Waiting for Things to Happen

paperwhites in front of stained glass window

January is a month of newness and there are a few things in my life I am ready to start now, or would like to begin very soon.  The problem is that nothing happens in my time.  I have come to understand that, and accept it with a good attitude.  Patience and waiting are recurring themes in my writing.

Today is the anniversary of my Dad's passing.  It hardly seems possible that ten years have gone by.  Initially it seemed that the hurt and sadness would never go away.  In time - not my time - it did.  That was replaced with a warm fondness and good memories and only a lingering hint of the terrible sense of loss. 

Orchid buds

Dad was not a very patient man.  He talked to me about it; how outcomes were not always under our control - that ultimately it was the Lord's call on everything.  But that doesn't mean he didn't spend a lot of time impatiently drumming his fingers waiting for his teenagers to be ready to go somewhere, for his wounds from surgeries to heal, or for his plants to bloom.  Sometimes he overwatered and overfed the plants and they would die or droop.  True to his impatience, he would buy new blooming ones.

Amaryllis flower coming soon

In his later years, Dad's body slowed down and he had to be more patient.  It's something that apparently happens with the aging process when you know for certain that you can't do everything and you will not live forever.  Rather than hearing him clapping his hands to get everyone else moving, or expressing disappointment over the pace of things, we noticed he was a little bit slower and sometimes not the first person out the door or ready to order a meal. 

orchid buds opening

I think Dad learned a lot of the patience he did have from the flowers he grew.  Over time he learned to wait on the blooms, anticipating the annual explosions of color in their Florida garden.  He still was inclined to replace perfectly good bloomless plants with blooming ones, and likely to give away orchids once the flowers wilted.

worth the wait

So this week, in his honor, the buds on my beautiful white orchid began to open for the third time in 18 months.  The first sign of these buds was in August, on a tiny stalk.  Slowly it got longer and another came forth with even more tiny buds.  Now there are three stalks with a dozen voluptuous buds, four already fully blooming.  Dad would be impressed that I coaxed it into blooming again. 

It is a tough day in a tough week when the holiday decorations are gone, sweet treats are again forbidden, the family time is behind us, the diet regimen is solidly back in place, and it is cold.   The orchid blooms are a beautiful reminder of the results of patience and of my Dad's love.  I may still drum my fingers like Dad, and exhibit impatience when things don't run on my schedule, but I do think that I have made progress.  It appears I have some more waiting to do and I look forward to the results.  Thanks for the lessons, Dad!

Moonshadows

Escondido, CA

On the night before the moon was fullest,  I took a long walk with Dudley the little brown dog in the hour before midnight.  The streetlights were out on one street.  There, we saw our shadows from the light of the nearly full moon, elongating our short legs (Dudley and I are both vertically challenged) and slimming our bodies.  Perhaps more impressive were the spindly prints of the newly naked trees, along the sidewalk, embracing us as we walked through them.  A fox crossed the road ahead, startling the dog and sending his back hairs straight up.

Escondido, CA

It was a peaceful walk.  We encountered no one.  I had a feeling that something was about to happen. 

Homosassa Springs, FL

Next morning, I heard that a dear family friend passed in the early morning of that same moon, as the shadows grew longer.   Ed was  of my parents' generation, bedridden for some time.

Blue heron near Great Falls, MD

He would have liked those moonshadows on his last night.  A scientist and a minister, he was a teacher, a friend, and a lover of all things in nature.  He personified love and grace through his tender care of living things and his ability to invoke humor at the perfect time in a conversation or awkward moment.  Under a rock or in the murkiest of waters, he found living treasures.  Under his guidance, plants bloomed and flourished.  

Frog-catching nieces, Greeneville, Tennessee

Kenilworth Aquatic Gardens, Washington, DC

He was my friend when I was a really dorky middle schooler.  I got to accompany him on some of his expeditions to find plants and creatures in lakes and ponds.  He taught me a greater appreciation for living things, and for the thrill of discoveries in nature.   Skinks and worms, beetles and spiders, minnows and tadpoles - they were all part of the nature safari.

San Diego, CA

Fresh water jellyfish, Fleming County, KY

Ed encouraged my love of the pond, and I shared photos with him when I finally had one in my own garden.  I think he liked that.  He bought me a beautiful pair of angel fish for my aquarium when I was about 12.  I was heartbroken when my heater malfunctioned and I poached them - worse than the murders was having to tell him.  He understood but recommended I stick to less fragile aquarium beauties after that.

US National Arboretum Orchid Show

US National Arboretum Orchid Show

Ed conducted the memorial service for my Dad.  He told stories about their adventures; they too were good friends and fellow nature lovers.   He shed a few tears at that service.  I like it that I shared him with my Dad.

Potomac River near Great Falls

Lessons I learned from Ed:

• Creepy crawly things are cool.
• You never know what you might find under a rock.
• Beauty comes in some surprising packages.
• A day by the water is a gift from God.
• Life is both fragile and magical.
• The mentoring of a grownup can change a child's life in countless ways.
• God watches over all of his creatures and we must be good stewards, too.

