Nature's Puzzles

I’ve been sorting through photos from last year, and I came across a collection of odd ones, single shots, amid a group of pictures. Taken at different times of the year, singly they seem to have no purpose, but together they become  a story of their own.  They are glimpses of Nature’s puzzles.

Spring: The Missing Apples

In years passed, I’ve written about the misfortunes and struggles of a little apple tree. What I’ve never shared is that the apple tree made the journey from Pennsylvania to Georgia tucked in the back of a U-Haul trailer,

and was finally planted in a secure, fenced in, back yard where it should be safe from marauding deer waiting to expand their diet by eating my apples.

All seemed well, and last spring the blossoms bloomed and the leaves grew. A few tiny apples were on their way, and then one day in late June, the apples were gone. AGAIN! The last time we lost apples, we also lost every leaf as the deer cleaned the tree off, leaving only bark and twig. This time the leaves were there; just the apples were missing. 

I looked at the tree, searched for the apples, checked the ground, gazed at the locked gates and the surrounding fence and wondered where did they go this time? My best guess: Raccoons. We are like the tree that continues to grow, bloom and produce fruit (only to lose it.) We are hopeful.

This year we will try again.

Summer: Bluebirds

When we first bought this house, I was thrilled to see bluebirds living in the little bluebird house in the back yard. It was a special treat to watch the babies as they fledged the nest. Bluebird parents are faithful and will return each year to a nesting place. The next summer we were gone so much I missed all the activity. I cleaned out the nest at the end of summer so it would once again be ready for use. Last spring, before we left on our RV trip, I saw the adult pair checking out the box. When we got back I watched for days to see if there was any activity. It was close to the time when the babies would fly. Finally, several weeks after they should have gone, I checked the nest. Dismayed, I found the nest with 3 unhatched eggs. What could have happened to the birds? Were the parents killed? Did something frighten them off? Why were the eggs never hatched? I will wait and watch this spring to see if they return. I am keeping my fingers crossed.

Fall: The Disappearing Moss

We live in the woods. We have no grass in the front part of our property, but we have plenty of leaves, and we are getting a lovely mossy carpet in places. The bases of trees, especially, have nice moss skirts. I was puzzled one day when I noticed the moss disappearing from the base of one of our trees.

As I was filling the birdfeeder, I noticed a piece of moss about 3 feet away, and another piece a little further along.

Who is taking it? My guess: A squirrel or mouse is using it to line his winter nest.

Winter: A Treat for the Animals

I have always imagined the animals would like a change of diet from corn or old seeds in the winter, so periodically I’ll put something extra out for them. When we were done with the pumpkins in the fall I threw them back in the woods. Apparently, deer, raccoons, and opossums are not interested in pumpkins. They are where I threw them, rotting away. Next, I tried a more traditional approach. On a snowy day, I strung some popcorn and cranberries and hung it outside. First I hung the strand on a pine tree. It was untouched. Then I hung it from the bird feeder. 2 cranberries fell off. That was weeks ago. They are still lying on the ground under the feeder.

Finally, I hung it on the fence for the deer. Weeks later the popcorn and cranberries hang untouched. I guess my wildlife is like that Meat and Potatoes husband who refuses to try anything new. I'll stick to birdseed and corn kernels from now on.

It has been a warm winter this year. My  bulbs are pretty sure we are in the middle of March instead of early February.  2017 is beginning to look like another interesting year to observe nature. I will be watching.

Bonnie's Broken Arm: A Christmas Miracle

My favorite doll, Bonnie, is dressed in her Christmas finery today as she sits in a chair by the fireplace.

When I was a little girl I had a favorite doll named Bonnie. Bonnie came with a polka dot sundress and bonnet. I don't remember ever dressing her up, but I'm sure I did. I played with her constantly. Bonnie was all rubber, which I much preferred to the china dolls my sisters had because I didn't have to worry about her chipping or breaking. Mine was rubber. Her round rubber face had hair that was sculpted into the head. It would always be perfect, never falling out or getting tangled or frizzy.

Bonnie was similar to the Betsy Wetsy of those days. I could feed her a bottle of water, but I'd better be holding her over the sink because the water ran straight through! Her sweet blue eyes closed when I tilted her back. If I squeezed her she made a plaintive bleet. It wasn't much of a cry, but it worked for me. I thought she was wonderful.

