From My Nature Journal: Bombogenesis and the Glory of God

You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor

and power, for You created all things, and by Your will (alt, ‘for

Your pleasure’) they existed and were created.

Revelation (Apocalypse) 4:11

We had been warned. It had been touted for days, an unprecedented storm off the coast of the Pacific Northwest that could be a record-breaker, not necessarily in rain or snow or duration, but in millibars. As a unit of measure for atmospheric pressure, was it something of interest to weather nerds only? No, for such a storm can produce near hurricane force winds. It hit overnight, and though our particular spot in the greater Seattle area was spared the fullest force, more than half a million homes are without power this morning in the higher east elevations of the Seattle metro, largely, the western foothills of the Cascades. 

Bombogenesis, these storms are called, a term coined by MIT meteorologists in the 80’s to describe a storm whose pressure drops more than twenty-four millibars in twenty-four hours. These storms are also called a manifestation of explosive cyclogenesis; I guess these meteorologists thought the substitution of the word ‘bomb’ was pretty clever. Frankly, cyclones are not that rare here; simply, they’re storms that bring significant moisture off the ocean. These happen in many parts of the world, sometimes accompanied by what is called an atmospheric river, a swirling rotation of rain that stays stationary over a land area much longer than normal. We get several of these each winter.

Interestingly, it’s usually us here to the west of Seattle who bear the brunt of these windy or rainytempests, with storms coming in from off the ocean. For us here on Whidbey Island, the winds roll right in off the Pacific through the Strait of Juan de Fuca and hit our island head-on about four miles west of our home. But this one was different: the air pressure would be so low offshore (I think I heard it broke or at least tied the historic record), that the winds came roaring westward down mainland mountainsides heading out to sea to counter and balance the incredibly low pressure offshore. It was quite a thing. Nature is so incredibly dynamic. And east winds are much more problematic here, as our oversized trees are more accustomed to the forces of western winds. Sure enough, thousands upon thousands of trees are down in the most affected areas. And since Gail and I have many enormous Douglas firs on our little acre in easy reach of our home, some a hundred feet tall and four to five feet in diameter, we chose to heed warnings and went to bed last night on the floor of the family room in our basement. We’re a little stiff getting up!

I wax. My apology. But I love this kind of stuff. Nature is so incredibly dynamic. It reminds me of God. 

Now, I know that nature is a system, and that it works the way it works because of the vigorous forces atmospheres create in combination with the complexities of landmasses and their elements. But I also believe that God is the Creator of such things, and that, ultimately, the power we see in nature is a reflection of the power that is God’s. 

The book of Revelation in the Bible (‘Apocalypse’ in some versions) contains images of visions seen by St. John the Apostle late in the 1st Century. John here has foresights of the end times, and among them are visions of all people gathered around the throne of God worshiping him in eternity. My devotions today had me listening to a recording of chapter 4. The wind was still strong outdoors, though the teeth of the storm here had mostly abated; but it was still dark while I was listening, and I had not yet had an opportunity to visually assess things and see if we had lost trees. (We didn’t.) Suddenly I hear of the elders, symbolic of the earth’s peoples, and several mystical creatures falling down and paying homage to God in the words with which I started this post, which I here paraphrase: “WORTHY are you, Lord, to receive ALL glory… and power. For you have not only created all things but have done so for your good pleasure.” I was swept up in their worship. And not only that; I could hear our trees outdoors in the dark whistling and swaying in the wind, and imagined them as the elders bowing down in worship. I wanted to join them, captivated by the vision.

That day will come. For now, I will content myself with joining towering firs in worship, or with joining in the singing of mountains or the clapping of trees’ hands in praise (Isaiah 55:12), or even the shouting out of “Hosanna!” by the stones of the earth (Luke 19:40). 

