Is anyone besides me feeling a little stressed out by all the controversy over decisions being made to mitigate COVID-19? Here’s my prescription:

Pray.
Get outside and look at God-made things.
Take some deep breaths.
Take some photos.
Identify what you see and hear.
Take some more deep breaths.
Take some more photos.
Remind yourself that God made this world and He is in control.
Pray.

There ya go. Here’s what I saw today:

Maple trees budding.

I think this might be a European starling. Change my mind.

If you look carefully, you’ll see a Myrtle warbler in this photo. Look for yellow blobs. Clearly, I’m still having problems focusing and can’t blame the camera. Here’s a better photo that I found on the internet.

I like Myrtle. He’s a handsome dude.

More budding things, pushing through regardless of snow and 24 degree weather.

And so, in the midst of all this turmoil, I rejoice. Yes, I rejoice, and I am asking you to rejoice with me.

This is the day that the Lord hath made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.

I’ll probably delete this tomorrow, rejoicing and singing.

P.S. I’ve noticed for the last few weeks that there’s something in the camera body making a spot on my photos – a dust speck? It shows up with both lenses. I’ve looked at some YouTube tutorials about what to do about it, but am a little intimidated by the process. What do you advise? Leave it to the professionals or take matters into my own hands?

I can never resist a cardinal. I’ve made it my business to know what they sound like and when I hear one, I stop to see if I can find him. I’m not sure if the females make the same calls – it’s always a male that I find if I follow the sound.

I spotted another one last week on that one warm, sunny day (what a fond memory that is now, having been visited by cold, snowy days since then). It was way up high in a tree looking particularly regal in its red robes.

The waxing moon was high as well – a beautiful sight in the daytime.

And then I had this brilliant idea! What if I could stand back in such a way as to position the cardinal right up against the moon!! It would require me standing in the middle of a busy road; my husband kept an eye out for me so I could get the shot. It really was such a great idea, but all three of my shots looked like this one:

I couldn’t get the cardinal in focus! So close… Later on I realized what had gone amiss, but it was too late to recapture the moment. I guess I’d better keep my day job, whatever that is.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

I can’t say Easter was a super huge deal for me growing up. In my younger years, it meant getting to wear a new dress to church, and of course, Easter candy. In my teen years, it was all about the meal, and of course, Easter candy. I knew that Easter was a celebration of the resurrection of Jesus, but that part didn’t sink in very deeply. By the time I got to college, I was becoming fairly antagonistic to Christianity anyway. Easter – bah! Humbug!

Then something cataclysmic happened. My best friend transferred to UMD (bad enough in itself) and then went and had a conversion experience, the dreaded born-again thing. Ugh. She and I had been completely sympatico on all things pertaining to God, the main thing being that believing in some sort of God was acceptable, but this whole business of “Jesus is the only way,” was definitely out of bounds. Nope.

I went up to visit her fairly soon after this and providentially this happened to be over Easter weekend. O, the depths of the riches, both of the wisdom and knowledge of God. She informed me that she’d be attending a sunrise Easter service outside and did I want to come along. Hmm…getting up early – STRIKE ONE. It was going to be somewhat cold out. STRIKE TWO. And the Jesus thing. STRIKE THREE. “Sure, I’ll come,” was what came out of my mouth instead of “No thanks, I’ll just sleep in.”

Easter morning pre-dawn found us clambering up a hillside, grabbing hold of random trees branches for stability, and making our way through brush along the way. I was cold, I was tired and crabby and felt a little bit crazy for being associated with this small group of fanatics. We got to our destination and milled around uncertainly as the sun began to rise. Fortunately, somebody seemed to be in charge, a friendly guy wearing a bandana around his forehead. He read from the Bible, said some earnest things, and then (my memory is somewhat dim on this part) I think people hung things on a tree that had something to do with their faith. It’s possible that an impromptu hymn or chorus of praise was sung. I’m guessing there were prayers. There were proclamations of joy about the resurrected Lord. I didn’t participate, but was strangely moved by this joyous ritual. Suddenly it didn’t seem like I was surrounded by fanatics, but by people who knew something, or Someone, that I didn’t know.

A fresh breeze was blowing that morning – in the air and in my soul. I wasn’t a Christian when I went back down the hill, but I wasn’t the same person who had climbed up that hill, either.

He is risen! He is risen indeed! (I can still say that, even though it is now the day after Easter). Hallelujah!

I’ll probably delete this in the morning. Maybe even at sunrise.

Jesus spoke to His disciples, saying “I am the light of the world. He who follows Me shall not walk in darkness, but have the light of life.”

Rejoice, for Light was slain today, yet did not die.

