Renewal and Nourishment

Easter, Passover, and Ramadan with their elements of renewal and spiritual nourishment have past. May is arriving and Spring continues offering opportunities for feeling renewed and nourished. Spring is widely recognized as a time of transition from winter’s dormancy to new life, growth, and hope. 

Over the years volunteers and I have sown seeds in Prospect Gardens. This poem by Wendell Berry, farmer, philosopher, poet and conservationist, expresses how being mindful of sowing seeds generates feelings of renewal and nourishment.  

Sowing the seed,

my hand is one with the earth

Wanting the seed to grow,

my hands are one with the rain

Having cared for the plants,

my mind is one with the air

Hungry and thrusting

my mind is one with the earth

Eating the fruit,

my body is one with the earth. 

Feeling renewed and nourished by Spring can be challenging given the negativity surrounding us and notably politically related events. Yet once again, the Redbud trees within our neighborhood are at their peak including those located along a path in the UW Arboretum which I often take on my walks. Now I check on the Canadian goose sitting patiently on her nest on the west side of a small island in the middle of a storm water pond  across from Gates and Brovi. Nearby, the gander stoically sits, usually in the water or in the grass bordering the pond. He will become very involved in raising the goslings. Hopefully, I will see the goslings. The eggs will hatch any day.

 Further down the path and on the west side of the Spring Trail Pond (commonly referred to as the "Duck Pond")  a Sandhill Crane is nesting while her mate stands guard. He too will co-parent the colt. I observe them from a safe distance through my binoculars. The female hardly moves while blending into the dry reeds surrounding the nest. The male occasionally preens himself, bending his long neck to reach the back of his under-belly.   

The “Duck Pond” is also in the University of Wisconsin-Madison Arboretum and a short walk from our apartment. Large numbers of native mallard ducks inhabit the pond year ’round.  Water from a spring flows into the pond and makes it way into Lake Wingra just beyond the tree line. The water is warm enough year-round to remain unfrozen during our winters. Sometimes steam rises above the water as the ducks enjoy the warmth and call out to each other. 

The Duck Pond was dredged and created in the 1930s, with much of construction done by the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC). The nearby stone walls, associated with the site, were also built by the CCC. I often during a walk pause and sit on these walls; resting while being nourished by the Spring sunshine and warm breezes.

Patches of delicate trout lilies are another indicator of  Spring's renewal.  Once again they break through the underlying layer of brown leaves and spread across the both sides of the path I walk on. Their return and beauty nourish my spirit.  

These reflections remind me of childhood Spring time on the farm where I was born on and reached young adulthood. A creek leading to a large size pond were easily seen from windows of our four square farm house.  As a result of Spring rain, the creek and pond often flooded and overflowed. I can still hear the pleasant sounding rushing water as I watched from our house porch, just off the kitchen. 

The rushing water and returning Red Winged Blackbirds near the pond contributed to a sense of peace. However, male birds were very protective when their mates were nesting. Our farm was at the dead end of a mile long gravel road which had a patch of swamp after you entered the road from Highway 29.  During nesting season when my siblings and I walked down the road, as we often did to get the mail from the mailbox at the other side of Highway 29, the males squawked and dived-bombed towards our heads. Walking fast and waving your hands above your head helped prevent actual head contact by the defending males.   

Polandi: Early 1950s, I'm 2nd on right side, first row  

A Spring ritual at our one room school house was to track signs of Spring and create a written record.  Among my entries, along with the Red Wind Black Birds, were Robins, Swallows, and Killdeer. Robins did not remain during winter as they now do here in the Madison area.

Robins were the first to return followed by the Red Wing Blackbirds. The Killdeer and the Barn Swallows arrived later. Flocks of Barn Swallows built new or returned to old nests under the eves of the barn. Their nests went from one end to the other, covering the eves on both sides of the barn. The Swallows' chirping and callings were music to my young ears and brain. 

Killdeer were fewer in number and more solitary. They nested on flat open spaces in our pastures or along the roadside to our farm.  Killdeer when startled made a sharp sound and scampered away at a quick pace. 

During Spring my siblings and I enjoyed the birth of animals: goslings, calves, piglets, kittens, and puppies. Chicks were ordered and delivered to the Pulaski Post Office.  After being picked up, several boxes of peeping chicks were released in a special building known as a 'broader."  An electric heating bulb along with heat from a wood stove kept the broader warm during cold Spring nights. My Mother religiously tended the fire, sometimes during the night. I helped my Mother feed the chicks while she watched over them as they matured. We did not consider the chicks as pets. Eventually, the chickens and geese were slaughtered and sold. 

My early positive feelings about Spring laid the foundation for appreciating the season as an adult. On April 25th, we began the 17th year of tending Prospect Gardens, a continual experience of renewal and nourishment.

