Do you have a weed tree in your life?

The Grand Girls love to be outdoors. GG #1 was so eager to get outside Wednesday morning that she grabbed a handful of cereal for breakfast, put on her rubber boots, and headed out the door.

“I want to see the sun through the trees,” she explained. She was talking about that magical moment when the rising sun streams light through the trees creating a spotlight on the forest floor. While we sat in the woods in awe of God’s artwork, we spent several minutes trying to describe it, but words can’t capture that beam of light, photos of which are sometimes used to remind us of the light of the world.

Before we got to that place Wednesday, she drove the ATV down a path bordered by blackberry briers, loaded with green and red berries not yet ripe for picking, and tall clusters of Queen Anne’s lace.

We passed a clump of dying limbs and fading pink flowers. “Daddy cut that down,” GG#2 explained, adding, “He said it was a weed tree.”

He was right. It was a mimosa. The scourge of the southern landscape.

Also called the pink silk tree, it had been so beautiful the week before. The Grand Girls and grandpa and I had oohed and aahed when we noticed that the tree had blossomed. GG#1 drove the ATV close to a limb so I could grab it and break off one of the pink fringes that make the tree look like it belongs in the wacky art of Dr. Seuss.

Mimosas smell sweet, look beautiful – and are toxic

Pink flowers – that don’t really look like flowers but like decorative trim to sew on curtains or throw pillows – stand out against lacy green leaves that look more like a fern than a tree leaf. From a distance, a mimosa is a bright spot in the landscape.  Close up, also beautiful.

That first impression is deceptive.

The pink fringes don’t hold up. At first picking, they are soft and feathery with a pleasant scent but without real substance. In a few minutes, they are limp.

The mimosa is invasive – a tree to keep out of your yard and your field and your roadside. The seed pods are not just messy in the landscape but toxic to livestock.

At first, it looks beautiful, almost breathtaking with its unusual flowers and leaves.

Not a tree for the ages, it quickly reaches its peak and then starts to die. It seeds freely, sprouting up to compete with native plants and shading plants that need sun. “Be mindful of mimosa seeds,” horticulturalists say.

Sometimes, we have experiences like that. Something looks so enticing, so beautiful that we want to have more of it. We plant it, embrace it, and then live to regret it.

Not everything that looks beautiful is desirable. In the long term, it may wilt and smell bad. If we could detect the first growth and snip it in the bud, as Barney Fife said on the Andy Griffith show, we wouldn’t have to get the chain saw and do major cutting

It’s a hard lesson, but sometimes, we have to cut down the weed tree in our lives.

Cows block church attendance

Sunday, May 17

We missed church this morning.

The ox was not in the ditch. The calf was.

What is a Sunday without a cow adventure?

Last week on Mother’s Day, we discovered someone had left a gate open to a dozen marauding cows. This week it was only four cows and one calf.

A very small calf, solid black. Mama would not cooperate so while three bovine escapees jumped over the fence back into the pasture (“got some deer blood,” the neighbor commented), the rebellious one and her baby were still missing at 9 o’clock dark. Lesson in cow herding: you can’t see a black cow in the dark.

This morning, they were spotted. Mama bawling for her youngster which was clinging to a narrow strip of dirt on the opposite side of a deep and wide ditch – make that gulley.

Here’s the second lesson in this cow saga: Baby was evidently going where his playmates were. He was snared against a fence, beside where several calves and some mamas were hanging out. He was right beside them, but try as he might he couldn’t get through that wire fence to join them. There he was. No food; no water; and no way out.

Sometimes we get ourselves in some tight places because we don’t think out our steps. We just do what feels good at the time. Sometimes, we travel in the dark. We don’t consult the wise ones or The Wise One.

Getting the mama back in the fence was easy. She followed the ATV with the pan of sweet feed right through the gate and to her waiting calf, which was still on the opposite side of the fence. She was calling; he was answering but by this time, he had descended to the bottom of the gulley. The kudzu, blackberry briers and weeds were tall enough to hide him. We knew where he was only by the movement of leaves. Hearing his weak “maa-aa” made us know he needed help.

Just as the tallest – and bravest – of the group of rescuers was ready to plunge into the thicket and fight his way down through the briers, the calf climbed up and out. It was a struggle, which took several attempts in different places, but he did it. He had to get to the bottom before he could come up the other side. He was still on the outside, but he allowed himself to be guided to the open gate.

There’s a sermon there somewhere even if we didn’t make it to official church.

Too, I think some praying was going on.

