"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."
-- Anais Nin.

Jenkins Arboretum in Devon, PA, has just reopened, so I went for a pre-supper saunter. Many buds have not yet opened, but even the hints of the spring glories to come are dazzling!

“Who will tell whether one happy moment of love or the joy of breathing or walking on a bright morning and smelling the fresh air, is not worth all the suffering and effort which life implies.”
-- Erich Fromm (1900-1980).

"I want to sing like the birds sing, not worrying about who hears or what they think."
-- attributed to Rumi.

"Snowmen fall from heaven... unassembled."
-- Author Unknown.

Here's the assembled version:


Here's the assembly line:






Another resident of the snowborhood:


And one on the way out?


Frosty goes punk! (Note the hair...)


Frosty gets dressed up:


By the way, Frosty may be a klepto. This kid called out, "Mom! The snowman took my gloves!"

And mom, unfazed, called back, "Well, I hope he gives them back. They're MY gloves!"

There's no business like snow business!

There is something magical in the early-morning sun burning on a landscape of frozen snow...

Meme time!

Wits and Wiggles snuck up behind me and memed me. She asked me to write "six random things" about myself, so I did, and I'm afraid I got on quite a roll!

Being a contrarian, I'm not tagging anyone for this one, but I do encourage you all to give it a try; I enjoyed my trip down memory lane.

Now, the six random things....

GOOFY:



My first car was a white four-door 1966 Plymouth Belvedere. My grandparents bought it new for around $3,000 -- trading in their ‘57 Buick Roadmaster -- and I remember the childhood excitement of coming home after school and seeing the car parked in front of our house because a good visit was in store. After Grampa died when I was 9 and Gramma moved to an apartment on a streetcar line, my parents got the car. Then, when I graduated from college and needed wheels in the mid-1980s, my parents turned the car over to me. Because the last three letters of the license plate were “GFD,” I named the car “Goofy.”

It was huge and loud, and my first repair bill was about $900 because it was clogged with carbon and stalled at an intersection in midwinter near our first apartment, but I loved that car. It took me everywhere I wanted to go, and it saved my hubby’s life when someone plowed into the driver’s-side door while he was driving. He still teases me because when he called to tell me about the accident (about 20 years ago), before I asked about him I immediately said, “Is the car okay?” He says the only reason he lived was that car was built like a tank.

We kept Goofy into our son’s early childhood -- thanks to Grampa investing in extra undercoating to postpone the car’s rusting -- and the only reason we finally sold it was it was the repairs were getting too expensive. We got one last story out of that car; when we drove it to the guy who was taking it off our hands for $50, I tripped on his gravel driveway, banged my head on the car, broke my glasses, and had to get stitches on my forehead.

Hubby and I call it “Goofy’s Revenge.”

MY FIRST "WALDEN":



My favorite vacation spot growing up was in the Lakes Region of New Hampshire -- a cottage by Pemigewasset Lake in New Hampton, at “Pemi Shores Motel & Cottages.” My grandparents told my parents about the place ca. the mid-1960s, and from then on through my childhood, we went up for a week or two every summer. Each cottage had a name, and we usually stayed in “Anna,” a shaded cottage right by the lake, or “Bob,” which was behind Anna. My grandparents sometimes stayed there at the same time.

This is where I first grew to love nature in general and lakes in particular; Pemi was a crystal-clear lake with a large sandy beach, and I was always swimming to “the rock” (a huge barely-submerged rock that kids could jump off) or the raft. I also did a lot of rowing to the island, a fun place to explore, and once a group of us swam to the island -- something my parents weren’t too happy about because I neglected to tell them first!

As I got older, I found myself taking notes about and pictures of the lake, trying to capture it in its different moods throughout the day.

There were always kids there to swim, float on inflatable rafts, and play “Marco Polo” with, or hang out with at the beachside picnic tables for card games like “I Doubt It.” A number of the kids were the same from year to year because their fathers attended an annual local conference. We would also stroll up to the restaurant for ice-cream cones.

About once each vacation week, my parents would take me into the White Mountains, to ride the Cannon Mountain Aerial Tramway and hike around at the summit. We would drive along the scenic Kancamagus Highway and stop to climb on the rocks at Rocky Gorge on Swift River. And we would always visit the Old Man of the Mountain -- sadly gone now.

We’d spend evenings out at dinner at Hart’s Turkey Farm Restaurant or Tamarack Restaurant Drive-In (my favorites: their tuna roll and chocolate frappe), have a round of mini-golf at Funspot (where the holes were miniature scale models of New Hampshire landmarks like the Lake Winnipesaukee cruise ship the M/S Mount Washington, the Mt. Washington Cog Railway, and the Jackson covered bridge -- and even a hole called “Waldo the Whale”!), and make our own sundaes at Kellerhaus and sit at old-fashioned ice cream parlor tables and listen to a player piano. Perched at the top of each Kellerhaus sundae was a tiny American flag on a toothpick.