Ten volunteers joined me on a day with puffy white clouds, blue sky and warm temperatures. In front and to the right is Erica. Sitting on the third step is me, then Alice, Astrid, and Ann N in her stylish sun hat. Near the right handrail is Dan. In the back row are  Clara, Kaylee, and Peggy. 

Shelia and Laura are not pictured. Thank you all. Your generosity and warm spirits made for a nourishing day.  Removing stinging nettles was the major task. This year they had spread throughout the Gardens. Some day lilies were removed and will be replaced with native plants.  Plant stalks were cut back and the orange snow fences taken down. 

We accomplished a lot while enjoying each others' company. Break was especially enjoyable. Astrid read a poem she wrote about her Westmoreland neighbors. She mentioned people, plants, pets, and unique things like a woven tapestry around a tree. To me, the poem is another example of being nourished by the daily extraordinariness of neighborhoods. Thank you, Astrid, for sharing a result of your mindfulness and your love of your neighborhood. 

 Here's Clara and Kaylee, two West High School's Leo Club members. Your youthful energy and hard work really made a difference. Good luck with those AP exams you mentioned. Thank you for taking time from your busy schedules. 

Dan and Astrid spent a lot of time removing Stinging Nettles. Dan was a first time volunteer while Astrid is now a veteran. Thank you both. Dan, here's hoping to see you again. 

Last week I talked to a couple harvesting young Stinging Nettles and young Bishops Weed. They were just off the Southwest Path and in the Westmoreland neighborhood. The young women praised both plants as tasty food and said they were excellent in salads.

  

Alice and Shelia removed day lilies commonly known as "ditch lilies."  They have been in this section for years, predating the Southwest Path. Day lilies  are aggressive, spreading and claiming new territory. Perhaps the mild winter was a contributing factor. Thank you Alice and Shelia for once again volunteering.

Erica getting ready to cross the path in search of more Stinging Nettles on the Fox side of the Gardens. A few were found. She also found and pulled a few garlic mustards which several years ago were prevalent throughout the Gardens. Last season we had none. Thank you Erica for once again volunteering after a hiatus. Welcome back. 

Thank you to Laura also (not pictured) but a very long time loyal volunteer.

May you too feel Spring's power of renewal and capacity to nourish your mind and body. I end with this Mary Oliver's poem that underscores the power of nature and ends with reminding us we are all embedded in the web of life.  

Wild Geese  

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things. 

  

Praise the Ordinary

Banner: Knickerbocker 

Banners across the street from our apartment and leading to Lake Wingra celebrate winter. The Lake is  now frozen over but ice is not thick enough for walking. A few more cold days the ice will be thick enough for walking and one or two ice fishing shanties will return. 

A few days of bright sunshine has somewhat reduced the nearly ten inches of snow received the Saturday after Thanksgiving. Yet plenty covers my neighborhood reminding me of the long winters of my childhood when we hurdled in the farm house warmed by wood stoves in the kitchen and dining rooms. My mother fed wood into the stoves and just knew how to keep the embers alive during the night. On nights when temperatures dropped below zero, she got up and replenished the wood in each stove. My sibs and I slept upstairs. Every morning the downstairs kitchen was toasty warm as we pulled on hats, coats and boots, before leaving to do the farm chores. We then cleaned up and left for school.  

My older sisters and brothers recall trudging across the snow covered fields to Polandi, the one room school house, about two miles from our home. My sister Theresa, when in first grade, told me that she was  often carried back home by her older brother Joe because of the deep snow. I have no memories of such walks but do recall taking the car to Polandi when my older brother Tom learned how to drive when he was 14. This was before mandatory drivers licenses. He parked the car next to the building. A new teacher on her first day asked: "Who's car is parked outside?" and Tom proudly acknowledged that it was ours. 

        

Rev. Kelly AJ 

My family and I did not consider those winter days as being extraordinary, instead they were the ordinary experienced by us and our neighbors. The Rev. Kelly Asprooth-Jackson's  November 30th pulpit message at our church (First Unitarian Society, FUS) entitled, `Every Common Bush Afire with God', reminds me to be grateful for the ordinariness of our daily lives and to be in "... awe of the small and common-place: a blade of grass, a honey bee, a single stone from the lakeshore."

Six years ago we called Rev. Kelly AJ (as he is referred to) as one of our senior ministers, forming a team with Rev. Kelly Crocker. She was already our minister. Among Rev. Kelly AJ 's   many skills is being an exceptional story teller, drawing from many sources and spiritual traditions. He often steps in front of   the entire congregation to tell a story or tells a story surrounded by children during a segment entitled "Message for All Ages." He always tells a story without notes. When his audience are children, he warmly relates with them and often invites and incorporates their questions which many are very eager to ask.