~~ RGM, November 20, 2024

From My Nature Journal: A Walk in the Woods and a Missing Piece in Christian Discipleship

I was fortunate last week to serve as program director of a week-long retreat experience for pastors in our denomination, a retreat we call “Deeper in Christ.” Intended for our clergy in a season of discernment, in need of rest, or simply looking for quality, guided quiet time with God, we do a couple of these a year through the generosity of the Lilly Foundation, and our venue this time was one of our favorites, St. John’s University and Abbey in Collegeville, Minnesota. We had a great week together.

New England has nothing up on Central Minnesota this time of year, and the fall colors were spectacular, even deepening over the several days we were there. In such a setting, and with the warm and inviting weather we experienced, we urged retreatants and staff alike to get out and enjoy the sanctuary of God’s creation every opportunity they could. St. Johns’ property includes vast hardwood and coniferous forests, oak savanna, prairies, wetlands (some complete with boardwalks for up-close inquiry), and gorgeous riparian habitat around a large northwoods lake. Trails completely traverse the property, and one can walk or hike numerous routes without ever stepping foot on the same terrain twice. Wildlife abounds -- deer, squirrels, raccoons, eagles, great blue herons, and songbirds and waterfowl of many kinds. I even nearly stumbled upon a small black bear shortly after dusk one evening. I must say that I always enjoy seeing a bear on a trail, but especially when it is running away from me rather than towards me. 

Benedictine hospitality is also stellar, what with their rule of receiving guests as one would receive Christ. It is one of the things that make this location one of the top three or four retreat centers in our rotation. Even the architecture of the guesthouse takes full advantage of the natural beauty, with large picture windows, patios and terraces overlooking woods and water views. Fall color? In various coniferous greens along with the deciduous reds, yellows, oranges and golds of the hardwoods, it is truly a varied palette. And the trees? There are red and white pine, even some jack, red and sugar maple, white birch, poplar, cottonwood, red and white oak, black and blue spruce, hemlock, ironwood, balsam fir, tamarack, eastern white cedar and willow, let alone many smaller species -- but just as colorful an assortment – such as dogwood, alder and a nearly breathtaking sumac. 

One late afternoon, several of us staff went out to walk a trail together before the dinner hour. We all were smitten by beauty upon beauty as we navigated the trail up and down through its varying topography, and my dear friend and sister in Christ Debbie turns to me and says, “Rick, how is it that we appreciate so much the beautiful diversity of a forest and yet struggle so much in our culture to appreciate and see the beauty of human diversity?” Debbie has been a respected leader for many years in our denomination in the area of Christian formation, and one of her many specialties has been justice ministries as we have worked to pursue a missing piece of evangelical discipleship, that of racial righteousness and reconciliation. An African-American, she recruited me many years ago to help resource this important work among our pastors and churches, and it has been one of the most meaningful labors of my career, and Debbie one of my most beloved mentors. She continued, “I sit on the guesthouse deck or in my room and treasure the beauty of diversity displayed before my eyes, and I ask, ‘Why? Why is it so hard in the human realm?’”

What an important question. Why indeed? 

There’s no question as to whether nature thrives in diversity. It always has. Even in cultivated settings, a large rose garden of the same hue of red hardly captures the beauty of one with a variety of colors. In fact any garden with all the same flower, say, yellow lilies, scarcely captures the senses like a garden with varying textures, colors, sizes and shapes. Even a basket of mixed fruits portrays a greater attraction than a bowl of green grapes. And then I think about farming practices and what we call our economies of scale that result in vast monocultures, whether Midwestern corn or overseas palm oil plantations. These all end up requiring pesticides and fertilizing chemicals to replenish the soil with what would be produced naturally if the culture were more diverse. Now I can’t go far on this subject because I know very little about farming, but the point is made. Nature thrives in diversity.

...How is it that we appreciate so much the beautiful diversity

of a forest and yet struggle so much in our culture to 

appreciate and see the beauty of human diversity?

