I don't want to change the landscape, I love it just the way it is. But my green thumb is overly ambitious when it comes to this uninhabitable tundra. So today my darling took me to the top of a hill where a grove of alder and willow bushes sat quietly in the sun. And we planted ten black walnut trees. Whether or not they will grow is really unimportant. I wanted to put them in a place where children will see them, be able to watch them grow, and eventually be blessed with the yummy knuts they drop to the ground. Mother nature must have been pleasently surprised because as we walked around exploring, we came across two servings of wild spinach- just there, awaiting our arrival so that we make pick them and eat them tonight. So we got down on our knees and scavengered the ground for little bits of green. I can't help but chew on fireweed shoots- they're savory and my stomach adores them. So inbetween cutting bits of spinach I filled myself on fireweed. I can't help but believe that such a wonderful little hunger-filling adventure was a blessing from the earth. A long winter without greens is quite depressing, but tasting the first few fresh shoots is worth the eight months wait.
Sun Staying With Me
The sun is at eighteen hours in the sky. I missed him this winter, the sun. He's a dear happy face that can truly brighten a landscape- no pun intended. And with his help in the coming weeks everything will change. But as for now I am enjoying the brown grass and the gleaming smile of his big yellow face. I like the way his rays come down and hug my pale skin. I'm much to fair to play in his light too long, but the temptation of his welcoming embrace is often too much to resist. And for the next four months I shall frolick in the utter delight of his grand spotlight on the land. He'll be with me 24/7, and I find his company quite a pleasure.
A River In Labor
The croaks and moans of the river can be heard for miles. When the huge chunks of ice shift the ground vibrates. She radiates her pain through the night. It's a quick pain, it will pass. I imagine that my dear friend, the Yukon, is not so much breaking apart, but more so coming together. She cries out in the same motherly gasps of a woman in labor. As the ice breaks and shifts, tearing holes in the landscape, the river is being born. The pain is hard to watch. I must be one of the few people who can look at a river breaking apart and feel it's overwhelming sense of hurt. The way the sharp jagged edges move across her hurts me. And yet, when all the pain passes something wonderful happens. Water flows. For the first time in seven months the blue streaks of waves will be seen and heard. And out of the slow, yet quick, process of a winter river vanishing, comes a summer river filled with life.
The Flood
The ice on the Yukon is slowly starting to crack and shift. Water is filling atop and then sliding under to meet the rush of the force headed to the Bering Sea. I don't like this part, the floods. They don't reach my home, but when I peer off to the south side I see that the banks have overflown and water has rushed into the landscape. It's a sad fact of mother nature that the wildlife on the other side will have a long fight ahead of them. As the water nears their ankles, the sad rabbits, moose, and even fox will begin the excruciating battle they are about to face. As the water rises, panic sets in. I've seen it strewn on the faces of newborn calves, of mother moose that try so desperately to flee but are caught away in the rush of overly powerful waters.I wish I could save them, spare them the fight. The swim and try until eventually fatigue overtakes them... and their story ends in on swift movement of mother nature. She's cruel, you know. They say people and guns are horrible. But the games mother nature plays could easily break a cruel human's heart.
First Spring Yawn
The snow is fading quickly now. Dribbling down the old dirt roads, into creeks, and eventually the river. I can sit in my front yard, I can play by the birdfeeder in the opposite area, and I can walk- just walk- on plane mud ground. Waterfowl have all migrated. And something magical is happening. You can't see it, or hear it, or smell it. But you can feel it. The ground is shifting. Waking after an old winter. Yawning it's first big breath of the early morning. Grass has yet to bloom. Ice has yet to completely vanish. But it's here. Spring has officially arrived, and it's taking the land by the hand and running wild into the summer.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)