One day, as I was playing with her, I noticed her arm had a split in the crease of her elbow. I wiggled it back and forth to get a closer look. And pretty soon the little split was a big split. My dad was a doctor, but he was also a great fix-it man. I waited for him to come home from work so I could show him Bonnie's broken arm. I was confident he would make her all better.

He studied the arm carefully and proclaimed it broken. "Can you fix it?" I inquired hopefully?

"She may need to go to the doll hospital, but I can put her arm in a cast." Dad took my doll and wrapped medical tape around her arm from shoulder to wrist. I was a little disappointed that he couldn't make her all better, but by the next morning, I had accepted Bonnie's fate and was back to playing  with her.

As Christmas drew near I turned to Santa. Maybe Santa could fix Bonnie's arm. Each night I went to bed wondering if Santa would come through. Would my Bonnie's arm get better?

Christmas morning arrived and I waited with my sisters at the top of the stairs while Dad went downstairs and turned on the Christmas lights. When he gave the signal we all traipsed downstairs. I spied my stocking hanging by the fireplace overflowing with goodies. But my eyes widened when I saw the high chair next to it with Bonnie sitting there. The tape was gone from her arm and it was all better!

Christmas miracles come in all shapes and sizes. For me it came in the form of a doll whose arm, once broken, was now whole.

Epic Fail; Christmas Style

Sometimes the "Voice of Experience" whispers in your ear. Other times it shouts "NOOOOOOOO!" while jumping up and down with lights and sirens flashing  Sadly, either way, some of us never hear that Voice. This was one of those weeks.

THE PLAN
It started when I saw the Cake Pan in Wal-Mart. I wasn't even looking for it, but there it was, looking so cute and perfect. I was there to buy ingredients for cookies I was baking for a bake sale and as I eyed the pan I thought how well that cake would sell.

So I bought the pan.

THE HISTORY
Here's the thing. I have a history with cakes.

Before Larry and I were married I wanted to impress him with a chocolate birthday cake made from scratch. I found a recipe, and followed it faithfully, right down to separating the eggs. I mixed the dry ingredients, beat the wet ingredients, and combined them in the bowl. The final step was to stiffly beat the egg whites and fold them into the cake batter. I eyed the yolks in the bowl on the counter. Hmm. I must have put in the egg whites instead of the yolks when mixing the wet ingredients. Oh well, I thought. Let's see if it makes a difference.

It does.

The final product could have been patented for construction material. No exaggeration. Larry and I took the 1/2" thick block outside and threw it against the brick wall to see if it would break. The brick chipped. The cake stood strong. Not a nick in sight.

Then there was the cake I made for a neighbor's anniversary. Their children had asked me if I would help them surprise their parents. The day of the party arrived and we made the cake together. All was well until I tried to get it out of the pan. It wouldn't come out. Nothing could prod it loose. First we were frustrated, and then we just started giggling. I cut a slice out and removed the rest of the cake. We pieced it together, iced it, and the kids carried it home with a story to tell.

Since then, it's been sheet cakes and angel food cakes in a two-piece tube pan.

THE DREAM
As I looked at the pan, I wasn't hearing the whispers. I wasn't hearing the shouts or the sirens or seeing the flashing lights. I was seeing..... I don't know what I was seeing.

The dream...

As I look at this picture all I see is a pretty cake. The obvious part glaring at me, that I am oblivious to, is all the angles and edges! I didn't pay any attention to that until I went to grease it and dust it with flour. That's when I first realized I may be in trouble.

I read the recipe and gathered the ingredients. I bought fresh extract and ground the almonds. I melted the butter and blended the flour, sugar and baking soda. I poured it into the pan and baked it to perfection! The cake came out beautifully! Gorgeous color. Delightful texture. I was feeling most pleased...

THE REALITY
...Until I flipped it over onto the cooling rack. It wouldn't come out of the pan! I tried everything. I reheated it to be sure it was loose from the bottom. We pounded, and shook and pried....nothing. Finally I Googled "How to get a cake loose from a pan". In an instant there was the answer! (Seriously, what did we ever do without GOOGLE?)  Get a dishcloth wet and wring it out. The temperature doesn't matter. Wrap the cloth around the cake base....( um,  you see all the edges!) and shake. And it worked.