Yet forests and gardens and farming are one thing. Cultural diversity is completely another. The challenges of forestry and agriculture, though very important in the realm of creation care (another oft-missed piece in Christian discipleship), usually seem infinitely simpler than the racial challenges we face. And yet the reason I write this blog is because I find, again and again, that nature has very important things to teach us, and that what it teaches is confirmed over and over in the Bible. God’s word could not be clearer than it is on the beauty of the human family -- all people -- created in God’s very image. 

So it’s still early enough in the fall that there is a LOT of color out there. What are called ‘leafers’ or ‘leaf-peepers’ are out in droves, as usual, whether visiting the beauty of the northeast or northwoods, the aspen golds of Colorado, the diverse majesty of the Appalachians, or the western larch’s flaming yellows in the Northern Rockies. Do this for me: next time you’re appreciating fall color somewhere, say a prayer of appreciation for human diversity and for a personal commitment to racial reconciliation, a critically missing piece in Christian discipleship. Then act on that prayer.

Get outside.

~~ RGM, October 17, 2024

From My Nature Journal: Beulah Land

Strange name for a blogpost? Perhaps. Beulah is one of those unique Bible names, used just once to make a particular point; I happened to come across it again a couple days ago, and it struck me in a way it had not before. Stick with me for a bit.

Somewhere in my early childhood, my family knew an older woman by that name, though I cannot recall anything further than that. Thus my oldest memories are that it was a woman’s name. Then while working the mailroom in our denominational publishing house during grad school, I found it was the name of one of our churches in California. Strange name for a church, I thought, a woman’s name. Must have been quite a lady. Just kidding, but I obviously did not recall the Bible verse or know the meaning at the time. 

A post-exilic text from the Prophet Isaiah, it was written several hundred years prior to the birth of Jesus Christ, intended to give encouragement to the long-oppressed and exiled people of Israel, and it reads thus: “You shall no more be called Forsaken, and your land shall no more be termed Desolate. But you shall be called My Delight Is In Her, and your land Beulah (that is, married) [Isaiah 62:4].”

A land called Married. Hmmm…

The term ‘Beulah Land’ was used by John Bunyan in Pilgrim’s Progress. It referred to a city of incredible peace found as one approached the end of the Christian journey, near the border of the Celestial City. From Beulah Land, one could begin to sense the beauties and character of Heaven itself. The term and its heaven themes were also picked up by several gospel hymn writers of the 19th Century, including Fanny Crosby (see hymn lyrics here). 

But a land called Married. Just think on that a bit…

Now, of course, much political dispute and bitter conflict takes place over ‘possession’ of that (hardly) peaceful Beulah land this past century, the land of Israel. Whose land is it? Who was there first? Has God metaphysically granted it as a physical possession? To whom? Who gains by right of conquest? Which conquest? Can two hotheaded cultures possibly share it, especially when some subcultures within are bent on the utter destruction of the other? What would need to happen for that sharing, or at least coexisting, to take place? It is perhaps the worst conundrum on the face of the planet, and often seems an intractable dilemma. Perhaps it is because both groups feel married to the land. And I don’t think that is how the text is to be understood anyway.

But stay there for a moment in a different way. What is marriage after all? And this is where my mind has gone these last couple of days since running across the Biblical text again. A different nuance of the ‘married to the land’ concept keeps occurring to me, not one of possessiveness or control, but one of sacrifice, perhaps even one that could help us all become better stewards of God’s creation.

Gail and I just celebrated our 48th anniversary this month. We learned long ago that some of the keys to a healthy marriage – with the most important being welcoming God at the center of our relationship – are to build each other up, to affirm each other and cherish one another, committing ourselves every single day to honor and bless the other rather than to take advantage of or exploit, certainly not to hurt. A marriage partner is not to be used (let alone abused) for one’s sole advantage.

