by Winding Pathways | Jun 21, 2015 | Chickens, Garden/Yard, Nature, Trees/Shrubs
As we welcome summer we also begin to indulge in Iowa’s natural harvest of berries and cherries. Mulberries must be ripe because purple colored bird droppings mark lawns and sidewalks. Scat from raccoons and coyotes are full of seeds. Mulberries are great to eat out of hand and we get great laughs from the purple tongues and fingers that result from our munching them.
Black Raspberries, or “Black caps”, are ripening. Red raspberries big as your thumb fall into your hands and cherries hang tantalizingly just beyond reach on the most slender branches. If the weather stays warm but moist, we will have excellent blackberries come mid-July into August.
Squirrels and birds naturally have an advantage over humans and our chickens make sure that they clean up any cherries that escape the squirrels. But we are out with the best of them harvesting the fruits of an Iowa summer, indulging in fresh berries by the handful and freezing some for winter.
Take time to walk a trail and have fun with summer’s bounty.
by Winding Pathways | Jun 7, 2015 | Bugs, Labyrinths, Nature, Wonderment
We walked as 19 individuals in a single community waiting with anticipation for the first glimpse of the magical firefly dance. From ages two to mid-sixties with a healthy mix of 20 somethings visiting the Indian Creek Nature Center for the first time, we shared, questioned, chatted and on entering the sacred space surrounding the Prairie Labyrinth, approached reverently. As we began, Teri P read the powerful verses from Longfellow’s Hiawatha about the night and the fireflies:
“All the air was white with moonlight, All the water black with shadow,
And around him the Suggema, The mosquito, sang his war-song,
And the fire-flies, Wah-wah-taysee, Waved their torches to mislead him;
And the bull-frog, the Dahinda, Thrust his head into the moonlight,
Fixed his yellow eyes upon him, Sobbed and sank beneath the surface;
And anon a thousand whistles, Answered over all the fen-lands,
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, Far off on the reedy margin,
Heralded the hero’s coming.”
Then, we walked. Each tapped the drum. The children ran eagerly searching…searching and returned somberly. Adult Pilgrims stepped into the labyrinth and fell into silent reverie.
But the night was not. As nature does when given the chance, the evening filled our senses. We wove in and out along the path to the center looking with soft eyes upon the emerging summer prairie. Knee-high grasses cascaded to the ground. Virginia Mountain mint scented the air. Creamy Penstamen turned their tubular faces to the setting sun while butterflies gathered one more sip before dark. Field sparrows, red-winged blackbirds, robins, geese winging overhead called in succession and in the distance tree frogs tuned up for the night chorus. The west glowed faint orange like early evening fireflies do. The earth gave way beneath our foot falls. But, no where did we spy the enchanting flicker of a lightning bug.
In Center, we stood silently after the Firefly poem from “Song From the Sandhills” by Paul F. Long of Kansas. Remembering. Evenings full of magical light as these Coleoptera of the night etched their dance on our memories. In corn fields before potent sprays. In hedges and taller grasses between yards before hedge clippers and riding lawnmowers. In front yards and back yards before monoculture craze took over.
Then, one by one each of us caught a glimpse of a faint glow deep in the grasses. We pointed. Nodded. Smiled. Shared silently. More and more the winking in the prairie woke us up as the fireflies began their dance and story of intrigue – one of code talk, mystery, “femme fatale”, and murder! As the evening darkened and cooled, their lights changed to luminescent green, the pace picked up and the males began to appear higher up in the air. Escorting us out of the Labyrinth.
We walked happily back to the Center as the frogs and toads in the pond chanted, “It’s OK, let them glow, go slow, go slow.” (Virgil Ellis)