Sort of.

EPIC FAIL!

The only thing harder than getting the cake out of the pan was washing it. I removed all that I could and then soaked the pan overnight. The next day I tried washing it. AGAIN---ALL THOSE EDGES!!! I brushed, I sponged, I scraped with a fingernail, I used toothpicks. Every last soggy crumb clung tenaciously to the surface of the pan.

THE HOPE
One friend comforted me with the observation that I am a very optimistic baker. I keep trying, in spite of the obvious. Some would say I am naïve, even crazy to think I can do it. I guess in my world, Hope just springs eternal.

But maybe sometimes Hope and Being Crazy are more closely related than I like to believe.

By the way, the cake tasted great and did not go to waste. Now I know how the TRIFLE came to be.

The Children's Christmas Pageant

It's been a busy several weeks with our final RV trip, a trip to Pennsylvania for Thanksgiving and the subsequent preparations for Christmas. I've had so little time to write. However, I decided to share with you one recent Christmas memory. It is from Christmas 2012 when we went to the Christmas Eve service with our daughter's family in Iowa. The children presented their program as we looked on with delight, and a good bit of concealed, but adoring laughter. It is a very fond memory for me, and since we are in the midst of grand adult Christmas cantatas, school holiday programs, and children's church pageants, I wanted to share this with you. I wish all grandparents that are able to see their grandchildren perform, and parents who want everything to go perfectly for their young ones revel in the moment when the halo fails to sit where it belongs, and the star-struck ones soldier on holding fast to their 'pink kitty'. For the story of the Nativity doesn't celebrate the perfection in our lives. It celebrates the night when nothing was going right for Mary and Joseph, but in the end our lives were made perfect. Merry Christmas.

The Littlest Angel; a Christmas Story

The children's choir walked up the center aisle of the church, tallest ones leading, followed by the smaller ones. The procession stopped at the front of the church, off to the side of the manger scene. Moms, dads and grandparents strained to see their little ones as they prepared to sing the songs that went with the Christmas pageant. The voluminous old white choir gowns that passed for angel costumes had seen many pageants over the years. 

The littlest angel stood in the front row, her head just shoulder height to the other 'angels' in the choir. Her long locks draped over the shoulder of her white angel gown that was several sizes too big and reached nearly to her shoes. Her brother, a full head and shoulder taller than her, stood on one side, while the older children stood around them. Tinsel garland halos encircled their heads.

A chorus of young voices rang clear as they sang the first song. "O come all ye faithful..." sang her brother earnestly. His head bobbed up and down as he emphasized each syllable. And with each syllable, his halo dipped further and further across his brow. He reached up to steady it and push it back in place. 

The littlest angel sang not a word, but looked silently out at the congregation clutching her old pink kitty, the one concession her mother made as she talked her into joining the other children in the angel choir. Her little fist wrapped around it's neck clutching it to her. 'Meow' would not have lived long had he had air in his lungs instead of stuffing. Not with that grip. 

The next song began. She moved not a muscle, except her eyes, which shifted from left to right searching out anyone who would come rescue her. As her eyes moved back and forth they reminded her mother of the eyes on the black and white cat clock she'd seen in cartoons. In the congregation, her grandparents sat grinning proudly from ear to ear as they watched their adorable grandchildren. 

The littlest angel looked down at the floor. Her halo slipped over her face and dropped to the ground. Only her head moved as she looked back up. A boy sitting on the step in front of her picked up the garland and passed it to her brother. Matter-of-factly, and oblivious of the people looking on, he dutifully took the garland, turned to his sister and began to arrange it on her head. The billowing sleeve of his robe draped over her face as he patted it into place. 

In the congregation, the grandparents sat hiding their laughter as they watched the two, coping with the dilemma of costumes, songs, and propriety, but their shaking shoulders gave them away. 

