Autumn in My Garden: Color
Pillow Talk (Almost) With…A Spined Soldier Bug
Last week, while reading in bed, I rolled over and found myself eye-to-eye (so to speak) with a spined soldier bug. Thanks to my superb Google skills (“triangle shaped bug” yielded about 392,000 results, but the first image was of my strange bedfellow), I quickly discovered the bug’s identity. Funny — it didn’t look like a soldier, nor was it spiny in any way — but it certainly was striking. It moved with what seemed to be a sense of relaxed purpose, and it’s markings mesmerized me. The photo above isn’t my best (I was really sleepy), but even so it shows the rich texture on the bug’s back and the incredible patterning on its folded wings. I look at it now, and I can imagine that I’m seeing an African mask in some gallery or museum collection. There’s an ancient, wizened quality to this bug.
Google tells me that the spined soldier bug belongs to the “stink bug” family; that it eats all kinds of other bugs considered garden pests (bean beetles, corn borers, earworms, etc.); and that one can place an internet order for 250 eggs (about $120) or 50 adults (about $150) to aid in “pest control.” Also, they apparently smell really, really awful if you smoosh them…hence the family name. (I wasn’t planning to do that, but this factoid gives me extra incentive to move with care around this insect friend.) All this useful information aside, I’m looking forward to having my own conversation with this bug one day (perhaps when I’m not drifting off in the middle of a This Old House magazine article about arts-and-crafts ceramic tile reproductions). Till then, I’ll keep enjoying this photo and my memory of watching the bug march — in a decidedly non-soldier-like fashion — across my pillow.
Relaxing Into Nature’s Timing
I have received two beautiful lessons this week in the power of relaxing into Nature’s timing. Twice this week, I had the opportunity to feel frustrated, get worked up, blame the world, and generally fume. Twice this week, I chose to leave those old, cultural habits behind and just “go with the flow.” And, twice this week, the results of choosing to trust Nature’s timing astounded me. Here goes:
ONE
On Wednesday morning, just as we reached the bus stop, my son told me that we’d left his school picture form at home. Without it, he said, he wouldn’t be allowed to get his school picture taken. If we walked back home (heck, even if we ran back home) to get the form, he would miss the bus — so that option was out. If, after he got on the bus, I drove the form to school, I would be late for teaching my 9:30 Music Together class (and ten children and their parents/caregivers would be left standing out in the cold, rainy morning wondering, “What happened to Miss Anne?”) — so that option was out. I stared at my son, wide-eyed, and I could feel myself in that slow-motion moment decide how I was going to respond to this situation. I said, simply, “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure the form gets to school.” And then I let it go.
Within minutes, the bus came, and I ran as fast as I could — uphill, and in not-so-sensible shoes, mind you — to the house. I grabbed the form and raced to the car, dialing my friend’s cell phone before I started the car (I’ve read those studies, and I’m not about to dial or text while driving). Maybe my friend was walking her son to school and could help me out by bringing the form to the school front office? No answer on her cell. OK, I thought, there’s another solution a-comin’. About a block down the road, a school bus stopped in front of me to pick up a child. Since there’s no passing a bus with its red flashing lights on, I waited. Patiently. And I got the opportunity to be even more patient when another school bus pulled alongside the first and the drivers had a little chat.
Eventually, the red lights went off and traffic started moving again. I said, out loud, “Well, there must be a reason…,” and before long I pulled into the first parking spot I could find near the school — about a block and a half away. Apparently in need of more sprinting practice that morning, I ran again (still in those darn shoes, mind you), to the front of the school. Know who was just walking up at that very moment? The friend I tried to call for help who didn’t answer her cell phone. And, know what I later found out? She wasn’t even planning on walking her son into school that day, until he looked at her over breakfast that morning and said, “Mom, you haven’t walked me into school in a long time. Can you do that today?” (Bless him!) So, I shouted her name, raced to her side, shoved the form in her hand and sputtered something like, “Help! Please!” (Thank goodness she can read my mind, or who knows where that form would be right now.) My son got his school picture taken; I got to the music studio with minutes to spare; no one had to stand out in the rain; and I experienced first-hand the power of allowing myself to be fully in the flow of Nature’s timing.
TWO
Last night, I finished a batch of edits on an email newsletter for one of my web clients, got her final approval, and scheduled the email newsletter service to send right away. “Oh, no,” said my client, “Don’t email it now! We’ve got to wait until the morning.” Oops. Too late. Once I selected the service’s “Send Immediately” option, there’s no going back. I thought, “Well, what’s done is done; it is what it is. No sense spending any energy worrying about it. The email just went out early, and that’s all.” Within minutes, the newsletter service sent a message saying the email newsletter couldn’t be processed and to please call their office tomorrow morning after 9:00 am. What? OK, so there were two things to react to: 1) there’s a problem with the email; and 2) the email can’t be delivered until tomorrow. Did I spend any energy worrying over what was wrong with the email? Nope. I just said I’d call the service in the morning and said a silent prayer of gratitude that the darn thing didn’t get sent out in the evening, after all. This morning, when I called the service, they said, “Oh, it was just a big mistake. Go ahead and send the email, and we’re so sorry for the error.” I wanted to hug the customer service rep! So, I scheduled the newsletter service to “Send Immediately” once again, and zip-zip-zip went the message out to my client’s 400 subscribers, this time at the correct moment.
