Maybe Dorothy Was Right

It’s been more than two months since I’ve written here. My absence hasn’t been because I don’t have anything to say, or anything to show you, but rather because I have too much to say and can’t figure out how to channel it into something good and uplifting. The turmoil in our society has become something that weighs heavily on me, and it’s getting harder to stay optimistic when there’s no end in sight.

Monarch on butterfly milkweed
Monarch on butterfly milkweed

My usual solution of going to nature for solace doesn’t always help anymore. But I cling to it, still, out of sheer determination to not succumb to despair. I admire my blogging friends who have been able to write regularly and optimistically. I know some of them will be reading this, and I am so grateful for their writing about nature. They are my inspiration to sit here now and try to put some positive energy out into the world.

I want to show you some bits of my native plant garden and the critters who live in it. After the early-blooming spring ephemerals are done, most of the other native plants in my garden don’t bloom until at least late June. I’ve had to be patient, but that makes it so much more exciting when everything finally bursts into bloom. I took this video of my biggest monarda patch yesterday, trying to show you the dozens of pollinators buzzing over it. This section is about 10’x3′ and there were easily a couple dozen bees working through the flowers.

You’ll notice how that bee in the close-up portion goes completely around the flower, making sure to get every possible bit of energy it can from it before moving to the next one.  That patch of monarda is about four feet tall and I can stand right up against it with my face only inches away from the buzzing bees, and they don’t pay the slightest attention to me. It’s such a calming, meditational thing to do.

One of my favorite plants is this Shrubby St. John’s Wort (Hypericum prolificum), with its cheerful lemon-yellow flowers and glossy leaves. This one is about four feet tall in its second year and looks fabulous. A friend gave me another small one and I can’t wait to see how big it will be next year.

Shrubby st john's wort

Anemone virginiana - tall thimbleweed
Tall thimbleweed flower, only an inch across

Last year I put in two Tall Thimbleweed (Anemone virginiana) that another friend gave me. They’re blooming this year and I’m in love with their dainty little flowers and the “thimbles” that remain after the flowers are spent. This plant has large lobed leaves below bare, thin stems that tower a couple feet higher and support the flowers. When I’ve found thimbleweed on my walks in local parks, I’m always struck by how easy it would be to overlook it. So many native plants seem to be overly enthusiastic (“we’re gonna take over everything!”) that it’s nice to have a few that behave themselves better. I’ve got these at the front of a bed where they’re easy to see and enjoy, and they won’t get bullied by anybody else.

I found this little grasshopper eating a leaf on boneset. I watched him. He watched me.

grasshopper collage

One of the first times I noticed Blue Vervain (Verbena hastata) was when I photographed a Snowberry Clearwing moth feeding on it a couple years ago as I hiked in a state wildlife area. I took a series of photos that remain some of my favorites. Here’s one of them from that day.

Snowberry clearwing moth feeding on blue vervain

I also found a dragonfly on this plant along the shore of Lake Erie last fall. Dragonflies aren’t pollinators and so it’s not common to find them perched on flowering plants like this Common Green Darner was during fall migration last September.

Green darner on blue vervain

And here’s a pic from my garden this week, where my own Blue Vervain is just beginning to bloom. The tiny purple flowers bloom from the bottom to the top of each spike, with just a few blooming at a time. I just adore this plant!

Blue vervain - verbena hastata

I’ve noticed that I often use the word “love” to describe how I feel about some native plants. Since I’m spending lots more time at home these days, I’m getting to know my plants more intimately, and I’m feeling very connected to them in a way that feels like love. I take care of their needs. I mourn when the rabbits chew a young plant down to the ground before it even gets a chance at life. I spend lots of time just wanting to be near the plants, to enjoy their beauty and the unceasingly fascinating world of the insects who come to eat them. The garden is my connection to something larger than myself, something intensely gratifying and life-affirming.

When the pandemic first arrived and we were just getting used to lockdown, I wrote about desperately missing my friends. As time went on, I wrote about starting to enjoy some time without a busy schedule. These days I see a few of my friends regularly (outdoors only, and always six feet apart). As my schedule has gotten busier again, I find myself wanting to hold on to as much of my “home time” as I can. Sure, there’s a lot to see “out there,” but this place is where my heart is, and where I find peace and a connection to the natural world. So I guess I’m a bit like Dorothy in discovering that you don’t always have to leave home to find what you need. #TheresNoPlaceLikeHome

Young rabbit in my yard
One of my resident bunny twins chowing down on ferns

Ecotherapy to the Rescue

“Study nature, love nature, stay close to nature. It will never fail you.”    — Frank Lloyd Wright

Mr. Wright was definitely right about that (couldn’t resist the wordplay). That was true again for me last week as I found myself in desperate need of comfort. You see, my cat Mickey’s jaw was broken by our vet during a “routine” dental cleaning. The next morning he had to be taken to a feline dental surgeon 60 miles from home to have the jaw repaired, so I had to find a way to pass the agonizing waiting time somehow.

I noticed that the surgeon’s office happened to be very near the Matthaei Botanical Gardens in Ann Arbor, so after I dropped Mickey off I headed for the gardens with my camera in tow.

I would have preferred to be away from other people that day, but despite there being dozens of little kids there on a field trip, the gardens still felt like a peaceful place. (Normally I’d avoid any place with so many kids, but they stayed mostly in the Children’s Garden, so it wasn’t too bad.) So I spent maybe 90 minutes wandering among the lovely perennial gardens.  It was interesting to note that the bees and butterflies were all going about their lives, even though I felt that mine was on hold for the moment. That realization might have given me perspective if my worries that day hadn’t been so serious. But in any case, I did enjoy the lovely aromas of the flowers and the bright sunshine.

Imagine the sound of dripping water on a hot day….

There were fountains too, and I spent some time sitting on a bench just watching the cool water dripping over a pile of rocks. Water is always soothing to me, whether it’s a still pond, powerful ocean waves, or a gently cascading waterfall. I think that’s probably common, but I have difficulty explaining why water is so calming. Sometimes it’s the sound of it, as with rain or waves. And other times it’s the feeling of it, as in the shower or when you go swimming. And I notice when we go kayaking that I’m soothed by the gentle bobbing motion of the kayak on the water surface.  Water is a true elixir of life. It’s precious not only to keep our bodies functioning from the inside, but also for how our minds respond to it.

You look at that river, gently flowing by. You notice the leaves rustling with the wind. You hear the birds, you hear the tree frogs. In the distance you hear a cow. You feel the grass, the mud gives a little bit on the river bank. It’s quiet. It’s peaceful. And all of a sudden, it’s a gear shift inside you. And it’s like taking a deep breath and going, “Oh yeah, I forgot about this.”

That’s Al Gore speaking softly in the opening of his documentary “An Inconvenient Truth,” with a peaceful river image on screen.  (And another quote soon after that: “I am Al Gore. I used to be the next President of the United States.” He got laughs for that one.)

I love this little guy!

Thankfully, Mickey’s jaw was “easily” repaired (in the words of an expert surgeon). He seems to be recovering well and should be able to eat hard food again in about another week. So we had a few traumatic days last week, but things feel much like normal again today and Mickey is calmly sitting at the window watching me as I type this. For today at least, we’re blessed with good fortune.