The third song began. The halo slipped down. The littlest angel did not move. The older brother picked it up and turned to his sister. As the rest of the choir sang, they faced each other, she looking up at him trusting him to fix everything. He shaped the garland, arranged it on her head, studied his work, adjusted the halo, and patted it into place, again. Pink kitty dangled limply at her side, but as long as he was there, and her brother took care of her, she could make it through the show. 

And the grandparents wiped their eyes, stilled their shoulders, and beamed at their grandchildren. For what is a Christmas pageant without a littlest angel, and her big brother to look after her.

Learning to Be in the Moment

There's a change in the view from the porch. The woods are full of color. From my perch in the loft, I look out at the treetops and they are thinning. There is much more sky peeking through the branches. The sourwoods' crimson has faded, the oaks are beginning their costume change from green to red or gold, and the Asian Pear (always the first to bloom and the last to shed its leaves) are still hanging on to their summer green.

Fall is probably my favorite time of year. This may come as a surprise to those of you who know my feelings about summer! I enjoy summer so much, that while everyone else is sweating through August and looking forward to September, I'm very careful not to think those thoughts. Summer will end, Fall will arrive, and then presto... it's winter...my not so favorite time of year.

Once fall arrives, however, I savor it. This fall has been wonderful. Summer gave up its grip, reluctantly, and we are still having warmer than normal weather. I am enjoying the best of both worlds; warm days, cool nights, and the mosquitoes have finally disappeared. This past summer was very hot and humid. For the first time in years, we never ate dinner on the porch. Between the heat and the mosquitoes, it just wasn't pleasant.

The leaf change is the part of the season that I savor the most. Even if the days were cold, they would still be pretty. Last fall was excessively wet, but the golds and the reds brightened up the gray days. There really is no way to do fall badly. We are in the midst of a severe drought this year, the opposite of last year. Everyone expected the colors to be dull, but against the cloudless blue sky nothing is dull.

Fall in Georgia is a season that lingers. Everyday, something has changed. One week it's the dogwoods, the next it's the sourwoods. As one group of trees lose their leaves, another group has begun the change from green to gold.

There is one downside to fall and I've had to learn how to deal with it. The more vibrant the colors, the clearer the unfortunate truth. What is most beautiful today will be gone next week.

Marigolds Present

Marigolds Past

There is a lot of talk these days about staying in the present. It is so easy for us to look ahead, or behind, either worrying about what is to come or thinking about what is past. Fall teaches me to just Be. I enjoy the cooler temperatures, the changes in color and the woods as it moves through this season in time. Good advice for every day. Now if I can only remember that lesson in Winter.

View From The Empty Saddle

In my last post, I wrote about my efforts to stay active and keep fit as I face aging. I enjoy walking, so a hike sounded like fun. I also like horse back riding, so two weeks after my hike, I decided to go riding at a friend's stable. I've had lessons in the past, but only for a short time and several years ago. I'm somewhere between novice and intermediate. Put me on a trail ride with a group that has no experience and I look pretty good. Last year I went on a ride and it wasn't long before I was helping them. But I'm really just above novice level. Knowing this, Lucy put me on Biscuit, a sweet mare that she uses to teach children. Biscuit was a nice size. I could look her in the eye as I groomed her. I prefer that size to the stallions I can walk under without ducking.

After Lucy helped me saddle her up, we went out to the paddock where Biscuit and I could get a feel for each other before heading up the trail. The sun was bright so I tucked my regular glasses into the collar of my t-shirt and put on my prescription sunglasses. There were six of us riding that day. I felt good, and tried to exude confidence to Biscuit. When everyone was ready, we took off. It was a beautiful day in the mountains and I was really looking forward to it. Lucy and I rode at the end of the pack, Lucy mostly sticking with me since it was my first time at her stable. As we rode up the mountain, Biscuit followed my lead as I moved her from side to side in the road, but she really preferred the outside edge so I let her walk there. I noticed a half buried log in the road ahead, but apparently Biscuit didn't! The next thing I knew she stumbled. I held on waiting for her to regain her footing. Except she didn't. Her other foot tripped as well and I saw her going down. Holding the reins, I leaned back and held my breath hoping 'this wasn't it'! Finally, she regained her balance and I was able to start breathing again. She had gone down on both knees before she could get up. Stumbling used to terrify me when I first learned how to ride. I felt really proud that I had held on and kept my balance, leaning backwards, which helped her regain her balance. Lucy was tickled. "Way to go, girl! Well done!"