And then I sat in awe, amazed at the two powerful opportunities I’ve had this week to see what happens, to see what flows, when I relax into Nature’s timing. Who needs frustration? Who needs to worry? Not me. Next time I’m stuck behind a school bus, I’m going to say, “Thank you Nature, for whatever good stuff is coming my way…in time.”
Magnetism, Pattern and “Sonic Space”: More on Feathers
Hold on to your hats, and wait till you read this… I’m posting here, in full, a comment-reply to my recent post on feathers, “An Opportunity for Seeing,” written by friend and Everyday Co-Creativity reader, Balsam. Personally, the expanded information Balsam provides on magnetism and pattern is particularly meaningful; my “opportunity for seeing” has just expanded dramatically. Enjoy!
“Aboriginal Australians have historically put feathers and blood on their bodies because these biological creations have the property of being magnetic. The wearer would become more sensitive to magnetic patterns produced by the Earth and other life forms. This heightened sensitivity would then allow the wearer to more easily navigate the terrain, and probably help with locating resources such as water and prey animals which interact with the Earth’s magnetic patterns in their own characteristic ways. The magnetically sensitized body is also more aware of energies coming in from the cosmos, which hold various places on the electromagnetic spectrum. These cosmic energies may also be used by spiritual entities in order to ‘cross the bridge’ between them and humans.
“From my perspective, then, the ideas about feathers as that which can help us find our way, or an indication of spiritual blessings, are all right ideas… and today we have the scientific knowledge that allows us to understand how these “spiritual” ideas actually play out within the physical realm–since magnetism is a physical phenomenon.
“The spiritual ideas about feathers are not ‘superstition.’ They represent an implicit recognition of the magnetic power of feathers. What I have been discovering over the past year, with much excitement, is that the human body also has magnetic capabilities (thanks to the tiny magnetite crystals in our cells) and that these capabilities can be consciously cultivated and enhanced.
“This study of how I can work with my own magnetism has become increasingly important to me as I have realized that magnetism is the feminine polarity on the electromagnetic spectrum. We live in a world awash in electricity. Cultivating my magnetism has very significantly increased my effectiveness in life and relationships, as it has helped me create more balance between my own masculine and feminine energies.
“The magnetic patterns my body creates also give me another bridge of connection to all other life forms, which in my observation, grow in accordance with their own biomagnetic patterns.
“Last but not least, I have noticed that magnetic patterns can be disturbed or enhanced by sound. Perhaps this is why research suggests that some plants cannot properly grow and complete their life cycles without the assistance of bird song. That idea, of course, brings us full circle back to the feathers. The creatures that produce these beautiful structures also serve us through sound and through the beauty of their flight. I am hopeful that the words I’ve written here will help us all to appreciate them and their contribution to the web of life on Earth more deeply. I am hopeful that the words I’ve written here will help us all to give the birds more space. In my mind that includes sonic space. I avoid using motorized equipment of any kind whenever I can, and that’s one way I contribute to providing sonic space for the other life forms.”
And the Winner Is…Burdock!
The Mystery Plant growing in Zone 9 of my garden is, officially, burdock. (Thank you, Balsam!) And the timing couldn’t be better — since it’s a good idea that I harvest it sooner rather than later. Here’s what I know, now, about burdock:
- It’s a biennial, so it will grow this year and next and then go to seed for good.
- The first year, burdock grows in a large-leaf cluster, low to the ground; the second year, it grows tall (up to nine feet), sending up a central flower stem in the Spring.
- The flowers are a glorious purple that look thistle-like, and they are followed by brown burrs (that grab onto clothing, transporting seeds to wherever our socks, pants or sweaters travel).
- The large, deep taproot, which can be quite a task to unearth, is edible — with a taste and texture similar to artichoke hearts. (Save the leaves for the goats.)
- The root is not only good for eating, but it is also powerful medicine — it stimulates the liver, kidneys and lymphatics, so it is an excellent detox agent. It is also very good for the skin (acne, eczema, etc.).
- To cook the root, scrub (don’t peel) the root, slice it into paper-thin sections, and boil the root slivers for 20 minutes. Or, slice a two-inch chunk of the root into smaller bits, simmer in six cups of water, and steep the “tea” (adding more water and re-boiling as necessary until the “tea” is no longer blue).