What if our relationship to the land was similar? What if we saw ourselves as married to the land in this way? What if we also then saw land as not simply to be used (and certainly not abused), not to be exploited, but rather tenderly cared for, caressed, loved, honored? Again, what if our relationship to the land was not about possession but sacrifice? Like a very REAL relationship? What could be different? And of course as I muse on this, I think about the two little acres Gail and I are blessed to ‘own’ on this terrestrial orb (see Psalm 24:1), an acre plus in the northwoods of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and another on Whidbey Island in Washington. Not a day goes by that we don’t feel gratitude for these small parcels. We love them. We are intimate with them. We know every nook and cranny, every contour, every plant and animal (OK, at least the majority), practically every single tree or rotting log on them. And we would never want them to be anything other than what they are, a simple and natural place for an abode. Far be it from us to hurt them. And it is a true truth that love is always the first step to fully caring for something, caring for it in a way that IT needs, not that WE need (though I am glad that what our two acres need and what we need are not in conflict with each other). 

This is vastly closer to an indigenous philosophy of the land than is the typical possession/consumption/exploitation model to which most of the world has become accustomed (which is not only Western, by the way). It seems that indigenous persons the world over held (and in some places, still hold) to a philosophy of a literal relationship with the land, going so far as to see the land and everything upon it as a relative. I like that very much.

Come to find out that the church named Beulah was adjacent to some of the richest and most fertile farmland of California’s amazing Central Valley, which makes me wonder if its founders had a line on this ‘married to the land’ idea long ago. What beauty could occur (and what healing might transpire) if we loved the land as if we were married to it? 

~~ RGM, August 20, 2024

From My Nature Journal: Recruitment from the Seed Bank

Amateur naturalists frequently encounter provocative things as they observe creation, things they may never have seen before and perhaps never will again. Presenting themselves by direct experience, all one needs to do is pay good attention to their surroundings and ask inquisitive mental questions about what one is observing. But alternately, as we continue to seek understanding, we go deeper and learn through our reading. We come across details that have been studied by scientists in differing fields, and are often introduced to concepts that become equally intriguing. I recently ran into one such as I was reading about invasive plants: recruitment from the seed bank.

Anyone who pays attention to plants has encountered invasives -- whether kudzu in the Southeast, tamarisk in the Southwest, Scotch broom or English ivy in the Northwest, knotweed in the Northeast, milfoil in northern lakes or knapweed in the Midwest. My interest last week was purple loosestrife, a beautiful species brought to the USA as a cultivar in the 1800’s for
ornamental and medicinal use. In the last several decades it has proliferated such, especially in wet, marshy areas, that there are several states that have banned its sale. Like other invasives it chokes out native plants, and is especially damaging to species, both flora and fauna, already under other threats. We often see it in our travels across the northern states. 

But here’s the particular problem with loosestrife. It can grow to seven feet or more and can put out 2 to 3 million seeds per plant, regularly overwhelming nearby terrain in a hurry. And what’s worse is that the seeds are opportunists, and can lay dormant for years until just the right (or wrong!) ground disturbance brings them to the surface, presenting their perfect growing conditions; they then multiply so quickly that the land steward doesn’t know what hit them, and very soon it’s too late to manage. Recruitment from the seed bank, botanists call it. 

Now, that’s a rich concept, and it got me to thinking about just how much, and in just how many ways, that reality is active in our lives. And it can go either direction – to our or others’ benefit or to our or others’ detriment. Choosing to love makes for future recruitment from the seed bank. But so does choosing to hate. Small acts of kindness and mercy pay seeds forward. They come back to us. But so does the holding of resentment, or the withholding of forgiveness. Faith is a powerful investment in the seed bank. But a critical spirit is also; it’s just in the opposite direction to something positive. Even such things as people of faith memorizing Bible verses becomes a contribution to some kind of an endowment fund, what the Bible speaks of as ‘hiding God’s word in our hearts,’ so that its truth will come back to us in specific situations when we need it the most. I love the way Eugene Peterson paraphrased Psalm 119:11 – “I’ve banked your promises in the vault of my heart so I will not sin myself bankrupt.”

