etc.

Restoring the land is like restoring our own souls, or helping in the restoration of others who are broken, alienated, or lost.

I think we all have a remnant of Eden within, an anscestral memory we just can't shake, that longs for the perfection of all things. God restores our souls. We are co-redeemers as we enter into the lives of people in the world, and as we help restore the earth. God created both, in the beginning, beautiful, harmonious, but now out of synchronization with the original intent.

At Prairie Pond Woods, I take out things that aren't supposed to be there, vines that choke trees and pull them to the ground, and animals that destroy the natural balance. I let the scars on the land heal over. Like we should do.

I put things in that are supposed to be there; beautiful things or necessary things that lend grace and abundance to the overall ecosystem, which other creatures feed on or shelter in.

I assess it regularly, and dream about its potential and the gifts it can offer others for their healing and transformation. Like we should do with others.

Anyone who "tends the earth" or "loves their neighbor" knows these ongoing struggles. God, once again, uses nature to teach us valuable lessons in wisdom if we pay attention and learn. I consider this a sacred and holistic work to help in redemption, not only for the people who yearn for it, but also for the earth that groans for it.........

UPDATE

Land Raisin' Canceled!

Sorry folks but the snow, wind and cold has the upper hand for our annual Land Raisin' this Saturday. Thanks to all of you who made plans to come down and help us remove invasive species. We are grateful. Looks like it might be spring before we can plan another attack. :)

THINGS ABOVE THE EARTH

Spring may be all about the birds in the sky...but summer is about every other flying creature!! I have never been so bombarded, tactily irritated, or gleefully amazed, as I have this August watching their aerial displays and landings. They are absolutely everywhere, traversing the air right in front of my face, bashing loudly into windows, and crawling on my ankles...or my food.

Starting with the 17-year brood of cicadas, which are all but back in the soil until 2025, to the many wasps who have recently settled in on both porches to raise nice, wholesome families of their own. I don't have the heart to knock down the nests, so we co-exist ever so gently. I just tell myself (and them) what great predators and pollinators they are, as I skulk by their papery homes hanging near the doors.

Standing in the prairie is a treat... The butterflies lilt through the air, some haggered, some still crisp and vibrant. The dragonflies charge each other like WWF combatants. The wasps coast with legs dangling, as if being air-lifted by some invisible force. And the flies...don't get me started.

All these creatures have their place and purpose, their niche, in the ecosystems of the world, no matter how much we swat, spray, or duck. The web of life continues on because of them, and for that I am grateful. I welcome their presence and reproduction at Prairie Pond Woods.

Just remember...
you may come to Prairie Pond Woods to experience solitude...
but you are never alone...!!!!