The apostle Paul wrote: “For it is the God who commanded light to shine out of darkness, who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.”

Rejoice, for Light was slain today, yet did not die.

The apostle Peter implored us to “…proclaim the praises of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light…”

Rejoice, for Light was slain today, yet did not die.

C.S. Lewis wrote, “The pure light walks the earth; the darkness, received into the heart of Deity, is there swallowed up. Where, except in uncreated light, can the darkness be drowned?

Rejoice, for Light was slain today, yet did not die.

Does the world seem dark to you right now?

Rejoice, for Light was slain today, yet did not die.

Have fears grabbed hold of your heart?

O heart rise up; O heart, be lifted high.
Rejoice, for Light was slain today, yet did not die.

Amen and amen.

Note: The quote on the photo is from a poem by “Anonymous.” The tulips were dropped off at our house by a friend to brighten our day right after the Stay at Home order went into place.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

It’s snowy and cold here today in Minnesota, but we’ve had some beautiful spring days in the last week, signs of warmer days ahead. A lot more people are out and about. Usually I can take a walk during the day and see nary a soul, but since everyone is home now and getting cabin fever, there are veritable crowds (relatively speaking) out on the streets and sidewalks on those warmer days. You’d think this would be a real treat, but I’m used to having the world all to myself when I’m outside. I’m like Linus of the Charlie Brown comics, who famously said, “I love mankind — it’s people I can’t stand!” I’m mostly just kidding about that – it is nice to see people getting out and families spending time with each other outside.

My husband and I were in our yard last Saturday raking up leaves that we hadn’t taken care of in the fall. A family walked by and the mother called out cheerfully, “Hi Lynn!” We exchanged hellos and she mentioned how fast our children have grown. Gesturing to one of the young men next to her, she said, “This is my youngest – can you believe it?” I made some appropriate responses and we carried on in this way for a few minutes before they went on their way. It was a charming little interlude, marred only by the fact that I had no idea who she was. I still feel bad about that. They were quite a bit farther away than the 6-foot social distance, and I couldn’t really see her face well enough to recognize it, nor did I recognize her voice. I had thought that the conversation would be over after “hello,” or I would have taken the time to walk over and see who it was. I wish I had.

Our good Lord has seen fit to make our rhubarb patch prosper every year. For some of our children this is very bad news; two of them, who shall remain nameless (hint: they’re the exact same age) referred to rhubarb as poison and used to threaten to mow it down when they were still living here. However, it always reminds me of the day we moved into this house 15 years ago. We were trying to stay out of the way of the movers and at the same time trying to get things settled in the house and keep the kids busy. Our brand new next-door neighbors came over bearing a gift of rhubarb bread to welcome us. It was like manna – even the rhubarb haters tried it and didn’t loathe it (I have to admit they didn’t love it either). We knew then that we had landed well in this fair city and have continued to enjoy a wonderful relationship with these neighbors. And of course, I got the recipe for that bread so I can make it myself. Rhubarb needs better PR, so I think that this would be catchy for their ad campaign:

“Rhubarb: bringing neighbors together all over the world. Or at least in northern climates.”

And now, by Popular Demand, I am bringing back my old tagline! I received feedback in the form of a poem from one of my biggest fans, who shall remain nameless (hint: I am married to him), urging me to reconsider. Here’s how it went:

Do leopards grow tired of their spots?
Do kitchens stop being home to pots?
Does a forest tire of its majestic pine?
Then why should a blogger forsake a tag line?
Signed, Popular Demand

I ask you, how could I refuse that impassioned plea?

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

And…we’re off! The 2020 State Park Hiking Club season officially started for us on April 5 when we took advantage of a nice sunny afternoon for a drive and a hike. At this point in our adventure, every hike is going to involve a fair amount of driving, so the 3-hour round trip was par for the course.

Some distinctives of Fort Ridgely:

• The state park is also a historic site with a museum that requires a separate fee. It was closed anyway because of COVID-19 restrictions. There are also historic buildings built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s.
• The park was created in 1911 as a memorial to those who fought in the US-Dakota War of 1862 at the original fort.
• There’s a horse camp, and therefore horse piles to avoid.
• It’s the first state park we’ve been to that was missing an important feature and you won’t believe what that was!! (Ha ha – just throwing in some clickbait humor. In the gentle world of writing, we call that foreshadowing.)

We found that we were a little out of practice with our routine. For one thing, we’d run out of Clif Bars – oh, no! It was only a 2.6 mile hike, so we felt sure we could get to the end without expiring from starvation. It took us a little longer to get started and then it took us a few minutes and some map consultations to figure out where the trail began.

