Transitions and Letting Go

October 29th was a day of transition. I rolled out of bed at about 6:45 a.m. and quietly made my way to the office in the fading darkness. I glanced out the window before doing my Tai Chi routine and meditating. Fresh snow blanketed the deck and this container of petunias. For a few minutes I sat and reflected on how over night autumn transitioned into winter. Carl Sandburg's poem captures the moment.

Autumn Movement

I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.

The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.

The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go, not one lasts.

As the day passed winter slowly transitioned back into autumn. The warm brilliant sun continued melting the snow as I walked in the afternoon under a brilliant blue sky. The contrasting red and white in this picture captures both seasons I experienced and enjoyed during my walk.

I also happened to notice the last of this Fall's raspberries as I passed a patch that spilled over the white picket fence near the sidewalk. The ripe berries caught my attention.

 As I finished enjoying the tart berries and returned to continue my walk,  a flock of migrating Robbins snacking on crab apples on a nearby tree caught my attention. Some were this year's off springs, perhaps on their first passage south.

Many Robbins scampered away only to return to the feast after I passed.They were not ready to move on. Yet I bet they understand the message meant for us in Walterrean Salley's poem.

Summer's passed already,

October’s nearing the end.

Trees are gently balding-

Leaves riding the wind.

On the great “fall” canvas,

Colors begin to change—

From plush green to red,

Yellow, brown and orange.

The sun will soon hide

As the chill settles in.

Then the cold will roar—

Nipping at the chin.

Unpack the boots and scarves,

The sweaters and the tights;

Prepare to “settle in”

For some long wintry nights.

Late October is also transition time for Prospect Gardens.  During the morning of October 18th, this small crew of Amy, to my left, and Ann R. to my right, along with my wife, Ann prepared the Gardens to "settle in for some long wintry nights."   After two hours we accomplished our goal with a break to enjoy Ann's homemade pumpkin bread. 

Thank you all for your help. Together we shared a beautiful autumn day.

I now wait for more snow to protect the Gardens from the inevitable freezing cold.  A few more sunny autumn days would be appreciated. Another walk in the arboretum or a stroll on  Picnic Point would be pleasant. Perhaps a Babcock ice cream cone?  I would favor a Michael's Custard, but unfortunately the one across from our apartment has permanently closed. Ann and I often lunched at Michael's after working in the Gardens. 

The large "For Lease" sign makes me sad as does the reason why Michael's closed. It's gone because of how immigration laws are now enforced. Owner Michael Dix's spouse, Sergio De La O Hernandez, is an undocumented immigrant in the United States for thirty years.They married in 2015.  Hernandez manged daily operations at the Monroe Street store. Dix sponsored Hernandez for a U.S. visa so Hernandez could obtain legal status in the country. When Hernandez returned to his home country of Mexico last August for a visa interview, he was denied the visa and denied re-entry into the United States.

And so Michael's Custard, a thirty year old Monroe Street fixture, transitions into the unknown, nothing compared to what Michael and Sergio face. Perhaps as this final poem on autumn suggests, letting go and facing the unknown are more of autumn's messages. The author, Rev. David Bumbaugh, is Unitarian Universalist minister who once served a Summit New Jersey congregation. 

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?

May you dance in the winds of all seasons. In the meantime, the orange fences, like this one that Ann and I put up last Friday, the 25th, await the snow and winds of winter. As in years past, they will signal city snow removal crews not to push snow into the Gardens. 

This year is the tenth anniversary for the Prospect Gardens. Forty seasons have passed.Winter, the season of solitude, is once again upon us.   

Peace be with you.

   

    

October and Impermanence

October for me is a time when impermanence, a reality of life, is keenly felt and experienced. Changes feel more rapid and constant before the solitude of winter settles in. In particular, I notice darkness rather than light as I do my early morning Tai Chi. Sometimes I remain in bed giving into the comfortable darkness. The flowers on our apartment's deck are now past their prime. The radiant marigolds dried up and are gone. The calibrachoa are facing the same fate. The zinnias are drooping while the blooms on the petunias are fading fast. However, the once diseased geranium, after shedding almost all its leaves, has taken on new life. Lush green leaves have returned and blooms are possible, if there is no early frost.

Impermanence is also evident as Prospect Gardens takes on October's features so well expressed in Wendell Barry's poem.

October 10

Now constantly there is the sound,

quieter than rain, of the leaves falling.

Under their loosening bright

gold, the sycamore limbs

bleach whiter.

Now the only flowers are

beeweed and aster, spray

of their white and lavender

over the brown leaves.