Choosing to love makes for future recruitment

from the seed bank. Small acts of kindness and

mercy do the same. They come back to us.

Each of the above practices – loving, hating, showing mercy, resenting, withholding forgiveness, acting in faith, criticizing, committing the Bible to memory – each of them stores up seeds for the future. Each of them, and so many more, bear fruit in times when the right (or wrong) conditions come calling. The question is, is it good fruit or bad? Is it a welcome wildflower or an invasive or noxious weed? Does it build up or destroy?

A beloved seminary professor of mine described even church work in this way as the constant planting of seeds. And I have surely found this to be so as a pastor. Things ‘sown’ one day may sprout quickly or can take an excruciatingly long time to produce an effect. These latter can lie buried. They’re dormant, but not dead, kept from action until a disturbance. My prof called pastoral work ‘soil work,’ preparation of the seed bank. We constantly lay the seed, then wait and watch for a disturbance – ‘a crisis, a visitation of the Holy Spirit to recruit the seed, surface it and let it sprout.’ 

But it’s not just true of pastoring work. It’s true of parenting work, of marriage work, in fact of all relational work. So, sow only good seed. Sow a LOT of it. Then trust God’s recruitment from your seed bank.

~~ RGM, July 27 2024

Photo of the Month – The Gloriole

There are many, many things in nature that catch one’s eye, and a rarer few that catch one’s soul. One such thing caught me recently that delighted me so that I thought I’d share it with you.

Its common name is a sun halo, but there are other names for it that can even challenge pronunciation –aureole (aw-RAY-o-luh or AW-ree-oll) or gloriole GLO-ree-oll). It’s a refracted circle of light around the midday sun caused by ice crystals in high, hazy cirrus clouds, showing a faint rainbow coloring within the golden glow. And though I have written about it before (and that post may be found here if you’re interested), its recent appearance motivates me to a reprise. 

This atmospheric phenomenon is not even particularly rare, in fact happens with some frequency. And there are two good reasons why they are often missed. (Perhaps I should say three good reasons, as it first requires the curiosity to pay attention to one’s surroundings! There are SO many glories in God’s creation that are simply there for the enjoying if we would be watchful for them.) But here are the reasons even seasoned nature watchers can miss them. First, one needs to look nearly straight up, high into the midday sky, and craning one’s neck is often neither natural nor comfortable. Second, the kind of high haze that produces the halo also makes for a very, very bright sky, one from which we would typically avert our eyes, so our natural inclination is to avoid its brightness. I might not even have seen it myself if my daughter Maren had not texted me a photo from her home fifty miles away, asking if it was showing where we lived. Sharing this glory with her made the experience doubly delightful. 

The best way to find one is to look up occasionally on hazy, sunny middays to check quickly for the circle or the glow; if you see something promising, extend your fist to arm’s length to completely block the sun’s orb. There it’ll be, surrounding your hand. (You can also try this with the more common early or late day sun dogs, aka parhelia or mock suns; it gives you a better chance to appreciate their color as well.) Then enjoy the splendor! If you want to take a photo and find it awkward while holding your fist high in the air (!), position the sun behind a light pole, treetop, or even a building. I happened to be volunteering that day at our nearby historic Admiralty Head Lighthouse when my daughter texted, so ended up going outside and letting the tower do my blocking. (Forgive the vapor trails in the photos -- when I went back at a later break, the halo was gone.)

Fun fact: do you remember seeing religious art that depicts noteworthy holy people having a halo hovering over or around their head? These are also technically called an aureole or gloriole in religious tradition, based on the natural phenomenon. (Want to see a cute movie? Check out “Millions,” a truly charming story of a modern day child who sees visions of historic Christian saints.) And here’s something else that could be fun to try: if you happen to see a gloriole while walking with a friend or loved one, have them get between you and the sun’s orb and position their head to block it; then get down low and far enough away to snap a photo with the halo seemingly surrounding their head. This will surely be a memorable expression of the high esteem in which they are held!

