Friday, January 7, 2011

The Transcendent Tundra

Like most men I am captivated by women who possess the triple threat combination of beauty, brains, and boldness. In this particular instance the object of my fascination is a rather complicated creature. Freud would assign her with labels such as obsessive/compulsive, passive/aggressive, and possibly manic/depressive. She can be as volatile as she is serene. She can inspire one moment and terrify the next. She is generous and miserly. Her beauty is the fodder of poets and her wrath causes men to find their misplaced religion. She is an international superstar and the girl next door. Even her anger has a beauty that enthralls. She is older than the hills and as fresh as 'the darling buds of May'. Her name is "Mother Nature".

Winter here on the tundra gives a person plenty of opportunity to ruminate over one's environment. It is cold. Not as cold as it could be or has been but cold enough to brave the outdoors to gather up the wood for the fire that warms the thought processes.

The snow that fell before Christmas is what led me to ponder the mind of Mother Nature. I watched as she placed big fluffy flakes ever so gently upon every needle of every branch in the pines and firs. But she also took care to outline all the twigs and branches of the other leafless trees so as not to have them feel left out. Everything was highlighted--white upon green or brown against a greyish blue backdrop. The lower branches of the pines became so laden that they bent down towards the ground to create the flying buttresses for miniature Gothic cathedrals of snow and wood for the red squirrels to worship in. Vespers were said in the awesome silence wrapped in white.

Over the next few days the sun's warmth erased the scene so carefully constructed. Mother Nature took it in stride and yielded up her crystal confections to dazzle the eye. As each branch freed itself a cascade of pure white confetti caught the light as they joined their compatriots blanketing the ground. All in a deafening silence of delight.

The next snow was not so pleasant. She wasn't about to repeat herself. She tossed it down at us like a gauntlet and laughed as we attempted to pick it up. She's like that sometimes. And who can blame her? Humankind has as long a passive/aggressive-obsessive/compulsive-manic/depressive history with her as she has had with us. We rearrange her landscapes, we reconstitute the air in her skies, we exploit the resources in her waters. No one likes to be criticized or improved upon, least of all her. So every now and then she shakes things up a bit, blows out the candles along a few coastlines and prairies, and gives a few places a good dousing. It's just her way of reminding us that, do what we will, she's still the boss.

She is a strange mistress. Her daily routine keeps me humble while elevating my soul to her level. She gives only to take it away in order to reimburse you with something else. As benevolent as she is, it is a very dangerous misstep to take advantage of or for granted what she has to offer. Winter on the tundra behind the back woods lends itself to the realization that she and we are not so very different. We want to be appreciated and respected, loved and cared about. My only resolution for the new year is to be mindful of my place in her scheme of things and vice versa.

19 comments:

  1. Not so many days ago we had the first snow that made everything pretty. The snow like you're talking about that frosts everything and relieves the gray and brown. Yesterday and overnight, more, just in time to save my world from returning to monochrome. And now it's cold enough that the flakes sparkle in the porch light at night. So pretty.

    We did have the winds too, and Mother Nature did "toss it down at us like a gauntlet and laugh as we attempted to pick it up." It's best, then, to let her have her way with it all until she's run out of breath or interest, and then move the drifts.

    You have some beautiful images here. The idea of evergreen cathedrals captivates me.

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  2. Such a very beautiful post, that was well worth waiting for.

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  3. She is the ever present challenge and reward that we look to for life itself... and Lord W, you write her magnificently.

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  4. I forgot how I love the look of a snowy landscape, its been so many years since I lived in one. And the description of the gothic cathedrals is exactly what the fir tree we had in the corner of our front yard looked like. Thanks for the memories, but I think I'll stay here where it will be a balmy 70 in the sun today and I have all the windows open.

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  5. June--I think winter has been harder on you where you live because of the 'lake effect' snow thing. For the most part it has been a rather mild winter snow-wise but it's been made up for with the temperature.

    I planted the evergreens and most of the other trees around the house nearly 40 years ago. They are so tall and full and serve as wind screen and snow barrier for the house. Seeing what M.N. did with them was really thrilling. The spires of the firs straight up and the branches curved to the ground covered in frozen lace. You could see inside between the branches and there was a red squirrel happily munching on one of the nuts I throw around for them. It looked all the world like he was saying his prayers--probably grace for the snack.

    Von--Thanks, Darlin'. This post owes a great deal of its' existence to you. Your kind words and encouragement got me off the porch and into the studio.

    Gwen--I have always been a fan of M.N. and I have always been inspired by winter's awesome silent magic. Thank you for your generous praise--coming from you it is a very high compliment.

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  6. Lady H.--The real magic of winter is what it says to your soul. Since you still possess the memory of evergreen cathedrals I think your soul is in very good shape. Oh, how I wish I could open the windows here and let the crisp air in--if for only a minute or two. HRH would have my head if I were to do so. I am looking forward to our 70 degree summer when it comes. 70 degrees in January sounds so foreign to me now.....I guess I have, indeed, come home.

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  7. I just got through posting my rough and tumble tangle post then I found this music, read your post and now calming grace is back in my soul. Thank you ;-)

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  8. Your welcome, Darlin'! But you know of course that it never actually left your soul...it just lost its place in line temporarily and has returned to the front. That was great music and very wise guidance. Thanks for that--you know how I admire the Buddha....

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  9. Buddha's pretty cool but doesn't hold a candle to you ;-)

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  10. OMG!! What a compliment. And very undeserved I might add. You have to admire someone who utters such truths while sitting cross-legged in the sun all day with snails taking up residence on his head. Personally, I would find that rather distracting......but a diadem, now we're talking.....

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  11. I guess it's a good thing to celebrate the power and beauty of old mother nature. But winter, about now, really begins to get tiresome. I look out, past my bird feeders, at dirty patches of lingering snow -- the temperature hovers around freezing -- there are a lot of dead leaves and branches that will eventually have to be cleaned up, and like modern psychologists, I want to blame it all on the mother.

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  12. It gets that way around here in March and April. Wet, dreary, and depressing. Snow maintains a tenacious grip in some places and it's too wet everywhere else to get what needs to be done accomplished. I try to see beyond those two months to the glory of May. Even then it's no guarantee on the tundra but it helps to alleviate the the feelings of suffocation.

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  13. I'm not really that far west. So far, we've escaped the "coastline snows" and the "lake effect snows" but we'll get ours, I'm sure.

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  14. No doubt....but I only want good things to come your way. Moonlight on freshly fallen snow, billions of stars to gaze up at when you walk the dogs, blue jays and cardinals to decorate your landscape. Stuff like that. Oh, and a self-replenishing wood pile of split logs!

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  15. This last storm nearly flattened every tree and brush in sight. Power was lost for more than two hours, which gave me much time for reflection.

    A hawk perched on a Maple branch outside my kitchen window, and she and I stared each other down for some time. It struck me so, the nature of that bird, that I had to immediately write about it.

    Thank you for sharing this. It's stunning as Mother Nature herself.

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  16. Greetings and welcome Jayne! I'm picturing the two of you--the lady and the hawk--each awestruck and wondering what the other was thinking.

    Thank you for the kind words, too!

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  17. So beautifully said. Next time it snows (tomorrow) I will be looking outside with new eyes.

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  18. Not only is Mother Nature poetic - so are you.

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  19. A Maine Homestead: Nice thing about living up here on the tundra....nearly every other day we are given an opportunity to experience snow in a whole new light.

    Pauline: Greetings Dearheart and welcome! Thank you most kindly for the nice words.

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