The calling of a crow sounds

loud —a landmark— now that  the life of summer falls

silent, and the nights grow.

October is when we prepare Prospect Gardens for the winter.  Cutting and removing wilted plants once blooming reminds me of our impermanence. We leave some plant ripe with seeds to support the cycle of rebirth while anticipating that birds will eat some seeds. There is plenty for everybody.

Here are the volunteers who worked on Saturday morning, September 28th. Jody and me are on the top row with Ann N on my left. Ann and I are attempting to make a "W" symbolizing the UW Badgers who were playing Northwestern. A fan in Badger red is about to descend the steps, one of many that streamed by while we worked. Jody, a fellow Unitarian, is cupping her hands in the shape of a Chalice, one of our few symbols. Laura and Joyce, in the lime green t-shirt, are on the bottom row. Laima, who arrived later, is not pictured.  We are enjoying my wife, Ann's homemade lemon bars while she snaps the picture.

Here's Laura in action. Laura is using her Fiskars hedge sheers, one of the best on the market. Maybe I will put these on my Christmas list in anticipation that since I have been a good gardener all this season and Santa will oblige. On second thought, I may go to Ace Hardware and buy the sheers now since more plants need to be cut and removed.

Ann N. is at it again. Plants and weeds gave way to her energy and will power. While pruning Ann uncovered an abandoned bike leaning against the old weathered picket fence. I will contact the police in the next week or so if the bike is still there. It's a good bike and the flat tire can be easily repaired. Wonder why it was abandoned?

Joyce removing tall Black Eyed Susan and Saw Tooth Daisies. The Day Lilies in the background were also cut back.

Laura, Joyce and Ann. N. are long time Prospect Garden volunteers, often heeding my call for volunteers. Thank you for your dedication, energy and hard work.

Jody, a second year volunteer, pauses and gives a shout out. Sorry Liama, no picture of you this time. Thank you both for your generous gift of time and hard work.

Special thanks goes out to June. June lives near the Prospect Gardens, and introduced herself as she was passing through on her way home. I learned that during the late summer she picks Prospect Gardens' elderberries and makes jam. She offered three jars as gifts that I immediately accepted, and shared with other gardeners. Elderberry jam on top of yogurt is beyond delicious.

Here's a wheelbarrow heaped with plant materials. Laima and Ann B. often picked up and hauled plants to the designated drop site. Thank you Ann B. for your dedication and support.  Your labors are appreciated and your treats are always a hit.

A city crew from the Department of Engineering picked up the plant material on Monday. Thank you Ryan and your crew for your support throughout the ten years of tending the Gardens. Yes, its been a decade since the first shrubs and seeds were planted.

A cleaned out section of the garden now prepared for winter.  The once hidden rocks are now exposed. The remaining green vegetation will disappear as frost and eventually winter settles in. Winter is inevitable within the cycles of life marked with impermanence.

The picket fence in the background and the butterfly house  have weathered with time. More evidence of impermanence.

Here's three pictures of plants that still grace the Gardens. They too will disappear as winter approaches. Their  offsprings will show up next season.

 This tall grass is less visible during the summer when neighboring tall plants obstruct a view. Now the grass is king of the hill, revealing its simple beauty against the blue of the neighbor's birdhouse.

Blooming Asters; the advance-team of Fall and the impending Winter. As Wendell Barry's poem suggests these are one of the last blooming plants of the season. The lavender flowers now nod in the Fall breezes while honeybees visit. Lavender will turn into brown seeds as Fall breezes change into chilly winds. We left some Asters standing so birds can enjoy the seeds.   Bon Appetit! 

Last but not least, the majestic Bottle Gentian with its gem-like blooms. Early in the season I was concerned that they were uprooted by the snowplow that pushed snow up to the Gardens. They survived the trauma to once again show off their beauty and splendor.

I close with this poem from Butch Decatoria who identifies as an Irish-Filipino. Decatoria immigrated from the Philippines, where he was born, to our country in 1981. His father was in the military and his mother was a maid, and they were never married. I share his background to underscore the contributions immigrants make to our county and culture.

Impermanence 

We reside in the monumental

Structures of our own making

These finite moments

We consume

Asleep in boxes

Homes for corpses...

The living in denial

Of the absolute truth

We are pilgrims of

Impermanence...

Flightless Birds perched

On the precipice

Home is for the living

We must let go

Ask the Earth for forgiveness

Thank creation

For each breath

Our very human presence

Our mortal minutes

For Another day

Residing in impermanence.

(Thank Goodness

And Goddess)

Come what may...

Impermanence