 

Last week, I promised to share the Mother’s Day Pig Caper, but this was too good. You’ll have to wait.

 

Marauding Cows cause Mother’s Day excitement

Cows may have four legs and four compartments in their stomachs, but they are a lot like people.

And not just because they swallow their food without chewing as I’ve seen some men devouring their hamburgers. Oops, maybe, I shouldn’t mention beef here!

Back to the main point.

Like people, cows think the grass is always greener on the other side; they will follow the leader without knowing where it is they are headed; they will find a loophole, or at least a hole, to squeeze through looking for something they don’t have when all they need is right back where they left; they will follow sweet feed right to the corral.

The point was proven on our farm on Mother’s Day. Sunday morning, we found a dozen black cows and calves walking around the yard after finding a gate left partially open. (No, it wasn’t a member of our family.) Small opening, no problem. They squeezed through and roamed all night, tearing open a bag of minerals, overturning a container of grass seed, and tossing stored equipment as they rummaged around the open sheds. Vandalism of the bovine kind.

It was bad enough that the big black cows came through, but they brought a few of their young with them into the dark night. My mama always said nothing good happens after midnight. Bovines need this lesson, too. Mama cows should pay attention to who is watching what they do just like people mamas should.

Cows will lean over a fence and even jump the fence to chomp on grass that looks more enticing but on close examination is exactly like what is on their side of the fence. We two-legged animals are always looking for something bigger and better without realizing the blessings we have right where we are.

One of the cows’ propensities actually works in our favor when roundup time comes. If you can get a few cows heading in the right direction, most of the others will follow. Head the first few through the designated gate and wait for the rest to file in behind. Little do they know what lies ahead.

People follow the crowd, too. FOMO is a term that comes from following social media. Fear of Missing Out has sent many a bovine to the sale barn and many a person to the arena of self-doubt and dissatisfaction.

A few are rebels. – James Dean in black, straight-from-the-source leather. These renegades run in the opposite direction, lower their heads in a back-off stance, and jump fences. We have one now that we call Wild Thing because she’s so prone to doing the opposite of what you want her to do. Many a mama has prayed over a child just like Wild Thing.

Back to Sunday night’s foray. Usually, cows sleep at night. These cows did the unnatural. They walked into the barn and wound around a stall of the barn before discovering that little gap that led to the big, wide world. The problem they didn’t consider was that there is no water out there and those mamas who didn’t look behind them discovered they couldn’t get back to the calves left behind. There was some bawling and calling going on this morning as mama and baby tried to find each other.

Don’t we as people sometimes leave our safe places without thinking about the consequences, sometimes leaving behind what is precious while seeking something more.

A  favorite book my three-year-old grand girl loves to hear and now can recite is titled “Click, Clack, Moo” and recounts how poor Farmer Brown must negotiate with his cows who’ve found an old typewriter in the barn and use it to make demands.

Maybe that’s what the marauders were looking for.

—-Tune in for next week’s episode: The Mother’s Day Pig Caper

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the COVID world, can you attend school in the woods?

Wednesday last week, we had both grand girls (GG’s) because school is home-based right now. The sun was shining. The temperature was spring-like. School work was done.

What to do?

“Let’s go on a scavenger hunt,” Grand Girl One, the six-year-old suggested. “I hadn’t planned on it,” she added with a furrow crossing her brow (she had made elaborate preparations for our last scavenger outing), “but it just came to me. Let’s pack a picnic and eat there. I’ll make the sandwiches.”

Grana (that would be me) hadn’t planned on it either, so lunch was an exotic concoction of whatever was in the fridge – ham, bread, mustard made one sandwich; pimiento cheese on white bread for two more; ham roll-ups for the three-year-old who doesn’t “do” sandwiches. We threw in plastic containers of applesauce and a jar of sliced black olives. We even remembered the spoons and napkins, printed with bunnies for Easter.

It was a scavenger adventure, mostly at the creek. Owning a pair of rubber boots is essential when you want to explore the creek. Three pink pairs for the girls and me; a brown pair for Pop.

Among the discoveries:

-the bubbling hole from the last visit was in the same spot so we re-affirmed our belief that it marked an underground spring

-a school of dozens of large minnows colored orange and blue darting around a mound of pebbles which was being built by the largest blue minnow, carrying one pebble at a time in its mouth

-iridescent dragonflies flying reconnaissance just above the creek bed

-a small spotted-leg frog swimming in the clear water

-and crawdads scooting along in the silt.

