I was contacted by a neighbor saying they had pink lady’s slippers blooming in their yard; oh, what a wonderful invitation!  Semi-hidden amidst some tall grasses,  she showed me multiple clumps of these lovely flowers.  Pink lady’s slippers are part of the orchid family, and are about 6 to 10 inches tall.  They are delicate and stand tall on a single leafless stem.  Like other ephemerals they bloom for only a few short days before the deciduous trees form their full canopy of leaves blocking sunlight to the ground.  I  sat on the ground and marveled at these beauties, thankful that I could enjoy them at their peak.

It’s a dark and sad time in Minnesota this week.  Tensions have risen, actions have been taken, people have been hurt, and everyone is in a state of shock.  Our state is filled with a wonderful diversity of people which adds to the richness of this place.  We are proud of our lakes, our rivers, our towns and cities.  We take on the challenge of hard winters that linger late into spring, snowfalls that bury is in feet of snow, and subzero temperatures that settle in for weeks.  Now we are facing the challenge of grieving losses – loss of life, loss of property, loss of respect.   Sadly there are business owners, apartment dwellers, and many people that have had their places burned and have been displaced through no fault of their own.  The losses are many and spread throughout our cities.  We are mourning and many of us are saddened that our state has been rocked by the extent and severity of this week’s events, and it will take time for us to mend.

Change is inevitable in life.  We will grieve and struggle, and we will get through this, and I sincerely hope that this week’s news gets replaced with hope and understanding, love and respect.

A week ago there was a lovely full moonrise.  I stood by the lake and waited for the moon to clear the hill and the trees on the opposite shoreline.  The wind slowly settled down, and there was a lovely quiet that wrapped around me.  The waves calmed and the lake became still.  Then the moon appeared – large and pearl colored, and as it rose it seemed that the tops of the trees were supporting it and offering it up to the night sky.  I watched and then my ears picked up the haunting call of a loon at the other end of the lake.  It all seemed a perfect rite of spring, and I savored this respite from the many worries of the world right now.

Springtime – a season of change, a season of hope, and a season of color.  I’ve always looked forward to spring and its warmth and beauty.  In Minnesota spring seems to condense and then open up all in a small time period.  It’s as if you can literally watch the grass become green and the leaves pop out from the buds on the trees.  Everything draws deep into the color palettes as Mother Nature wakes up from winter.  One of my favorite flowers are tulips with all their styles and hues, colors and textures.  They are the precursor to the abundance of late spring and summer and all the rich colors that follow.  On a dreary day they can be the one bright spot in the garden.  And on a sunny day they glow as their colors are set off by the warmth and brilliance of the sun.

As we are all social distancing and staying at home, our world is dominated by our views looking out.  Many of us have become observers of the transition of seasons, the angle of the sun coming through our windows, and our neighbors that pass by walking their dogs.  It’s good to look out to recognize and confirm that winter moves into spring, the sun continues to rise, and our neighbors are still in our neighborhood.  That’s what gives us a sense of normalcy in these uncertain times.

This photo takes a different approach and looks inside from the outside.  The sunlight streams through the window, lighting the vase amidst the darkness behind it.  Shadows are created across the curtain by the window frame.  The lace is delicate and beautiful, set off against the coarse texture of the wall.  Perhaps our inside worlds are just as beautiful now as the outside world, if we take a moment to observe and appreciate where we are at this moment and what surrounds us.

Today is Easter – a day filled with promise, hope, and spring.  Yet this year is not like other years.  Many of us are celebrating the day without friends and family and without the many traditions that we have come to associate with Easter.

And usually Mother Nature is on board too, but that’s not the case in Minnesota today.  I’m looking out the window at snow coming down and collecting on the grass and trees.  When the temperature was 60 degrees yesterday I thought the 3-6 inches of predicted snow was wrong, but that just may hold true.  Somewhere there are lovely small pasque flowers that are keeping their blossoms closed to protect themselves from the snow.  They too know what’s necessary for survival.  And yet I know spring will turn the corner, and these flowers will open up again and be thankful for the moisture and the sun.  There is promise and hope.