If I wait until next year to harvest the burdock, I must make sure to do so in the early Spring, before the central flower stalk sprouts — otherwise, the taproot will be woody and inedible. Waiting also means that I’ll risk burdock consuming the entirety of Zone 9, and by now I think it’s clear how I feel about boundaries! I’m loving how this burdock looks in its one square, but I would like to maintain the garden’s diversity. So, digging up the burdock root this Fall will be my way of stating a clear boundary. (Also, my mom’s winter-time eczema is coming on strong, and brewing her a cup of Annie’s Homegrown Burdock Elixir makes more sense now than it will in six months’ time.)
I’ll confer with my garden Deva tomorrow morning, but I’m betting that I spend part of this Columbus Day weekend in my garden clogs, with a shovel in my hands, digging a couple of feet into the ground to find the tip of that wonderful burdock taproot. And, I might just whip up a batch of Turkish-Style Burdock Root in celebration (thank you, Wildman Steve Brill!).
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Sources: 1) www.wildmanstevebrill.com/Plants.Folder/Burdock.html; 2) www.normanallan.com/Med/herbs/burdock.htm; 3) www.herbalremediesinfo.com/Burdock.html
What is This Mystery Plant?
Some garden visitors have suggested that this plant (below) might be rhubarb. Others have said it’s a big ol’ weed. Whatever it is, it’s healthy, gorgeous, and a fantastic garden companion. Does anyone have an answer to the question, “What is this mystery plant?”
An Opportunity for Seeing
- spiritual evolution; ascension
- connection with “God” or “the gods”
- being on the “right track”
- guardian angels are present
- spirit has heard one’s prayers
- lightness; freedom
The Purples of Autumn!
Sedum, with a bee
Cosmo, in the afternoon
Grass, going to seed
Bee, sipping nectar
In Praise Of: Marigolds
Marigolds are funny. Some regard them as a ho-hum generic flower, while others consider them a critical part of high religious ceremonies. Some talk reverently about their ability to keep aphids away from tomato plants, while others say they are “too easy” and “cheapen” a garden. Some inhale deep from the center of the blossom, coming away with orange or yellow noses, while others are repelled by the strong, musky scent. Marigolds’ push-pull nature fascinates me, and I hear the call of marigolds as a call to balance.
Personally, I love to smell a pot of marigolds. Happiness bubbles up inside me when I see marigolds’ yellow or orange flower heads from across a street. And, as a gardener, I deeply appreciate how easy they are to grow and maintain in a garden. Yet, I find an overpopulation of marigolds to be disconcerting. Their lovely scent can overpower when too many are bunched together. Rows and rows of marigold “soldiers” can turn those happy, beckoning flower heads into a redundant mass of joyless poofs. Even the ease with which they grow can become tiresome, leaving a gardener yearning for a bit more friction and challenge.
Balance. Diversity. Focus. Marigolds remind me to plant them sparingly — leaving room for other species and varietals, for other colors and textures, for other scents and heights. When I do so, I appreciate each marigold flower individually and with more concentration than I could if I had a garden loaded with them. After all, the abundance inherent in each blossom deserves as much of our time and energy as it receives from its butterfly, moth and bee visitors — who land and stay, considering only one flower at a time. I am thankful for this call to balance, to diversity, and to focus.
Nature’s New Year
At exactly 5:18 pm EDT today (September 22, 2009), we will experience the autumnal equinox and Summer will gracefully yield to Autumn. Machaelle Small Wright refers to this equinox as Nature’s New Year, and that absolutely makes sense to me. In my own life, September feels much more like The Beginning than does January. Part of that is because our school year begins this month (and with two children in grade school, everything is new in September). But beyond that societal structure, summer feels like the end of a complete life cycle, after which I am ready for a fresh start. (In January, I’m still hibernating!)
Think of it this way: The “seeds” that we sow during today’s equinox — on a deep energetic level — will fall upon the earth, nestle into the soil, enter into a quiet state of rest, gather energy for the birth of Spring, and prepare to burst forth and grow with strength and glory during next year’s growing season. At the end of that growing season — the end of next year’s summer — this cycle will begin anew. It sure does make sense.
Alas, my life timing does not always line up with the precise timing of the solstice/equinox shifts, so today at exactly 5:18 pm EDT I will either be in the public library helping my children choose books or at the hardware store getting keys made. Either way, I will take a moment to breathe deeply and feel my connection to Nature. I will set my intention to open to this new cycle, both on a personal level and on a Nature-partnership level, and to do whatever I can to “assist in its full unfolding*.” (Please, please, let it be at the library…)
I’d love to hear how others are marking this seasonal transition, too. If you’d like, please post a comment and let me know! Happy New Year!!
* Machaelle Small Wright, http://www.perelandra-ltd.com/Solstice_Equinox_Cycle_W4585.cfm