Brow of FUS
Frank Lloyd Wright Design 

I am grateful that he is one of our ministers with so many skills to lead, along with Rev. Kelly Crocker, a large congregation like FUS. They make a good team.

Olivia Montgomery and Linda Warren played piano and organ duets during the November 30th FUS service. Olivia is a member of FUS. Linda is our Assistant Music Director and gifted playing the harp, piano and organ. They played a rendition of the Quaker hymn, "Simple Gifts."  Elder Joseph Brackett in 1848 wrote the hymn that begins with the line, "Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free". The melody was popularized by composer Aaron Copland in his 1944 ballad Appalachian Spring and is now a well-known American folk song 

This poem by Richard Gilbert is another reminder to praise the ordinary. The ordinary can inspire awe and gratitude just like sunsets, views of the ocean, or mountains. 

In Praise of the Ordinary 

I lift my voice this day in praise of the ordinary:
The endless routines of living:
Life's everyday rituals;
The boring things we do to exist;
The monotonous getting up in the morning;
Eating, working, going to bed at night;
Moving to and fro to make a living;
Enjoying a life.

I celebrate the simple things,
The things to which we give not a second thought:
The miracle of breathing;
The act of eating;
The cadences of daily speech;
The sounds of nature as a simple backdrop
To our complicated lives.

I celebrate leaves falling from the trees
And snow falling from the skies;
The brave persistence of the grass,
And the sleeping flowers of the fields.

Enough, I say, of big things and great things,
And extraordinary things, and ultimate things.
I celebrate the ordinary.
I lift my voice in praise.

As I write, the warm air from the overhead furnace vent gently flows over me while causing the nearby prayer flags to flutter. Above the flags are four framed needle point pictures depicting the four seasons, crafted by my dear Mother-in-law, Ethel. I especially think of her now as Christmas approaches. She often spent Christmas Day until January 1st with us. She always brought a canister full of  Christmas cookies (she made 15 different kinds) and a loaf of fruit cake made by the Mount Mary Sisters of Milwaukee.  When the cookies and fruit cake were gone, she would laugh and say "now it's time to go home."  I lift up my voice in praise of Ethel's beautiful needle point pictures, the prayer flags, the warm furnace air, and this lovely apartment with its spacious windows which allows sun to stream into our apartment. 

Here's another item worthy of praise. The tag is from a 43" X 53" inch red, white, and blue knitted wool afghan handmade by the  "Telephone Pioneers."  It is at least 50 years old. My wife's great Aunt Gertie owned the afghan. She was a Bell telephone operator for many years. I suspect the "Telephone Pioneers" was a group and Gertie was a member.

As winter sets in, and before using our heavy store bought quilt, I spread the afghan over my side of the bed; covering myself with just the right weight with the result being warmth and coziness. Before falling asleep, I often offer gratitude for having the afghan and to its maker.    

Ann and I acquired the afghan as we helped my Mother-in-law, Ethel clean out Gertie and Uncle Johnnie's Milwaukee flat, after both died. We also have two of their lamps, a library table, and an ornate 6 leg table which now holds our TV.

Worthy of praise is this simple tea pot. Many mornings for at least 25 years tea brewed in this pot has nourished my body and soul. We bought it from Orange Tree Imports, now celebrating 50 years in business on Monroe Street. I enjoy herbal teas: chamomile, decaf sencha, and papaya peach.

Prospect Gardens is once again covered with a blanket of snow protecting the plants' roots and revealing the simplicity of the Gardens. Here's three pictures as a testimony to the Gardens' praise worthiness even in the dead of  winter. Each is accompanied with a comment about the value of the ordinary. 

"I have learned that what I have not drawn I have never really seen, and that when I start drawing an ordinary thing, I realize how extraordinary it is, sheer miracle." - Georgia O'Keeffe.

"Your ordinary acts of love and hope point to the extraordinary promise that every human life is of inestimable value."-  Desmond Tutu 

"And then there’s — he reminded me of ordinary time, or pastoral time. Anyone who’s a farmer knows there’s sowing and reaping time. And I was always, the more I was into tragic time, the more I was a little judgmental about that. I was like: It sounds very boring; it sounds very commonplace. But that’s the — who’s picking up your mom on Tuesday? Did you send that email? Have you made that phone call? It’s all the wonderful, stupid, ordinary stuff of day-to-day life. And like, that is also necessary and good." - Kate Bowler

As I embrace and celebrate ordinary time, the large inflatable Santas are again appearing along Monroe Street and several side streets. One on our apartment's deck has again joined the display. My fellow Madisonians, but not all, consider the Santa collection as the ordinary being the extraordinary. A neighbor considered the collection as another example of the over commercialization of Christmas. 