I can’t say I’m glad we’re guarantined because of the virus, but I can say we made the best of the time and surely were glad we had a day of no regular school because our classroom that day was under the limbs of oak and sweet gum trees. Besides science class, the girls had an impromptu art class as they created sculptures in the sand laid on the banks by the last heavy rain fall. They picked up pretty rocks, driftwood, and sweet gum balls to embellish their creations.

Stopping for lunch, we dined in the ATV in a clearing where we had parked before walking into the woods. Our lunch was punctuated by more “sightings” – not one but two hawks perched in nearby bare-limbed trees. We watched them take off and catch the wind currents over the nearby meadow. During our dessert of blueberries, a male cardinal landed in a bush within a foot of GG Two’s head. I’ve always heard that seeing a cardinal is a good luck sign.

I don’t know about a cardinal’s ability to change our luck, but I do know that it was a lucky day.

 

A great day during the pandemic

The Friday two weeks into the pandemic may have been my joyous day ever.

Despite sheltering in place because of COVID-19, the day unfolded like the buds on the weeping cherry tree in the front yard – sweet-smelling abundance reminding us of the joy in simple things.

You see, school is postponed; therefore, we had our first-grade granddaughter with us all day – the first since school began in August. On not-pandemic days, our three-year-old granddaughter entertains us morning til evening on the days her mom works, and we pick up her sister at school about 3.

Having both of them all day reminded us how children revel in the simplest things.  Why walk when you can skip? Why stand still when you can jump? Why deal in reality when you can pretend?

The six-year-old had been planning this day for most of the week, probably because she knew her grandparents would do pretty much whatever she asked. “We’re going on a scavenger hunt,” she proclaimed. When asked what we needed, she said, “those green vests.” She must have seen them in a movie.

Grandma found green felt and stitched simple vests for all to wear.

GG One (grand girl first born) provided the rest. She packed and labeled four plastic bags, one for each of us. Inside were a notepad, pencil, and two colored squares of paper, which indicated what we were to scavenge for. Each had different colors. I was to look for something red and something orange. Grandpa’s squares were green and brown; GG Two, pink and white; GG One, blue and purple.

The adventure begins – on the way to the woods.

In addition to our green vests, we were to wear rubber boots and long pants. The GG’s carried backpacks to hold the things we would need, all packed by GG One – tissues in a plastic bag, bandaids, a change of clothes, bottles of water, snacks and utensils.

Off we marched through the fields to the woods for two and half hours – over hill, over dale. Led by the six-year-old, we hit the trail. We scooted down steep inclines and climbed up the other sides. As the trail wound through tall pines and hardwoods, we crossed the creek more times than I could count.

We found sweet gum balls hanging from branches like spiky earrings; beds of wild violets spread out like a blanket on the forest floor; creeping cedar winding over

Sorrow and hope in one week

Flames consuming the spire of Notre Dame Cathedral caused millions of people around the world to stand still this week. When the spire then collapsed, there was only awestruck silence to see falling the symbol of what had taken hundreds of years to build.

I stood transfixed with tears flowing. I couldn’t even sit as I watched the television images of this magnificent church and iconic landmark burn. It stood as a monument to great faith, great minds, great inspiration.

I have visited Paris only once but Notre Dame was at the top of the must-see list right there with the Eiffel Tower.

As much as we mourn the loss, we must remember what King Solomon learned after he built the magnificent and matchless temple in Jerusalem. There is no satisfaction in things. After searching for meaning, Solomon wrote Ecclesiastes – that soulful, despairing examination of life.  After pondering all that he had accomplished – wealth so great that silver wasn’t even valuable; knowledge greater than any human before or since; accumulation of land, property, and people – he concluded it is all pointless.

As beautiful as Notre Dame was, and as long as it stood intact, there was no guarantee that it would last forever. Solomon didn’t live to see his temple destroyed, but it was. Man’s achievements are not eternal.

God’s are. Commentators have reflected on the irony of Notre Dame burning during Holy Week. Maybe we should look at the timing as a chance to reflect. I don’t think God caused the cathedral fire, but I believe that we can learn important lessons after tragedies.

Observance of Holy Week reminds us of what is eternal. God loves us so much that He made the greatest sacrifice to ensure our eternal life with Him. Worshipers won’t be able to enter Notre Dame maybe for years but we don’t need a cathedral to fall before God and accept His gift to us – life everlasting in His presence by accepting that Jesus chose God’s will and then overcame death.