The trail itself was wide and mostly in open prairie grounds with occasional overlooks and bluffs overlooking the Minnesota River Valley.

There wasn’t a lot of green yet, so I took photos of dried up dead stuff again, which I think has its own beauty.

For the most part, it was a pleasant walk. Kris spotted a denizen of the park squatting in a leisurely manner right in the middle of the trail. It’s a wonder we didn’t step on it.

It sat quite still for our photo-taking and seemed unlikely to move for anything whatsoever. You might call it “The Toad Less Traveled.” (Thank you, thank you – I’ll be here all week!)

The bluebird houses were all open, looking like their tongues were sticking out. Do they do this for cleaning purposes? To keep the wrens out until the bluebirds come back?

There was one area that involved the dreaded downhill walk – dreaded mostly because what goes down, must go back up. These are the areas in which my knees start speaking to me, and what they say isn’t very nice.

The password is usually placed about half-way through the hike, but as we were nearing the end, we realized we hadn’t seen it yet. We held out hope for a late entry, but we got to the end and had to face it: we’d either missed it or there wasn’t one. We’d both been paying attention to all the signs, so I don’t think we missed it. We’ve seen a lot of these now and they are almost uniformly uninspired, so I’m going to guess that it was “Battleground.” But maybe it would have been something like “Buried Bones and Broken Hearts.”

It took us 1 hour and 15 minutes to do the hike and we’re now up to 52.1 miles, which means we can get the 50-mile patch…as soon as the park offices open up again.

And here’s a new feature to my Hiking Club posts: The Knee Score. The range is from 1 to 10, with 1 being like a walk around my neighborhood, level and easy, and 10 being Crosby-Manitou State Park. Fort Ridgely earns a “5” on that scale. It was equivalent to 14 flights of stairs. I’m thinking of making a fancy logo for that. Or maybe you could do one for me.

The Lord bless you and keep you. I think that will be my new tagline, since we’ve all gotten very tired of the old one. This one is ageless, timeless and will always be the truest and best thing you will read in my blog. So let me say it again:

The Lord bless you and keep you, my friends.

Next Hike: Myre Big Island State Park

Raven, Rook or Crow?

A black bird sits atop a tree
King of all he surveys
But to know which kind of bird is he,
Observe his habitat and ways.

Crow, raven or chess-playing rook,
In the Corvid family, all seen.
(If fewer than twenty are in their flock,
You could say they are Corvid-19.)

The raven is largest of the three,
Mistaken sometimes for a vulture.
If “nevermore,” he cries repeatedly,
You’ll know he’s a bird with culture.

The rook and the crow have a twin-like bond,
But rooks have whitened beaks.
In addition, the rook lives across the pond,
With an English accent he speaks.

Crows are noisy, strutting and proud,
Their “caws” are menacing words,
If you see a lot of them in a crowd,
Don’t think about Hitchcock’s “The Birds.”

When next you see a bird all in black,
And think, “raven, rook, or crow?”
This little poem will keep you on track,
What more do you need to know?

Indeed!

I’ll probably delete this in the morning. Or not. It took me a long time to write, so maybe not.

Have you ever had any contact with raccoons? They terrify me. One spring, a young raccoon took a liking to a large pot of pansies by our front door and was sleeping in it, thus flattening and ruining the pansies. I was NOT pleased with this development. My husband went out with some sturdy gloves on to see about removing it and the thing instantly went from docile to demonic, looking at Kris with murderous intent and making sounds to match. Go ahead and flatten our pansies, little fella – no big deal!

As I was looking out a window from upstairs this morning, I happened to see a large raccoon cross the street and start climbing up one of the trees in our front yard, making his way to a hollow and settling into it. I was sufficiently interested to get my camera, but figured at that point, the raccoon was going to bed down for the day in the hollow and wouldn’t be seen again and I was probably wasting my time. I’m a glass half-empty kind of gal.

However, as soon as I got back, he was on the move, climbing steadily up the tree and seemingly headed for a large squirrel’s nest. He suffered a lack of resolve at one point and began to go back down and then something filled him with fresh courage and he climbed all the way up and settled down in the nest.

My photos are terrible, having been taken through the mesh screen of the window and the dirty glass on an overcast day. Nevertheless, I will afflict you with them.

I wonder if this happens often? I did a little research and found out that raccoons often nest in tree hollows, but will sometimes nest in trees during the season of having little raccoonlets, so maybe the raccoon actually built this one. As long as he or she stays away from my pansies, I think we can be friends.

Oh, and here’s a bonus photo of Luna the Cat. I feared this morning that she might not be with us much longer, but the vet switched things up with her treatment and we have high hopes that she’ll recover.

Long live the Luna!