From time to time we still get back to New Hampshire. Although Pemi is now privately owned, we revisit as many as possible of my beloved old haunts, and it is wonderful to share them with a new family and a new generation!


A BABE IN THE POLITICAL WOODS:



My first foray into politics was during the 1980 presidential election, when I volunteered for Ted Kennedy. I was a Massachusetts native in college in Boston at the time, and I did some typing at his Boston campaign office. The first day I was there (Jan. 28), television cameras showed up, and later people came up to me and said, “Hey, I saw you on the news at 6!” Somewhere, I have some snapshots I took that week at the office when he and his wife Joan came to a reception, where I got to shake hands with him. One of the pictures was taken of a man I ran into in the elevator -- Michael Dukakis! And Joe Kennedy came to my college and gave a humor-filled speech in a student lounge on behalf of Teddy.

I went canvassing for Kennedy in Manchester, NH, where I met RFK’s daughter Courtney Kennedy and the staff sent me out with a woman who had an interesting feature -- she looked just like Jackie O! (Seriously! She wore a T-shirt with a dot-matrix design of her own face, and people asked her why she had a shirt of Mrs. Onassis...) My funniest memory of canvassing with her was this one apartment building we went to. We knocked on a door, and immediately heard some very loud, aggressively ferocious barking. Then the lady behind the door said, “Down, Benji!” My canvass partner and I looked at each other: Benji?!!!!

Last spring, Ted Kennedy came down here to PA to speak at my county's Democratic Committee dinner, and I wanted so much to go but didn't because it was my son's 16th birthday. That campaign in '80 sparked my lifelong interest in politics, and it came full circle when the senator endorsed Barack Obama and I worked on that campaign. Hard to believe it all started almost 30 years ago...

BECAUSE OF JANE FONDA



It’s because of Jane Fonda that I met my husband!

In 1979, around the time Jane Fonda was starring in the movie “Nine to Five,” she and her then-husband Tom Hayden came to Simmons College, where I was a freshman, and made a speech on the “Quad,” the grassy area next to the dorms. I went to hear them, and I ended up sharing blanket space and conversation with a fellow student, and through her met her roommate and roommate’s friend. Five years later, from those connections, I was introduced to my future hubby.

As a result, I’ve always perked up whenever Jane is mentioned; seems strange that I wouldn’t have my better half or my son without her!

HOMES



I grew up in only one home -- in Needham, MA, the house where my parents have lived for 50 years -- and since then have lived in only four more: Boston, MA (in college, 1979-83), Woburn, MA (part of 1985; our first apartment after marriage), King of Prussia, PA (our apartment from 1986-89 when we moved for hubby’s job), and Royersford, PA -- our house since 1989. It’ll be 20 years here in March!

BY ANY OTHER NAME...



When I was pregnant, I wouldn’t let my doctor tell me if I was going to have a boy or a girl; I wanted the big moment to be a surprise. As a result, hubby and I planned boy and girl names. If our child had been a girl, she would have been named “Sara Beth.”

For a boy’s name, we followed the very scientific method of each poring through the baby-name book and separately writing down our top three choices, then comparing notes and reaching a final decision.

We did this -- but after all that, we ended up naming our son after my father!

What six random things can we learn about YOU?

“There is nothing in the world more beautiful than the forest clothed to its very hollows in snow. It is the still ecstasy of nature, wherein every spray, every blade of grass, every spire of reed, every intricacy of twig, is clad with radiance.”
 -- William Sharp, Scottish poet, 1855-1905.

I braved the cold this morning (8 degrees when I set out, 19 on my return) to take a five-mile hike at the John Heinz National Wildlife Refuge at Tinicum.

For much of this beautiful walk, it's easy to forget you're only about one mile from Philadelphia International Airport. The refuge is in Philadelphia and Delaware counties, PA, and according to the website, "was established by an act of Congress in 1972 to protect the largest remaining freshwater tidal marsh in Pennsylvania .... Over the years, the refuge has become a resting and feeding area for more than 300 species of birds, 85 of which nest here. Fox, deer, muskrat, turtles, fish, frogs and a wide variety of wildflowers and plants are among the species that call the refuge 'home.' "

Here's a taste of this winter wonderland.















Since the group I was with was moving at a good clip, I didn't have the chance I would have liked to linger and look for wildlife. However, I was happy to see a blue heron --



-- and what has to be the fattest squirrel in Pennsylvania!

"Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts."
-- Rachel Carson.

Mill Grove is for the birds. In a good way.