Hummingbird in Escondido, CA

On the night of the full moon, Ed was in heaven.  He and Dad probably explored the gardens together.

Falls Church, VA

I don't know if Ed was a Cat Stevens fan, but this song makes me think of those days when we explored ponds and of the moonlight walk I took on the night he went to heaven.
Cat Stevens singing Moonshadow (youtube)

Washington's Birthplace, VA

Across the Pond

Pond life is small-scale and even a dragon fly can cross mine in a matter of seconds.  Change is happening as winter begins to rear its frosty head.  The frogs have disappeared to the boggy bottom.  The enormous goldfish swim far below the surface.  Only the young reckless minnows cruise near the top, much like teenagers showing off their wheels. 

sky reflected in the pond

netting over the pond

One of the joys of pond management is keeping the leaves and pine needles out.  I corral the leaves, in October and November, with a canopy of netting.  Many of the pine needles fall through, but the leaves are mostly apprehended.  Already the water is amber from the escapees. 

elephant ear beside the pond

One particularly heavy pine needle dropping season, I forgot to install the netting and poisoned the water and killed all of the fish.  Goldfish are pretty hard to kill (and why they make good first pets for the youngest generation).  Left alone, they can live for many years in a pond that has reasonably clean water and plants. There is no filter in my pond; the pump circulates water but the rain does the replenishing.

minnow in net

Today I used the skimmer to get some of the floating pine needles out.  In the process, I dipped out a few of those crazy teen minnows that were cruising the top of the pond, daring any invader to catch them.  Some of them lay perfectly still in the net and were very hard to see except when the sunlight hit their shiny little bodies.  I think I got them all; at least I know I got the ones that wriggled.  A warning to fish out of water - wriggle if you want to be noticed!

Good advice for people
If you need attention or if you feel like you don't fit in, wriggle a little bit so your friends recognize you - you don't want to get thrown out with the pond refuse! 

Bullfrog tadpoles are waiting out the winter in the leafy bottom.  This good news means that some of the bullfrogs in the pond are in fact girls.  I recognize the boys because they make all the noise; bullfrogs are otherwise difficult to tell apart (the size of the ear circles and the color of their throats are the usual ways).  These are the frogs that I liberated from the meat department at the international supermarket (see blog story).  The tadpoles are indeed proof that they have adjusted to real life.  I'm thrilled that I will have baby bullfrogs next spring or summer.

rain lily

bullfrog in summer

Leaves have been raked away from the pond and the netting will stay up until the trees are bare and all of the pine needles have fallen.  The plants are slowly dying back with the lower overnight temperatures.  No frost yet, but that is coming.  Tonight I will bring in the rain lily that stays partially submerged in the pond all summer and blooms while the frogs hop in and out of the pot.

Dudley with his vole

Dudley continues his sentry duty around the perimeter, keeping the chipmunks and voles away.  He caught a vole and spent hours playing with it, nudging it to make it squeak and patiently watching it waddle away before pushing it with his nose again.  

Across my pond, life is getting quieter and the creatures are settling in for their cold winter wait.  I'd love to know what the frogs are thinking while nestled five feet below the surface in the soft warmth of the decayed leaves. I wonder if they are aware of their plump little progeny, and have any sense of the neighborhood congestion that will occur once they are fully grown next summer and swimming circles around their parents.  

A beholder sees the beauty

I met a friend for a Sunday afternoon adventure on the Mall in Washington, DC.  It is a great time of year to visit museums; the tourist traffic is low, and parking is free on Sundays.

We found that the weather was so beautiful that it was more pleasant to be outdoors, and we spent much of our time walking or sitting in the gardens outside the Smithsonian castle.

One place we sat was a bit removed from the higher traffic area, adjacent to an overgrown perennial flower bed with many spent blossoms and plants going to seed.  It was actually quite pretty and refreshing to see things in their natural fall state - exhausted plants wilting and brown, a few blossoms thrust forth in defiance of the cold and end of the summer season.

Rather than dig them up and toss them out, the Smithsonian gardeners thoughtfully and lovingly left this flower bed in its natural state, preparing for winter and giving the perennials a chance to build up some reserves for next summer's show.

Several parties of tourists walked by.  One visitor commented "This looks ugly. Can you believe they left this," pointing to the perennial bed.  Others in the party nodded in agreement.  Clearly these folks are more accustomed to vacationing at theme parks where there are no natural cycles - things in decline are quickly removed from the public eye and replaced with full-bodied blooms.

From the "Ugly" garden

Thank you Smithsonian for not always making it picture perfect but letting nature create its own show.  In a city where there are more unnatural disasters than natural ones and where reality is distorted by constituents and the elected alike, it is refreshing to see that the real truth is allowed to be seen on occasion - and that natural cycles bring beautiful things too.