Category: Soul of the Outdoors book

Glistening in green

It’s June. The lupine moth is mint green. The vibrant hostas outside the patio doors are pea green. The bracken ferns along the trail are bright yellowish green. Green, green, and more green.

Greenness flows in waves and rows, across yards and to the forests and fields, to the trails and meadows. The forces and rhythms of nature’s rebirth stretch green to infinity. In my field of vision, green comes in all shades distinguishable; the human eye is said to pick up only 40 hues of green even though there are thousands or even infinite shades of the color.

I like how green streams through June, how it runs from the lawn to the meadow, to the rows of corn leading one’s eyes to the leafed-out woods. The color flows like verses in a poem, connected in visual rhyme, one purpose in time, leading spring into summer. I’m filled with the bloom of June.

The month glistens, wrote the poet James Russell Lowell. “And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, comes perfect days. Whether we look, or whether we listen, we hear the murmur, or see it glisten.”

In his “Succession of Four Sweet Months, Robert Herrick penned of June, “Next enters June, and brings us more gems than those two that went before.”

Gems indeed, on days so full that darkness defers for a time to the beauty. There are gems of campion and geraniums, their whites and purples dotting the greenness. Of daisy fleabane and wild roses, their yellows and reds dancing on a stage of green.

The fullness of June is breathtaking. I stare in awe, as well I should, as William H. Davies implored us to in “Leisure.” Davies penned, “What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare? No time to turn to Beauty’s glance, and watch her feet, how they can dance. A poor life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare.”

Note: Want to read more nature essays such as this? My new book, “Soul of the Outdoors,” is available through online book sellers and at Wisconsin bookstores in Rice Lake (Old Bookshop), Eau Claire (Dotters), Spooner (Northwinds), and Bayfield (Honest Dog), and at Bookstore at Fitger’s in Duluth, Minn.

Tracing the transition

The landscape is changing, trying to make up its mind on its makeup, while on the lake a sliver of open water bounces between sheets of thin, dicey ice stretching to the shorelines. The ice is clear in places, shows shades of gray in other spots, with scant snow swept here and there.

It was only a week ago that trumpeter swans bobbed next to Canada geese across open water, both species plunging head-first below the surface to feed, leaving only their tail feathers and back end exposed. But cold nights this week have put a lid on the lake. Geese stand on the ice or crowd the shrinking water, probably discussing a move to the open river. The swans are gone.

There’s an allure in both the briskness and starkness of both landscape and lakescape as the first day of December arrives. It’s the beginning of meteorological winter, they say. The other day I worked in the woods, the ground bare except for decaying leaves and fallen branches. I gathered firewood, then built a campfire. I knew it was the end of autumn, both somber and stimulating in the hushed resignation of the woodlot.

Give me one more day, I always say, before the snow gets too tall on the boots and the fingers too cold on the saw. I must admit, there have been a lot of “one more days” this fall. It won’t last, because winter always comes, seemingly always in an unwelcome flurry. But that’s not really the case. Winter sends out early notices that it will be along soon, dropping white notes on the lawn and not paying much attention as the afternoon sun picks them up the next day.

Winter whispers through the doors and windows that it’s out there, packing its bags full of cold, snow and harsh winds. It always arrives, changing our attitudes, our routines, for better or for worse.

Changes, always changes. Accept them or resist them? There’s really no choice, I know, as today I trace the vastness and starkness of November handing off to December. The transition has been slow and agreeable so far. Nature has been given extra autumnal days to prepare, change and recharge. So have we.

Note: The black and white photo of the barred owl above may not have much to do with this blog other than that owls are easier to see in the bare branches of late autumn and winter. The owl however, like the one that befriended Christopher Robin and Winnie the Pooh, helps me announce that my book, “Soul of the Outdoors,” will be released by Cornerstone Press on Dec. 15. The posterized owl photo is one of 50 graphics in the book, accompanying 60 chapters, essays and journals on nature, wildlife and rural life, often in an introspective tone as I explore how we connect with the natural world.

Those interested in the book can preorder now, through Dec. 15, from Cornerstone Press at 20% discount off the $22.95 retail price. Cornerstone Press prefers that customers email cornerstone.press@uwsp.edu to request a book, and Cornerstone will then email back an order form.

The book is also available now through online sites Amazon and Barnes & Noble (both $22.95), and Bookshop and Indiebound (both $21.34). Several bookstores will carry the book, including Dotters Books (Eau Claire) Old Bookshop (Rice Lake), and Honest Dog Books (Bayfield). I will also have copies available. Any questions can be sent to me through the comment section of this blog, or at my email davegreschner@icloud.com.