Then the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father. Whoever has ears, let them hear! (Matthew 13:43)

From the rising of the sun to the place where it sets the Lord’s name is to be praised. (Psalm 113:3)

~~ RGM, June 15, 2024

From My Nature Journal on Earth Day: “…That Nothing May Be Lost”

I don’t want to make too much of it, but it seemed more than a coincidence. It was Earth Day, and I had been thinking a lot about that as the holiday approached. I was doing something completely common that day, practically an everyday experience, reading and thinking through a Bible passage. On that particular day the text happened to be an account jammed with familiarity, the Gospel text of Jesus’ miraculous feeding of the five thousand, perhaps the most well-known miracle story in the Bible, one that many others and I recall from our earliest childhood days. 

But the story clips along familiarly. Late in the story Jesus has already done the unbelievable, the people have all been fed, and near the close of the account, as it is told, Jesus does a very pedestrian thing: he asks his helpers to gather up all the leftover pieces, “…that nothing may be lost.”  That phrase hit me in a curious way. I’ve seen it a million times, but perhaps never on an Earth Day. 

Consider this image of a vast number of people the likes of which you and I have only seen at a professional sporting or entertainment event. They eat until satiated, the account says. That’s a lot of food. But with all these people there is no doubt an enormous mess to clean up after lunch – fish bones, utensils and receptacles of sorts -- work done with twenty thousand or more oily hands (the text says ‘five thousand men;’ women and children would have at least doubled the number), fully two hundred thousand greasy fingers. And Jesus asks that the leftovers not be forgotten. I’m not sure what would have been done with them that day. The text doesn’t indicate it, though I have personally witnessed a feeding ministry in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, where edible table scraps were gathered in large plastic buckets after hundreds had been fed, and then made available to the latecomers. Hunger is hunger.

But, “…that nothing may be lost,” Jesus said. 

Now, that was not a philosophy that would be new to Jesus. In numerous places he teaches about the value of lost things being found. Lost things are worth going after. Especially lost people. “I have come to seek and save the lost,” he even lovingly said. It seems his philosophy with people was the same as his philosophy with food scraps. Still, it was delightful to me on that Earth Day to reflect on the fact that Jesus was concerned that no food be wasted. 

So very much is lost in our consumer culture, so very much wasted. What if we lived by the philosophy that nothing of true value be lost? Yet, wherever humans have seemed to set foot, God’s creation almost always has degraded. 

God’s creation in its natural state, untrammeled by people, has an uncanny way also of not wasting anything. Poet, naturalist, author and innovation consultant Janine Benyus is the creative mind behind the philosophical concept of ‘biomimicry,’ defined as ‘the practice of learning from nature, then imitating what we find.’ It is a fascinating subject. (More can be found here.) But here is the crux of the concept in Benyus’ own words:

Nature runs on sunlight.

Nature uses only the energy it needs.

Nature fits form to function.

Nature recycles everything.

Nature rewards cooperation.

Nature banks on diversity.

Nature demands local expertise.

Nature curbs excesses from within.

Nature taps the power of limits.

In short, Benyus insists, nature ‘relentlessly creates conditions conducive to life.’ 

So does God, in lots of ways. And there’s no question in my mind whether or not God intended that very same thing with his creation. I believe God did. You and I, as co-sustainers with God of God’s good earth, are stewards, an old word that means we care for something as if it were our own, with the commitment to return it in as good or better of a condition than when we received it. 

It is not too late. Whether it’s Earth Month or not, take hold of the miracle that is creation. Honor it. Cherish it. And work to see that we lose nothing.