The Bible says "Pride Goeth Before the Fall". Yep! I am here to tell you, the Bible doesn't lie! And the fall isn't fun!

A short distance further up the road, Lucy's horse started acting up. Within seconds, Biscuit was shaking her head and jumping sideways. "BEES!" Lucy cried out. Biscuit started to run as I reached for the horn on the saddle. I grabbed the reins in one hand and the horn in the other and held on. Suddenly she started to kick. She was pretty much moving in four directions at once, and I knew I wasn't going to survive this one.

At this point, I would like to borrow a definition from Capt. Sully, of the famed Landing in the Hudson. In the movie, Sully, when he was interrogated by the NTSB, he is asked about the plane crash. At this point, Sully speaks up and says, "Excuse me. The plane didn't crash. It was a 'forced water landing'."

I have never fallen off a horse, and I like to believe I still haven't. However, I have now experienced a forced aerial dismount. And in all honesty, I'll be happy to never experience one again. As I felt myself go sideways, I wasn't afraid. I was rather curious as to what was going to happen next. Looking back, it's possible my sense of self preservation isn't very acute. 'What happened next' was a shock, and in retrospect, I was really, really, lucky!

The landing was hard. I landed flat on my back at my shoulder blades. The thud knocked the air out of every cell in my body, and I rolled over in the leaves on the embankment. While Biscuit stood with the rest of the group nursing her bee stings, I lay stretched out, nose to nose with a pile of dead leaves. Laying face down, I could hear Lucy calling to me, but I absolutely couldn't move a finger to signal I was ok. It took her a few moments to get back to me and I felt badly for her as she kept calling, "Connie, are you ok?"

I was sure I hadn't really broken anything. I knew I'd had the wind knocked out of me, but I was surprised that I truly couldn't move anything. It felt like an elephant was sitting on my back. Finally, I managed to get out "No air." She breathed a sigh of relief that I was conscious and she now knew the problem.

Several minutes later, I managed to stand up. Taking an inventory, I was surprised by several things.
1) How stiff my back was and how hard it was to move it. It felt very tight, and heavy. The elephant was still there. And yet, there was little pain and my arms and legs and head and neck and fingers and toes all seemed to move fine. #1 Blessing! I mean, REALLY!!! NO BROKEN BONES!!! THAT'S A BLESSING!
2) My sunglasses remained on my head, unbroken. #2 Blessing!!
3) My regular glasses were found lying neatly folded on top of the leaves! #3 Blessing!!!
4) My iphone was still in my butt pocket, unbroken! #4 Blessing!!!! But in the days to come, the phone shaped bruise that appeared on my posterior proved that extra padding in that area can be a good thing at least for the phone.

As the aches and pains settled in over the next several days, I realized one area that never experienced any signs of impact or force. My head and neck! While bruises appeared here and there, I never found any sign of whiplash, let alone concussion. My helmet was truly #5 BLESSING!!!!!

It's been a couple of weeks now. My massage therapist worked out most of the kinks, but one was remaining, so I've had my first Chiropractor appointment ever. That shoulder blade area was never meant to handle 150 lbs of flying momentum. However, it did it admirably so I can't complain about a little residual tightness. And then there was the dermatologist appointment to help explain the rash that appeared several days later on my arms and torso. Something was lurking in the leaves, I expect.

One thing stands out in my mind after this experience. I have no doubts, that had I been less active, not working out, walking, and taking yoga, my fall would have been a lot harder to recover from. Staying active has kept me limber, and my bones strong.

The downside to this whole experience is that I'm re-looking at this whole 'Stay Active, Stay Young' mindset. I still believe in it. But I have to admit, there may be some things that you have to acknowledge may no longer be in your wheelhouse.

If Larry were to decide to climb around on our steep roof to do some repairs, or to climb a tree to chop down some dead limbs, I'd be the first to say, NO WAY! We can hire someone (younger and more agile--words thought, but unspoken) to do that sort of thing!