Here's a Rev. Max Coots' poem in praise of friendship which to me goes beyond the ordinary. Until the November 30th church service, my copy lacked the first stanza. The service began with a reading of the poem by Rev. Kelly AJ and Worship Associate Bryan Rainey.  Rev. Coots is Minister Emeritus at the Unitarian Universalist Church of Canton, New York.

A HARVEST OF PEOPLE

Let us give thanks for a bounty of people.

For children who are our second planting, and though they
grow like weeds and the wind too soon blows them away, may
they forgive us our cultivation and fondly remember where
their roots are.

Let us give thanks;

For generous friends with hearts and smiles as bright
as their blossoms;

For feisty friends, as tart as apples;

For continuous friends, who, like scallions and cucumbers,
keep reminding us that we’ve had them;

For crotchety friends, sour as rhubarb and as indestructible;

For handsome friends, who are as gorgeous as eggplants and
as elegant as a row of corn, and the others, as plain as
potatoes and so good for you;

For funny friends, who are as silly as Brussels sprouts and
as amusing as Jerusalem artichokes;

And serious friends as unpretentious as cabbages, as subtle
as summer squash, as persistent as parsley, as delightful as
dill, as endless as zucchini and who, like parsnips, can be
counted on to see you through the winter;

For old friends, nodding like sunflowers in the evening-time,
and young friends coming on as fast as radishes;

For loving friends, who wind around us like tendrils and hold
us, despite our blights, wilts and witherings;

And finally, for those friends now gone, like gardens past
that have been harvested, but who fed us in their times that
we might have life thereafter.

For all these we give thanks.

May you enjoy both the grandeur and the ordinary during this Holiday Season. I'm looking forward to a visit from my brother Lou and his wife Corine. We exchange gifts, go out for lunch, and visit the Capitol Holiday Tree. This year's theme is "The Learning Tree" and as usual the elementary students from throughout Wisconsin made the ornaments.. 

 

 

Impermanence

October 16, 2025
 Near Edgewood High School

 As autumn settles in, I again reflect about the truth of impermanence. In Buddhism, impermanence is a fundamental teaching that all phenomena, including our bodies, thoughts, and emotions, are in a constant state of flux and change. 

Seeing and deeply accepting impermanence reduces the inevitable suffering that is part of  life. Suffering encompasses more than just physical pain; it includes all forms of unsatisfactoriness, unease, and stress in life.

The Buddha throughout his long life emphasized the need to understand and embrace impermanence at a deep heartfelt level. The Buddha lived for about 80 years and died around 483 BCE.  He achieved enlightenment at age 35 and spent the next 45 years teaching his followers. It is said that while dying from food poisonings, his final teaching included : "Everything vanishes. Therefore there is nothing more important than continuing the path with diligence". 

Embracing impermanence is a lifelong practice cultivated through direct experience, meditation, and reflection on the constant, moment-by-moment changes in life. Autumn, a season of transitions, especially offers many opportunities to be mindful of  impermanence. 

Deeply accepting impermanence has several benefits besides reducing suffering and these include:

Living in the present: Cultivating an awareness of impermanence encourages mindfulness and a deeper appreciation for each fleeting moment. We shift from worrying about the future or dwelling on the past to living fully in the present.

Supports compassion and non-clinging: By acknowledging that all people and relationships are temporary, we can appreciate each other more deeply while learning to hold each other with compassion while reducing the pain of inevitable separation. 

Provides wise hope: The flip side of impermanence is that difficult times will also pass. Knowing that no situation is permanent provides resilience and wise hope in the face of adversity. Wise hope, according to Joan Halifax, is seeing and acting on things as they are rather than seeing things unrealistically. Rev. Joan Halifax is the current Abbot and Founder of Upaya Zen Center,  a socially engaged Buddhist center in Santa Fe, New Mexico.  To learn more about wise hope see my August 9, 2023 blog post.

Impermanence is not a pessimistic idea or one that means passively accepting the status quo. Instead, it can be a liberating and profoundly motivating practice that transforms one's relationship with life and how to act accordingly in the face of constant and continuous change. For more about impermanence here's a link  https://www.lionsroar.com/impermanence-is-buddha-nature/

Mary Oliver's poem In Blackwater Woods teaches us to embrace impermanence (in her words "love what is mortal") during this season of transitions. 

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders
 
of the ponds.
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side
 
is salvation
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
 
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

Caring for Prospect Gardens during September, October and November offered opportunities for letting go while being mindful of impermanence. 