~~ RGM, April 24 2024

Blowin’ in the Wind: “Seasons of Nature” -- by Ilana

("Blowin’ in the Wind" is a periodic feature on my blog containing an assortment of nature writings – songs, excerpts, poems, prayers, Bible readings or other things – pieces written by others but that inspire me or give me joy. I trust they’ll do the same for you.)

I know I just did a “BitW” feature last month, and I cannot recall if I’ve ever shared a work by a family member, but I cannot resist avoiding either of these this month. My wife Gail and I just received a special gift from our eight-year-old granddaughter Ilana, and it tickled us so that I thought you might appreciate it as well. 

Each of our eleven grandchildren has their own special personality, and we love every one of them more than life itself. Ilana? She is a beautiful child full of the wonder of life, and of the love both of people and of God’s creation. She is also a ton of fun to be around in spite of the fact that she sometimes tells me I have been demoted to ‘the second-funniest person in the family’ behind our son, her Uncle Jarrett. But that never lasts long, and she typically and appropriately restores me to the throne quite quickly. (Sorry, Jarrett...)

And the girl DOES love God’s creation! It is always a pleasure to hike with her because she notices things, a key characteristic of nature lovers and all of us who find in nature an important spiritual pathway to God. She also calls herself Grandpa’s ‘nature companion’ whenever she and I hop on our ATV and pick up trash along the county road near our Michigan cabin. In other words, she is already concerned about Earth care. It’s therefore fitting that her name is even natural: ‘ilana’ is one of several Hebrew words for ‘tree,’ most often associated with oaks. That was not surprising when we first heard her name after her birth, as her father is a horticulturist, though I don’t know if that had anything to do with it at the time!

Upon our arrival for a visit last month, Ilana told Gail and me she had something for us, then with a shy smile gave us the hand-printed original of a poem she had written a few days before during a rest time she and her sibs take after lunch. We thought it precious, and so I present to you here Ilana’s “Seasons of Nature,” with her spellings and punctuation intact. Enjoy!

When the first snowflakes fall

When one by one they start then thousands shimer in the sky

When fluffy snow covers everything

When sparkling white they glisten megestic do they look

When few sounds nor animals are there only robins or none

Then do you know that Winter is here.

When the drifts are small yet get smaller each day

When the flowers peek from the wet soil

When the air is warm and damp

When animals wake up and continue their lives

When the areas are colerful 

Then do you know that spring is here

When the leaves on the trees turn green

When the air is schorching

When water is the want for outside fun

When ice cream and cold treats turn from a cream to a liquid faster than a hummingbird

When animals are everywhere trees, grass, sky

Then do you know that summer is here

When the air becomes colder and jackets required

When the leaves turn vibrant colers of yellow, orange and, bloodred

When nuts fall to the ground

When animals scurry to get food and store it for winter

When people start getting snow shovels and hot chochlate

Then do you know that Autum is here

I want to live nowhere else for

Seasons Make a year a year.

And, oh, I can’t forget her dedication from the back of the page: 

Dedicated

To

Papa and

Grandma

Whom love

Me and Nature

Very much

With Love

Isn’t that delightful? The simple, fresh and wondering thoughts of a child… amazingly compelling. 

I don’t know if you’ve paid attention to a malady that is oft-touted by psychologists over the last two decades, but the dysfunction has to do with nature deprivation. Exposure to the natural world has been proven to improve mental, social and emotional health in profound ways, to say nothing of the spiritual dimension of celebrating the beauty of the Lord’s sanctuary. Nature outings are being prescribed as treatment for both adults and kids. We’d all do our children and grandchildren an enormous service by getting them outdoors regularly, establishing natural rhythms and opportunity for healing while they are young, whether they are super eager to go or not. 

Please excuse my diversion into preaching -- it’s an occupational hazard! So skip that paragraph, take a deep breath, let it out slowly, and go back and read Ilana’s poem again. Then getcha self outdoors at the next possible opportunity.

~~ From a Grandpa ‘whom’ loves his grand-

children and nature very, VERY much, 

RGM, March 19 2024