By the same token, if I was an experienced rider, and knew how to handle a horse in most situations, riding at my age might make sense. But for someone who likes to pretend she can ride, the word 'foolhardy' might apply. And for someone who has Osteoporosis in her history, 'foolhardy'  paired with adventurous activities, is not a good combination.

The view from the empty saddle has me re-examining some sayings to separate truth from ideology.

"Stay Active, Stay young!" Good words to live by. "You only live once!" Also good words to live by. "You're only as old as you feel." Truer words were rarely spoken.

On the other hand, "You're never too old.".... Well maybe sometimes it's better to just accept that, for some things, you might be...  after all.

Stay Active, Stay Young!

View of the lake at Vogel State Park from the top of the hiking trail. I made it up. Now I have to make it back down.

The title says it all. I may be getting older, and I may be slowing down, but I'm going into old age fighting, and kicking. And, on occasion, limping and hobbling. I've been very fortunate that I've had a healthy body, and, as far as I'm concerned, a sane mind. My mind may not always be as quick as it once was, and it was never sharp as a tack as the expression goes, but its holding it's own.

When I was in my 40's I signed up for aerobics classes. I enjoyed them and knew I was helping myself stay in shape. I remember wondering how long I would keep them up? Would I still be doing this when I was 60? By the time I'd reached the old age of 60, would I have given up staying in shape? At what age does one give up keeping in shape? Such were the thoughts running through my, still young, mind.

Well, I'm well past 60 and I've learned something. The adage, "Use it or Lose it" is never more important or true than NOW! It only takes a couple of weeks of playing the couch potato before I find that just walking up the slight incline at the end of my road has me huffing and puffing. Yes, I've reached the point where the more I slow down, the slower I get.

As an antidote to aging, I've been working hard at not slowing down. Between yoga, workouts, and walking (usually 2 miles a day) I've come to realize, as long as I can move I'll keep doing something to make sure I CAN still move!

There are definite health benefits to this. Several years ago I was diagnosed with Osteoporosis. After working out, taking yoga and walking, the diagnosis changed to Osteopenia (pre-osteoporosis). According to the radiologists analysis my efforts had made a 22% difference! My bones were strengthening. Three years later, the diagnosis remained the same and I was taken off some medication!! My mother and aunt both had osteoporosis. However, my dad had great bones. He drank milk faithfully, even though he really didn't like it. In his declining days he fell several times, but never broke a bone. I aim to be like him. To keep life interesting, I look for new ways to stay active.

A month ago I went on a 5-mile mountain hike with my yoga instructor, and her friends. Last year I did 4 miles with her, on a relatively level section of the Appalachian Trail. I did OK. So this year I figured I could handle five miles. My yoga instructor, a master hiker, neglected to inform me that the first 2 1/2 miles were uphill. And that my hiking companions traditionally hiked 8-10 miles a day.

I made a few observations from my view at the back of the pack.

1) I seemed to be the only one panting and gasping for air, while I clung to my walking stick with the tenacity of baby clinging to its mother as I peered up at the mountainside.

2) It's possible that I just couldn't see their sweat drenched faces through the water running down my face and blurring my vision,but they all looked amazingly dry and unfazed by the heat and humidity. Towards the end of the hike one person's sweat band looked slightly damp, but by then there wasn't a dry spot on me.

3) I realized this was normal to them as I watched one girl hop from rock to rock down the hillside, while I and my walking stick carefully picked our way down the path. In fact they all looked as though they were out for a Sunday stroll. I realized I was in over my head with this crew.

After I got home I told my husband that the next time I wanted to do a 5-mile mountain hike to remind me I was crazy. However, I was pleased to notice that overall, I didn't feel tired. I had survived!

As I crawled out of bed the next morning I was pleased to notice I felt really good, not stiff and sore. That is until my old lady feet hit the floor, and I stood up. Then my arches started screaming! I wear orthotics in my shoes to support my flat feet, and my flat feet wanted me to know, in no uncertain terms, they were not appreciative of my efforts to stay active and stay young.

I grabbed the aspirin and rubbed some pain relieving gel into my feet. Once my feet got going, I was fine. I had survived the hike in good shape. Just the same, I decided two miles in my neighborhood will have to suffice to keep me young...that is as young as a person who's not a spring chicken, can be.