The resilience of nature

This afternoon we enjoyed a very pleasant surprise. After spending time during  the past couple of weeks wondering why we hadn't seen any swamp milkweed flowers, we looked out toward the wet spot in the back yard and noticed a small splotch of pink. A closer look through binoculars confirmed that, indeed, at least one bloom of swamp milkweed had emerged. Several other plants, such as blazing star, do seem to have vanished and it's questionable if the bee balm we transplanted a week or so ago will make it to the end of summer, let alone through the winter.

swamp milkweed in bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

Last winter's weather and this summer's drought look as though they've done in the last apple tree planted on the top of the slope across the back yard. Later today, or tomorrow, air quality advisories permitting, we'll wander up that slope and take a closer look. We may even haul a bucket of water for the apple sapling and the bee balm. [The air quality for the  past few days has limited our out outdoor exposure, let alone exertion.] Having faith that watering might help is better than prematurely conducting a memorial service, at least it will us feel better.

The longer we live in the country, the more we're learning that working with nature is much more  complicated than creating a monoculture in which we try to make nature work for us. We have a number of dead oaks with equally dead branches. Some creatures, like woodpeckers, make use of the dead trees by excavating nesting sites. We'd just as soon get the trees cut down and be done with picking up dead branches and worrying if the  tree will break anything when it eventually collapses, but then the woodpeckers we enjoy seeing at the feeders and suet wouldn't live around here. So far, none of the brochures on "healthy woodlands" have been all that helpful. Leaving snags "unless they pose a danger to humans" presumes a branch won't fall while I'm wandering under it or that I'll hear the cracking sound in time to scurry or that I'll stay out from under any dead tree branches. When I'm wandering in our, or any, woods, I'm usually looking ahead or down, not up at dead branches. That's just one example of how we often end up quite uncertain about an appropriate course of action. But, it all takes on a whole different complexion if we consider the whole thing a learning process with a goal of discovering how to live with an alive woodlot and fields and wet spot, instead of solving any number of discrete problems. That calls for a substantial attitude adjustment on our part. Nature will just continue to do what she's evolved to do and adjust to the new climate we've imposed on her. Our resilience will come with an adjusted attitude.

The Well Rising

By William E. Stafford

The well rising without sound,

the spring on a hillside,

the plowshare brimming through deep ground

everywhere in the field—

The sharp swallows in their swerve

flaring and hesitating

hunting for the final curve

coming closer and closer—

The swallow heart from wingbeat to wingbeat

counseling decision, decision:

thunderous examples. I place my feet

with care in such a world.

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