Edges

These have been a difficult and tough few weeks in Minnesota and Wisconsin. People are on edge. Some are hiding in fear and some are stepping out and forward. For the 20 years I have lived in Minnesota, I’ve found the people to be welcoming and caring. They’re happy to help push you out of a snow bank, recognizing that everyone has been in that situation before. When the temperatures dip to 20 below zero, you check on your neighbor to be sure they’re warm and safe. It’s what you do for your neighbors. And that’s what Minnesotans are doing now – standing up for their neighbors.

It’s been a challenge to concentrate and center my mind. One of the best ways for me to do that is to be surrounded by nature – whether it’s outside or inside with greenery and flowers. So I took myself to Como Park and spent an hour photographing at the McNeely Conservatory. The sunken garden was filled with spring flowers and colors, all of which were welcome and inviting on a cold winter’s morning. But I walked into another room at the conservatory and found three cactus in a corner. Their spikes were long and looked sharp and menacing. I immediately thought of the environment in the Twin Cities where there are menacing and sharp forces roaming the streets, schools, and businesses. And yet behind the cactus in the corner was a lovely soft kalanchoe plant covered with pink and red blossoms. As I focused my camera and framed the image, the kalanchoe colors seemed to soften the cactus and its sharp edges. Two plants side by side, both surviving in the conservatory room. Neither was better than the other. Each has its place in the environment. It all seemed to represent a difficult time where our edges are being explored and tested.

Summertime!

We are in the middle of summer. Warm temps, sunshine, and those carefree days to be spent outside. As we get older we forget how precious the summer days are. The bright sunlight is something to soak up, and the summer-worthy adventures are waiting out the door.

The recent thunderstorms that developed and rolled through the area are a reminder that even the dark clouds eventually depart and the summer sun will appear yet again. To reach up and out to the sun, to embrace all its warmth and light – those are the reminders of how we’re to enjoy summer.

A softness to peony season

Spring seems to have been our shortest season this year. As soon as the snow went out of the landscape, green appeared. And yet now we’re already on the other side of spring into summer. We’ve had days of record-setting heat and humidity in the past week – a true reminder that June weather can bring just about anything.

The peonies in my garden burst into a riotous bloom a few weeks ago. There were shades of pink, red, magenta, maroon, white, and even a lovely coral. This is the one time of year I wish for no rain. May and June rains tend to be downpours, with raindrops falling hard through the sky and pelting any flower petals. This year we missed some of the heaviest rain, and the peony blossoms remained and came into full bloom.

I’m lucky to have some plants that are from my mother and father’s yard in Kansas. They’ve adjusted to our Minnesota weather, and I especially enjoy seeing those particular peonies come into bloom. My parents referred to peonies as “memorial flowers.” In Kansas they hoped the peonies would bloom right before Memorial Day so they could pick arm loads of them to place on the grave sites of family and relatives. I’ve since learned that tradition came after the Civil War when peonies were placed on the graves of fallen soldiers on what was then called Decoration Day. It was (and is still) a small gesture, but the remembrance and commitment is so much larger.

Awash in spring color

There is a lovely palette of colors in our landscape now. The rains and the sunshine have encouraged all the plants and flowers to burst into bloom and fullness. And with light winds the colors seem to dance before our eyes.

My garden is filled with this lovely orange and yellow columbine. The first plant was a transplant from my mother-in-law’s garden near their lake house. The columbine have multiplied and spread, and now stand tall and full in my garden. Behind is a stand of large lupines. These too were a gift from a dear friend who shared the lupine seeds. It took a couple of years for the plants to produce their lovely blue and purple blooms, but quickly they have spread and provide a lovely backdrop to the columbine.

A few days ago I awoke to an early, cool morning with the promise of a warm day ahead. Gradually the sun cleared the house and it’s brightness flooded the gardens. The birds chirped, a soft wind started to rustle, and I enjoyed a magical few hours surrounded by color and song in the garden.

Structure in the snow

This has been a hard week. My mind has been anything but calm, and the “news of the world” has not been kind. Sleepless nights and fits of anxiety have not helped.

The other morning I awoke to a fresh layer of snow on the ground. For most winters that would not be unusual, but this year the winter precipitation has favored a track around us. The meager snow has been icy and anything but photogenic. But this new snow had softened the immediate world around me. There was a layer of white covering the grass and lying gently on the pine trees. Even these allium heads welcomed the bits of snow in their centers, cupping it around the delicate stems. I marveled at the intricacy of the seed heads and their ability to weather and stand up to the winter winds and storms. Bravely they stand as a testament to summer and fairer weather.

It was a welcome relief to spend time with the alliums and the fresh snow. I forgot about the “outside world” and focused on the “news of the heart” – the sturdiness and resilience of nature.