In September, I noticed Kudzu covering plants in a section of the Gardens near the Japanese Sumac, whose green color was turning into a bright shade of gold. Kudzu had grown into the Japanese Sumac. Kudzu is a fast-growing and climbing vine native to Asia, known for its aggressive spread. It has been used for food, fiber, and traditional medicine, with parts of the plant being edible, with a mild, spinach-like flavor. A few years ago on my walk through the Gardens I noticed a women with heritage from one of the Eastern Asian countries harvesting the Kudzu blossoms. 

As I tugged on the Kudzu, while forgetting how it spread over the Japanese Sumac, I heard a loud snap. Inadvertently, I broke off a major branch of the Japanese Sumac. The aging shrub now has a new shape, a reminder of impermanence.   

Meg and Laura V. on a Break

Another reminder of impermanence: removing the Kudzu revealed a weed infested area that once had native plants.  On September 27th,  Meg, Laura V. and I weeded and replanted the area with plants that I purchased from K&A Nursery in Verona. The nursery was having a sale before closing for the season. I spent $30 for six plants: Four yellow cone flowers, one white cone flower, and a species of  goldenrod. Shortly after planting the goldenrod, three honey bees began pollinating the blooms. We fenced the area, protection from the rabbits that have recently claimed the Gardens as their home. 

Thank you Meg and Laura V. Your continued volunteering is appreciated. We worked very well as a team.

Temperatures in the 80's and 90's required me to frequently water the newly installed plants. Thank you Patricia and Jim, neighbors near the Gardens, for access to your water.  

Laura 

Laura stopped by while we planted. She often bikes the Path. Laura is a volunteer extraordinaire. She, with help of her husband, developed and now maintain huge areas of native plants along sections of the Path  that pass through the Midvale neighborhood. The area near where the Path and the Beltline intersect is especially impressive. Thank you Laura for your continued dedication to beautifying areas along the Path that provide benefits to passersby, small animals, and insects. 

We talked about the cone flowers and a species of goldenrod  (Solidago Rugosa/Fireworks) being planted. She didn't recognize the species of our goldenrod. Later, after a Google search, I learned that this one is a native and found from Newfoundland to Ontario and Michigan, south to Missouri, Texas and Georgia. Wisconsin was not mentioned. Like other goldenrod already in the Garden this one attracts bees and butterflies. I also learned that physicians in ancient times believed that goldenrod had healing powers and that it's not the culprit for allergies, as commonly believed. 

Online Photo

Here's what Mary Oliver says we can learn from goldenrod. Please note she incorrectly suggests you can have an allergic reaction to goldenrod.  

Goldenrod                            

 On roadsides,
  in fall fields,
      in rumpy bunches,
          saffron and orange and pale gold, 

in little towers,
  soft as mash,
      sneeze-bringers and seed-bearers,
          full of bees sand yellow beads and perfect flowerlets

and orange butterflies.
  I don’t suppose
      much notice comes of it, except for honey,
           and how it heartens the heart with its

blank blaze.
  I don’t suppose anything loves it, except, perhaps,
      the rocky voids
          filled by its dumb dazzle.

For myself,
  I was just passing by, when the wind flared
      and the blossoms rustled,
          and the glittering pandemonium

leaned on me.
  I was just minding my own business
      when I found myself on their straw hillsides,
          citron and butter-colored,

and was happy, and why not?
  Are not the difficult labors of our lives
      full of dark hours?
          And what has consciousness come to anyway, so far,

that is better than these light-filled bodies?
  All day
       on their airy backbones
           they toss in the wind,

they bend as though it was natural and godly to bend,
  they rise in a stiff sweetness,
      in the pure peace of giving
           one’s gold away.

Solidago Rugosa/Fireworks.

September quietly slipped into October. By the October 25th work session, the blossoms of the solidago rugosa/fireworks planted in September had given away their gold. The brownish seeds wait to be dispersed in anticipation of renewal and rebirth.

Likewise the once colorful aster blossoms, rustling in the breeze, are now brown and fuzzy to the touch. A new cycle of life awaits in the midst of impermanence and for winter to settle in. Some of the seeds will be nourishment for wintering birds, like the sparrows.

Cresa, Joyce & Kaia

Impermanence and life cycles were some of the hallmark of the October 25th work session.  Joyce, a long time volunteer, and two West High School Leo Club members, Gresa (on the left) and Kaia thinned out, cut and removed the abundant Jerusalem artichokes from a large section on the Regent side of the Gardens. Their efforts in the sporadic light rain resulted in a larger than usual pile of plant material that the city picked up. Thank you city crew members. 

Kaia is a Freshman at West and likes science and math. Gresa is an international exchange student, a Senior, and from Kosovo. Next year she will take some time off and then attend college in one of the European countries. Hopefully, I will have the pleasure of once again gardening with both of them as they continue their journeys. 