Today I visited Mill Grove, the home of naturalist, artist and writer John James Audubon (1785-1851; see portrait above), whose fame was sealed by his masterwork, "The Birds of America." A French zoologist in the 1820s called Audubon's collection of 453 paintings of birds "the greatest monument yet erected by art to nature." The John James Audubon Center at Mill Grove, located in the village of Audubon, PA, includes the stone farmhouse's three-floor museum celebrating his life and work, as well as a bird sanctuary.







Visitors to the museum will see original Audubon paintings like those shown above, but will also see his portraits of a swift fox and arctic foxes. Audubon spent his last years working on "The Quadrupeds of North America," but his health and eyesight were failing, and he died in 1851 before the work could be completed. His sons stepped in to help finish their father's last project.

Strolling around, you will see a stuffed owl, turkey vulture, wild turkey, ring-necked pheasant, great black-backed gull, and bald eagle. Family-history buffs will enjoy vintage Audubon family photos and a picture of John James Audubon's original home, "La Gerbetiere," in Coueron, France.

Think you are a pack rat? Check out the re-creation of John's bedroom. One visitor in Audubon's youth described what he had seen: "On entering his room, I was astonished and delighted to find that it was turned into a museum. The walls were festooned with all sorts of birds' eggs, carefully blown out and strung on a thread. The chimney-piece was covered with stuffed squirrels, raccoons and opossums...."

There is something here for all ages. The museum has a "Room For Young Audubons," with tables and chairs where young nature lovers can try their hand at drawing an owl or other bird. Signs encourage students to develop their powers of observation by seeing the color of the bird's eyes, beak, feet and claws, the colors and patterns on the feathers, and how the bird holds its head. It is suggested, too, that students check the cage outside with "Blaze" the red-tailed hawk, and the two great horned owls named Sitting Bull and Geronimo. One of those nature tidbits tailor-made to fascinate kids is that "our birds of prey eat rats that have been frozen just for them." Little did you know that owls, too, have TV dinners!

There are some quirky exhibits at Mill Grove -- Indian artifacts including a flint scraper, quartz spear, etc., found on the land; a mineral collection (lead and copper mines were once on the property), and even old photographic equipment (presumably for passionate naturalists), including a Brownie Fiesta Camera and a Hawkeye, Sylvania "Sun Gun" movie light, a Pocket Instamatic, and a brochure on "How to make good pictures with your Polaroid Speedliner Land Camera."

Shutterbugs will also love an exhibit that is being featured at the museum until Jan. 31st -- "A True Focus On Nature: Wildlife Photography by James Campion," a local photographer who travels widely to get his shots, and practices incredible patience in waiting till just the right moment to press the shutter. This room of photos was my impetus to go to Mill Grove today, and Campion did not disappoint. The first picture I saw, "Intense," was an incredibly detailed and textured close-up view of a reddish egret. His subjects were varied -- white ibis, humpback whale, barred owl, flamingo, black skimmer, white tail fawn, red fox pups, and Eastern gray squirrels in a tree. He captures them wonderfully in all their delicate beauty, power and charm.

Arriving shortly after New Year's, I found the house decked out attractively for Christmas -- and my favorite holiday side-attraction was a collection throughout the house of "teasel pod creatures," made by volunteers from the prickly teasel plant. These endearing little critters are crafted in all kinds of poses -- drumming, fencing, singing, playing basketball, taking pictures, skiing and sledding (this last with a sign asking, "Where's the Hot Chocolate?").

(And yes, there's a gift shop. Some of the teasel creatures were on sale there, with proceeds benefiting the museum.)

Those wanting to explore Audubon's legacy outdoors as well as in will have a treat, as the property contains 175 acres of woodlands and meadows, as well as miles of walking trails. My outside explorations today were brief, since it was spitting rain and there were still icy patches from the overnight storm, but the glimpses I saw whetted my appetite for future excursions.





As I headed out the door of Mill Grove, several birds flew off from a nearby tree; their presence is a fitting tribute to the man who did so much to study and honor them. The museum's motto is "Connecting People With Nature and Art," and it certainly succeeds.

Visit Mill Grove yourself sometime, and let your own dreams take wing.

The plan was perfect. Hubby and I would set off on Sunday afternoon to hike in another part of my newly discovered state park. Romance, nature, good exercise -- what more could a couple ask for?

Only thing is, he's not into nature.

Apparently, all those years of Boy Scouting didn't turn him into Thoreau. Give me lakes, woods and mountains, and I'm good to go. But he much prefers the stimulation of competing in a game -- boardgame, card game, computer game. I could easily go the rest of my days without playing another game; he could easily go without seeing so much as a shrub.