Solomon finally concluded that there is hope. “Fear God and keep His commandments,” Solomon wrote in Ecclesiastes 12:13, “for this is the whole duty of man.” NIV

It is the week to ask if we are putting our hope in things that can be destroyed by fire, flood, rust, and decay, or are we investing in eternity. We have witnessed ourselves what Isaiah recorded: “The grass withers and the flowers fade but the word of our God stands forever.” Isaiah 4:8 NLT

In the New Testament, the Son of God promises “Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, I have overcome the world.” John  16:33

On this day which is the beginning of Passover, when God began the journey to save His people, and is Good Friday, when God again offered a plan to save His people, let us remember what Paul writes In Romans 15:13:  “I pray that God, the source of hope, will fill you completely with joy and peace because you trust in Him.”

 

 

What makes a home privileged?

I was born into a privileged home.

This conjures images of a three-story mansion with a six-car garage and weekends in Paris.

My house differed in size from that image but not in quality. Instead of a three-story mansion, our house had one-story with a partially floored attic. Economically speaking, we sat in the third row of the middle class; however, in one respect, we enjoyed first-class.

Can an apple a day keep the neurologist away? Or what can I do to prevent Alzheimer’s?

September 21 is World Alzheimer’s Day. The idea is to bring awareness about this illness that affects so many millions – those diagnosed with the disease and the estimated 100,000,000 caregivers around the world.

More than 30 years ago, my mother-in-law was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, an illness we may have heard about but knew nothing about. Today, my mother has the illness, and I know a great deal more, information that I hope makes her days better – and mine, too.

Dirty kids enjoy good, clean fun

A Facebook photo posted this week by the mother of a toddler showed him enjoying a mud puddle. It reminded me about where to find joy and brought back some good memories.

The one-year-old was splashing in what has been a rare thing this summer: a real mud bath. Sitting elbow deep in thick, brown water, this toddler told the story with his grin. I am sure Mom got comments about washing clothes, the amount of bleach she might need this summer, etc.

It reminded me of something I wrote 26 years ago about my own son.

My son enjoyed an occasional mud bath

As the mother of an outdoors boy I remembered how much I spent on laundry detergent, but also, how much I enjoyed it.

From 1989:

I like dirty kids.
That emphatic statement needs some elaboration.
There is dirt and there is dirt.
Dirty kids (the ones I like) were washed yesterday but show no signs of it today.
The dirt does not extend into their mouths; that is, they don’t smoke, drink, curse, or talk back to their parents. Often, however, their faces bear irrefutable evidence that they have sampled mudpies, and their mouths may be ringed with today’s lunch.
“Good” dirt looks like sand, mud, grease, grass, or orange dreamsicle.
“Good” dirt smells like freshly plowed field, chocolate, or motor oil.
Generally speaking, dirty kids go at life with gusto. They don’t hesitate to slide into second base, jump off a picnic table, or roll down a steep bank.
They aren’t finicky eaters but will pick and eat wild blackberries, chomp broccoli right in the garden, and smear tomato sauce as they craft their own pizzas.

Even as a toddler, he enjoyed rolling dough.

Dirty kids enjoy life and want to participate, whether baking a cake (and licking the batter bowl not worrying about salmonella in raw eggs), or mowing the grass (and wiping the oil dip stick on clean jeans.
Dirty kids collect things. Those things can be inanimate such as nuts, bolts, and wrenches, or they can be on the move such as toads, crayfish, and snakes. Either way, Mom spends overtime in the laundry room.

Dirty kids poke their noses in as many places as a beagle on the trail and find more places to climb than a cat. They don’t settle for being spectators.

Viewing the world through the eyes of a child

When was the last time you were amazed by something?

That doesn’t mean merely surprised, which doesn’t happen very often either, but stood in sheer wonder at something marvelously inventive, or creative, or beautiful, or exceptional?

My 23-month old granddaughter is teaching me as she discovers so many things. This week, she is jumping – just jumping – for the sheer joy of doing something new.

We, in America especially, have seen so many wonderful things happen since the beginning of the 20th century that it has become difficult for us to be amazed at anything. Our calloused souls don’t allow much enjoyment, but amazement offers an exhilarating, life-affirming joy that can refresh like a thundershower on a summer day.

That escape from the routine, that pumping of adrenalin caused by the shock of something new and wonderful can change our perspective, if we let it.

People like my grandmother grew up being amazed by technology. Before she was a teenager, the horse and buggy were being replaced by the horseless carriage. The first airplane flight came shortly after, and before she died, man had walked on the moon, an event she watched on her television.