Thank you Joyce for once again tending the Gardens. Joyce is one of the original volunteers who joined our collective efforts 16 years ago. And thank you Kaia and Gresa. 

June

This is June with her trusted baby chain saw. She has another one, referred to as the mother chair saw. With some sadness and a recognition of reality, June expertly removed the dead cherry tree. Thank you June. I helped carry away the branches and cut many to a length required for pick up by the city.

The tree was one of three planted in April 2014 and now one cherry tree remains. The cherry tree was damaged several years ago and until this season bore fruit. June picked cherries for a pie. I enjoyed picking and eating handfuls of cherries. Birds also enjoyed the berries.

The tree was covered with algae and cutting revealed a space within the trunk full of large black ants. The cherry tree even in death provided sustenance and shelter while exemplifying the interdepency of life and nature. Perhaps next spring we will decide on a replacement.    

Michael, Jake, & Madeleine

November 1st arrived, after a festive Halloween, with cloudy skies and light rain shortly after we began the work session. Joining me were Laura V., and two West High School Leo Club members: Madeleine, and Michael. Camera shy Laura took the picture. Michael and I were enjoying a chocolate chip cookie during a short break.

 Initially, Laura and Madeleine began cutting back and removing cup plants while Michael and I tackled putting up the orange snow fences. Madeleine and Laura also collected wind chimes and other objects to be stored for the winter in the little shed. 

The cold rain increased and we decided to focus just on putting up the fences. Michael and I hammered in the steel poles and afterwards Laura and Madeleine fastened the plastic fences to the poles. In no time, the task was completed. Hopefully the orange fences will prevent the city snow plowing crew from pushing snow into the Gardens. 

Laura and I put away the tools, wheelbarrow and objects in the little shed. I closed the door, fastened the lock and declared that the 2025 Prospect Gardens season ended. Thank you all who volunteered this season. Please note, while impermanence is a reality, hopefully there will be a 2026 season and enough volunteers to care for the ever changing Prospect Gardens.     

 

Before ending with another poem, I am happy to report that the family of Sandhill Cranes are, as of
this date, still with us. Here they are the day before Halloween, in the afternoon, strolling down the sidewalk across from the entrance to the garage of our apartment building. The smaller crane is the youngster. I saw them again on Halloween, in the afternoon, leisurely strolling past the lobby window of our apartment. Both times the family looked like they were carefree and certainly not busy planning their upcoming migration.

Blessings to these three and the other Sandhill Cranes as they gather to make their way to southern United States and Mexico, including Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and California. Some may also stop in areas like the Platte River in Nebraska to rest and refuel before continuing their journey.

The poem for your further reflection is by the Unitarian Universalist minister Rev. David Bumbaugh.

 Dancing in the Wind

Except for a few stubborn holdouts

the tree outside my window

is bare of leaves.

The wind,

this October morning,

worries those few remaining leaves,

pulling them this way,

twisting them that way,

tugging at them

until, one by one,

exhausted by the ceaseless effort to hang on,

they go dancing with the wind.

As they waltz past my window,

the stubbornness has left them

and they are finally free.

What is it about living things

that we expend so much energy resisting the inevitable,

hanging on to that which is already gone,

hoping to sustain a season

into times that are unseasonable,

clinging to old habits

despite the pain and the discomfort?

Why are we so afraid to dance in the wind?

November 2, 2025
Edgewood Drive

May we all continue dancing in the wind and have the wisdom to know when to let go.  

  

The Spirituality of Summer

Neighbor's Flower Garden

We often equate summer with vacations, strawberry shortcake, barbecues, short sleeve weather, or resting in the shade, perhaps in a hammock. When I was a child the annual church picnic and fund raiser (held near the July 4th Holiday) was the highlight of our summers. We were free for a day from the toils of harvesting crops. 

Commerce and religion overlapped as the Catholic priest or a parishioner called out Bingo numbers to those crowded on seating along the four sides of  a building on church property. An array of prizes, some very expensive, were displayed in the center of the building, easily in the view of hopeful Bingo players. This illegal ritual continued until the county sheriff's raid that resulted in a fine.

During the picnic, I strolled the grounds looking for a game that I hoped would end in winning one of those painted  plaster of paris horses, adorned with silver glitter. My sister-in-law Corine has one on her living room shelf. I never won a horse and didn't play the game for any length of time. I wanted to make sure I had enough money to buy ice cream, a rare treat in our family. 

    

As I aged I increasingly recognized the spiritual aspects of summer, as I did a few weeks ago watching this agile butterfly feeding on a brilliantly white flower. I was on one of my daily walks, passing by a neighbor's carefully tended front yard. 