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

I’d never heard the poetic form, villanelle, until last year on the Daily Poem podcast. I knew right after I heard one that I wanted to write one. Perhaps one of the most famous villanelles is Dylan Thomas’s poem Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night.

Anyway, it’s a tightly controlled form: 19 lines divided into 5 groups of 3 lines, followed by the last group of 4 lines. There are two lines that are repeated throughout in a defined pattern, and a strict rhyme scheme, which provides the biggest challenge. You basically only get two sounds for rhyming at the ends of your lines, so it wouldn’t be wise to choose a word like “orange” as one of those sounds unless you’re Ogden Nash. He could definitely make that work. The number of syllables per line is up for grabs.

If any of you are still with me after that somewhat dry and academic paragraph, thank you. You have passed the test and may proceed.

Before you read my killdeer villanelle, I should tell you that the word “plover,” is usually pronounced as rhyming with “cover,” but can also be pronounced as rhyming with “over,” so I took advantage of that. Even so, I ran out of rhyming words and had to fudge it a bit, as you will see.

The Mighty Plover

I am the mighty plover.
Look, but you will not find me;
A killdeer undercover

I call out over and over,
Shrill, to make you seek me;
I am the mighty plover

O see that lovely plover!
Her neck rings surely bind me.
A killdeer undercover

To find my nest is tougher,
I’ll drag my wing and trick thee,
I am the mighty plover

Watch me pretend to suffer,
Grade my performance kindly,
A killdeer undercover

O’er fields I soar and hover.
But still you will not find me,
I am the mighty plover,
A killdeer undercover

It was harder than I thought to write one of these and this one could definitely use some tweaking, but you’ve got to start somewhere, right? Here’s hoping I can improve on the craft if I try this again.

And speaking of trying to improve things, here’s the latest crop of bluebirds:

That top one looks like she’s about to lay one dozen eggs, what I like to call a “fat little buffer” (borrowing from Wodehouse). I’ll keep working at it.

I’ll probably delete you in the morning. Ha ha – just checking to see if you still read the last line.

As I was walking down the country road the other day, I heard a shrill, piercing cry, over and over. Intrigued, I crossed the street and went closer to the fields from whence the sound seemed to be coming. Another snow bird returning from southern climes, no doubt. It was well camouflaged on the ground, but occasionally one or two of them would break cover and fly. This was when I discovered how difficult it is to focus a long-distance lens on a moving object. I took a bunch of photos and hoped for the best.

Later, I looked the photos over – most of them were the kind that the delete button was created for, but there was one which showed promise.

Let’s see what the magnified version looks like:

Aha! See those rings around the neck? Between the Peterson Field Guide to the Birds and cross-referencing with photos on the internet, I discovered it was a killdeer, a bird in the plover family. Most people know the killdeer as that bird which cleverly pretends to be wounded, making noise and dragging its wing, to distract you from its nest if you get too close. Actors, take note – God made a bird that can do the same thing you guys do, and without any lessons whatsoever.

Here’s a better photo from the aforementioned internet:

I’d need a lot more lens power to take a photo like that. Here’s one I took today while I was out, using all the power I’ve got:

Tomorrow: the killdeer and the villanelle. Don’t miss it.

I’ll probably…oh, you know the rest by now.

WordPress played an April Fool’s joke on me. I wrote a whole blog this morning, inserted most of the photos and then went to get one more photo to put at the end. When I got back, it was all gone. I went through the five stages of grieving fairly quickly, but still didn’t feel like doing it all over. Maybe tomorrow.

Instead I’ll tell you about poor little Luna, our cat. She’s going through her own nightmare of social distancing right now. I took her to the vet yesterday because she was – hmm, trying to decide how much information to impart here – let’s just say that she was urinating inappropriately and behaving strangely. I had to go through an interesting social distancing dance at the vet, too. Upon arrival, I called them from the parking lot. I was instructed to wait until the vet tech came out and then put Luna (in her carry box) by the bench in front some distance away from the door. After retreating to my car, the vet tech retrieved the “package” and I waited in the car until the vet called me with the diagnosis: bladder stones and a UTI. She needs a special kind of food now that she’ll have to eat for the rest of her life, expensive food. And she’s on antibiotics.

Until she’s done with her “indiscretions,” she’s got to stay in the uncarpeted areas where her litter box and food are (which aren’t in the same room – don’t worry). There’s no door in that doorway, so we had to improvise and put the ping-pong table top up against the doorway to keep her in there.

She’s taking it pretty well and of course we come in to spend time with her now and again. I want to tell her “This, too, shall pass,” the same thing we are telling ourselves these days.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning. Are you getting as tired of reading that as I am of writing it? :-).