 

Being home-bound inside, due to not only the directives on COVID-19 but also my broken leg, I have been looking at some of my earlier photos.  This image remains one of my all-time favorites and it seems to have much symbolism for our present times.  The old weathered barn has stood the ravages of time – peeling and faded paint, a hinge askew, a window missing.  What events has it been through?  What stories can it tell?  The sunlight streams from an angle across its faded front emphasizing it’s age.  The sun doesn’t reach the inside of the barn where it is dark and black.  And yet on the far side of the barn, through the opposite openings, there is a green field.  Grasses are blowing, a fence line and trees are visible.  There is renewal beyond the old barn.  There is sunshine and green grass ahead.

Stay safe and be well.  There are greener pastures and sunnier days ahead.  We will weather these times.

The last few weeks have brought a world of differences to many of us — a new physical view from the inside looking out; a new vocabulary that includes medical terms of pandemics, viruses, curves, ventilators, and COVID-19; an appreciation for things that previously we’d taken for granted; and a feeling that the world’s turned upside down.  With the barrage of news and seemingly constant updates it’s hard to look too far forward.  Like many, I’m trying to take things one day at a time.  Today the sun is shining and there are signs of spring outside my windows.  The birds are migrating back into our area and their calling hangs in the air.  There are people walking in the neighborhood and soaking up the sun’s warmth.  There’s a young girl that’s riding her small bike next to her dad who is running; they’re chatting and singing as they go by.  Sometime ahead the tulips will be blooming here in Minnesota.  Somewhere ahead, the struggling and the uncertainty we’re dealing with now will be behind us.  Somewhere ahead I’m hoping we will have learned lessons from this time; perhaps we’ll appreciate the beauty all around us – in nature, in family, and the people we interact with.  And somewhere ahead I’m hoping our world will no longer seem to be upside down, but instead will be more kind.

The past two weeks have humbled me quite unexpectedly.  I took a bad slip on a frozen sidewalk and landed on my right leg and ankle.  A ride with the EMT’s took me to the local trauma hospital’s emergency room and a set of x-rays were taken.  Turned out I’d dislocated the ankle and had a trimalleolar fracture with breaks in three bones.  Surgery was scheduled the next day and I came out with plates, screws, wires and lots of hardware holding all those bones together.  Yesterday the plaster splint was removed and I got to see the results of the good surgeon’s work.  Luckily the breaks are healing and the stitches on both sides of my ankle were removed.  I’m now in a boot keeping my ankle immobile, but I cannot put any weight on the foot.  I’ve learned many lessons in these two weeks and some that I’m still learning.  Patience and slowing down are essential now — I couldn’t rush to do anything if I wanted to.  I’m unable to put any weight on my right leg, so I’m reliant on the walker to give me the support I need when I’m upright.  Friends and family are wonderful — flowers, phone calls, text messages, gifts, food, and visits have all brightened my days and given me something else to focus on.  I appreciate our medical system, doctors, nurses, assistants, PCA’s, EMT’s — I’ve been treated and taken care of by people who were smart, experienced, knowledgeable, and kind.  People who saw to my comfort and needs as they were dealing with many other patients too.  Yes, I’m not happy with the broken leg and the distant horizon of the end of May before I can walk “normally.”   But the past two weeks have given me a different perspective on the things that I have taken for granted so many times in the past – something as simple as walking, getting outside to enjoy the fresh air, and the people who I am lucky enough to call family and friends.

It was a cold day with a temperature of 16 degrees, but the sun was shining brilliantly and beckoned us outside.  We packed our snowshoes and went to Hunt Hill Audubon Sanctuary in northwest Wisconsin.  The wind was brisk, but if we could snowshoe along the tree line there was a welcome wind break.  There was even protection from the wind as we headed across the prairie, and in the valleys of the steep hills we could bask in the sun’s heat.  It was late afternoon so the sun threw its shadows across the landscape at a sharp angle.  We soaked up the sun and the crisp fresh air of the day and enjoyed the exercise.