According to the Oxford dictionary spirituality is the quality of being concerned with the human spirit or soul as opposed to material or physical things. My musings then are about how summer can be a time when experiences (may they be momentary) stimulate an individual's personal search for meaning, purpose, and connection to something greater than themselves.  

Here's Mary Oliver's poem This Summer Day with its message about the potential spiritual effects of summer.

The Summer Day

Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean--

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down --

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do 

With your one wild and precious life?

I admit watching the butterfly/flower did not raise in my consciousness about the deep question of what I am planning to do with the rest of my life. Instead I marveled at the beauty that was in front of me. Noticing beauty is a form of spirituality as suggested in David Whyte  book Consolations: The Solace, Nourishment and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words. The book, a birthday gift from my friend Linda, has short elegant essays on 265 words starting with Alone and ending with Withdrawal. Here's his opening paragraph from the two page essay on beauty. 

Beauty is the harvest of presence, the evanescent moment of seeing or hearing on the outside what already lives far inside us; the eyes, the ears or the imagination suddenly becomes a bridge between the here and the there, between then and now, between the inside and the outside; beauty is the conversation between what we think is happening outside in the world and what is just about to occur far inside of us. 

Margaret Renkl in her elegant  book  The Comfort of Crows, with stunning illustrations by her brother Billy, chronicles her observations and insights about the passing seasons, witnessed from her backyard, her neighborhood, and from the Nashville area. Her book, as one reviewer noted, is fuel to restore spirits in dealing with ecological grief.  She refers to summer as The Season of Singing and says this in the opening paragraph about the season:

Everywhere, from sunup to sunup, the world is full of song. The days are hot, hot, and all the hot long day I listen to the bees lifting from flower to flower, to the watchful chipmunk sounding its chock chock alarm while the red-tailed hawk wheels, crying, high in the sky. I can't see the songbirds in the dappled light of a thousand leafy branches, but I can hear them calling from the trees. 

Renkl, during her observations of week four of summer, laments the pain of watching plain working-class homes in her neighborhood being destroyed  to make room for fine, fancy houses. Especially painful for her is watching the shade trees and wildflowers being mowed down, too, with no more thought than a lawnmower gives the grass. So much life cut off for no reason but commerce. 

Renkl's book is a poignant case study of nature's spirituality, including grieving the loss of disappearing elements .  A fellow Unitarian, Kimberly, leads a Nature-Based Spiritual Practice Group at our church, First Unitarian Society. The group does pragmatic exercises to promote wholeness, wellness, and harmony through spiritual practices grounded in the Wheel of the Year and changing seasons.

Kimberly also is a member of  group that I belong to that meets weekly. We do a series of Qigong movements referred to as the crane.  During the summer we meet in Wingra Park on the shores of Lake Wingra, just across the street from our apartment. All summer long we watched a chick crane (referred to as a colt) mature. The elegant picture, taken by my neighbor Susan, shows that the colt was almost a full grown adult.  During one of our recent sessions, the family flew over us, so low we could hear the swoosh of the powerful wings. We witnessed beauty, grace, and elegance.  Comments made after our session indicated that we shared a few moments of joy as the cranes flew overhead 

Here's the crane family with the youngster in the middle, now fully grown. About two weeks ago, I stepped out of the backdoor of our apartment building and to my surprise saw the family across the street. I worried if they could safely cross busy Monroe Street to Wingra Park where they usually hang out. I thought if they were ready to cross at the intersection I would push the button that stops traffic and escort them across the street.

The family leisurely strolled towards the intersection while I waited at the light. The family made a sharp turn at the corner and headed west along Monroe Street. I wished them well and crossed the street heading to the lake. A few days later, a neighbor reported seeing them in the park; all is well. 

We have at least another two months to be inspired by our neighborhood cranes. According to a Google search, cranes leave Wisconsin in the late fall and early winter, typically leaving around mid-to-late November or December. They gather in staging areas like Horicon Marsh, near Horicon or Crex Meadows, another wildlife refuge in Burnett County. Their departure south is triggered by cold weather, snow, or freezing temperatures. 

Another example of how summer inspires spiritual-like reflections invite is this poem by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer's. 

Case Study In Insanity

Every year, the zinnias have died,
or else have come so close to dying
I’ve dug out their bare, stunted stems
and frost-browned leaves and planted
trusty petunias. But this year. This year
an enchantment of zinnias. A profusion
of red. Magenta. Yellow. Orange. White.
An astonishment of beauty. A bright
constellation of earthbound joy.
You have heard this, too: insanity
is doing the same thing again expecting
different results. So let me be insane.
For this is the year when again
I bought zinnia starts and hoped
for abundance and was stunned
by flamboyant abundance. It’s making
me wonder what else I might sow
until I no longer have energy to plant:
Kindness. Forgiveness. Trust. Love.
Just because they haven’t always flourished
before, well, look at all these zinnias
outside my door, brilliant and burgeoning,
dozens and dozens, and sure, they will die
come winter, but for now, more flowers arrive
every day. Brilliant. Just look at all those petals.