Still, he got dressed up warm and kept me company on my nature hike because he knew I'd like that. I was like a pig in mud, admiring the marvelous waves of ice designs in the creek, and the seemingly perfect circles in the ice, surrounded by powdered-sugar snow.





Meanwhile, down near the fishing dock, a number of brightly colored bobbers dangled from branches like Christmas-tree ornaments.



There was so much to see: icy waterfalls that had seeped down through rocks; the three trees by the creek that looked like witches, hubby said; rocks wedged in ice chunks resting above the cellophane-clear water surface; and parts of the creekside fields which had collapsed into mud.





Much of the time, I do my nature walking on my own. But I'm glad he joined me this time.

Does your significant other share your hobbies?

"This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field."
-- From "Snowflakes," by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

As I walked yesterday in the woods, and as I reflected on the walk and reviewed my pictures, I thought about the cycle of the seasons, the cycle of the emotions, the cycle of life. We are now in the depths of winter, when Nature is naked and exposed. The world is a tangle of coiled slim branches and dead leaves. The season has resonated with my sense of profound depression -- emotional nakedness and fragility. If I step on the thin ice, it might break. If I feel, I might cry and not stop.

What can I learn from Nature in this season? From my walks, I feel a sense of pride in the great quietness, a pride in simply, stubbornly, surviving. Tree roots reach out deep into the soil and grip a firm foothold to withstand the brutal winds; I am fascinated by them. The season of enormous desolation can also be seen as a time of inward-looking solitude, of not caring about hiding anything from anyone. A time not only of fragility but of beauty, when there is not only numbness -- the chill in the heart -- but also the intense pain that comes from loving deeply. While the pain is almost unbearable at times, it means I am, for one more season, alive.

I look long at the water in the creek and see reflections that are fragile but lovely. I look at myself and try to see the same. The snow and ice cover some of the creek, but the blue water peeks out as well. Walk the trail long enough, and I will hear the soft rush and gurgling of the living stream, even in January.

The quality of the light is wondrous on winter days -- casting vivid shadows in the morning, the pure pale warmth resting on the landscape in mid-afternoon, the setting sun burning through the trees and scorching a trail of light on the water as evening draws near.

Winter lends a wonderful geometry to places that might be dismissed as ugly or simply inconsequential. I find myself riveted by shorelines that are the intersection of snow-flecked mud and stones, or dead leaves, and the jagged icy margin of the creek. I stare at the intricate ridges in tree trunks, whether they stand sentry by the stream, or rest on their sides by the trail, the ridges lined and accented with snow. Beyond the ice, I can peer into the water's clarity at the larger stones at the bottom.

The rebirth of spring and the lush greenery of summer seem impossibly far away. Between now and then, I have a lot more walking and thinking to do.

"There is a slumbering subterranean fire in nature which never goes out, and which no cold can chill .... This subterranean fire has its altar in each man's breast; for in the coldest day, and on the bleakest hill, the traveler cherishes a warmer fire within the folds of his cloak than is kindled on any hearth. A healthy man, indeed, is the complement of the seasons, and in winter, summer is in his heart."
-- From the essay "A Winter Walk," by Henry David Thoreau.

New Year's Day in Valley Forge was beautiful but very chilly -- I set out that morning when it was 19 degrees, and returned two hours later when the mercury had climbed to a 'balmy' 24.

I had said on New Year's Eve that I wanted to spend more time in Nature in the new year. Despite leaving a nice warm bed the next morning, I am so glad I started 2009 this way. The sparkle of sunlight on water nourishes me, and there is something magnificent about the stark simplicity of winter in the woods and fields.

No, not me -- the weather.

I went out at lunchtime today to run errands and take pictures for my photography class. The weather started out bracingly cold, but beautiful (see first photo).

But this time of year, you never know what Mother Nature is going to throw at you. The skies over the park turned bleak and gray -- and within minutes, a rush of falling snowflakes was blurring the evergreens.

My fingers were numb by then, so I retreated to my car and cranked up the heat.

As I drove to my next stop, though, the skies brightened again and all traces of snow vanished! The only hints of stormy weather were the dramatic clouds that followed (see second photo).

The first snow of the season came and went with merciful speed, but I have to wonder what's next!

I got acquainted with some of my camera's bells and whistles when I did this 'shoot' of rain-splashed berries.

(Amazing, the level of detail reflected in a raindrop!)

“Impart as much as you can of your spiritual being to those who are on the road with you, and accept as something precious what comes back to you from them.”

-- Albert Schweitzer (German medical missionary, theologian, musician and philosopher. 1952 Nobel Peace Prize, 1875-1965).

The reward for my venturing early from bed on a Saturday morning was the chance to see nature fresh and new!





(Note to photographers: I'm fascinated that the best camera setting for these pictures was the "Indoor" one!)