Tending Prospect Gardens provides me with needed refuge while reminding me that the human qualities mentioned in Rosemerry's poem (kindness, forgiveness, trust, and love) are possible and are present. I would add generosity and joy to her list. We may need to be more mindful of these human qualities when they are present, especially during these politically stressful times coupled with polarization. Also helpful is intentionally practicing these human qualities as suggested by Rosemerry's poem: It’s making me wonder what else I might sow until I no longer have energy to plant: Kindness. Forgiveness. Trust. Love. 

The Gardens continue to thrive as Autumn approaches. Once again, on July 24th Operation Fresh Start (OFS) crews helped me weed the Gardens. Here's the crew: Nyia  front seated on the railing; Will on the second step; Michael and Maliyah (leaning on the shovel) on the fourth step; Tony and Taylor, one of the supervisors, on the fifth step; Jay seated on the left railing; Isaiah behind him; Chris standing in the middle and Ian, the other supervisor, on the right railing. Thank you all.

Another joyful morning, interacting and working with these young adults, as they pursue their dreams. They worked hard and cleared many areas of weeds. Here's Isaiah laden with bindweed. 

Maliyah, Michael and Isaiah pausing in their labors.

During the evening of July 23rd  Ann and I attended OFS' open house celebrating the renovation of the former OFS headquarters, now the renovated Atwood Music Hall. OFS crews in the building trades program helped renovate the former offices, which are now on Milwaukee Street. 

We met several OFS graduates and learned  about plans for new programs in health related careers and in child care. The future is promising for this valuable non-profit.  Dedicated staff and board members support young adults (ages 16-24) on their journeys toward self-sufficiency through education, mentoring, and employment training. Ann and I are happy to support OFS.

On  mild August 23rd I enjoyed another work session. Joining me were Joyce, Peggy, and three West High School students: Kat, Madeline and Natalie. Kat is the Leo Club  President. The picture captures Peggy and the students making the heart sign.  

We worked for two hours, wedding on the Regent and Fox sides of the Gardens. Thank you all.

During the break a cicada landed on Madeline's hand and stayed for some time. As you can see from the picture Madeline enjoyed the encounter and I am assuming so did the cicada. All the humans certainly enjoyed the rapport between Madeline and the cicada.  

Kat, Madeline, and Natalie are seniors this year. I wish them well as they too journey forward towards self sufficiency. I certainly will welcome their return to Prospect Gardens. Their youthful energy adds so much to my joy of the work session.

Here's Kat weeding hostas along the border of Hanna's and her partner's home. She, along with Madeline and Natalie, worked hard and efficiently. 






 Here's four pictures of the Gardens as we transition into Autumn. Each has a quotation about summer's impact on the writer.

And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.

F. Scott Fitzgerald

[T]hat old September feeling, left over from school days, of summer passing, vacation nearly done, obligations gathering, books and football in the air ... Another fall, another turned page: there was something of jubilee in that annual autumnal beginning, as if last year's mistakes had been wiped clean by summer.” 

Wallace Stegner, Angle of Repose

The spiritual meaning of sunshine goes beyond its physical warmth and brightness. It symbolizes illumination, positivity, growth, and Universal presence. Just as the sun shines on everyone without discrimination, our inner light is made available to all of us.

Oprah Winfrey

"Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer's day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time."

John Lubbock

We are now into September with summer fading into the past. I anticipate more blue skies like the one in the picture while the green leaves change colors and rejoin Mother Earth as compost. 

As I welcome Autumn the memory of enjoying this bouquet of summer flowers lingers in my mind. As readers of this blog know, I walk daily. Sometimes I walk the trails in the section of the UW Arboretum along Monroe Street starting at the Wingra Boat House, which is across the street from our apartment. During late July's hot spell as I approached Wingra Springs which feeds a pond just off of Monroe Street, to my surprise, I saw this bouquet left on the ledge overlooking the pond. I continued my walk with a feeling of gratitude for the beauty of summer, my good fortune of  being alive, and gratitude for the generosity of a fellow neighbor. 

I end these musings with Mary Oliver's poem Praying. I consider her the Patron Saint of Nature. 

  Praying 

It doesn’t have to be

the blue iris, it could be

weeds in a vacant lot, or a few

stones; just pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don’t try

to make them elaborate, this isn’t

a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which

another voice may speak.