Magic of June

In early June the world of leaf and blade and flowers explodes, and every sunset is different.

John Steinbeck

Heart of a Rose

nestled within her silky white petals

baby sunbeams reach

with tiny arms and fragile hearts

to their mother

June 5 fallen leaves caught by the petal of a Japanese dogwood blossom

June 7 Eastern Gray Squirrel chewing on a green pine cone

June 8 - A cluster of flowers on the mock orange tree, backlit by the rising sun in the front yard

June 8 - Robin building her nest in an old lilac bush by the driveway

June 10 - Cabbage White Butterfly settles on the wild herbs by the roadside

June 11 Tiny Pine Squirrel ate seeds fallen from the river birch outside the front door

June 12 - a bee sat, unmoving, near the eye of a wooden step

Spring being a tough act to follow, God created June.

Al Bernstein

It’s been a quiet week of gardening, resting and getting ready for summer here. Seeing flowers bloom. Watching the little wild things emerge and come looking for food. Walking down to the lake in the early morning. Wandering around the neighborhood. Summer will be here soon with all its busy activity and social commitments, and that will be good too, but for now I’m really soaking up the quiet.

Thank you for letting me share a few of my favorite moments of this week. Hope your week was beautiful too.

June 12 - A rainbow fragment unexpectedly appeared across the lake as I was walking back up the bluff stairs

Small Struggler

Life is a beautiful struggle.

Talib Kweli

With its neck and feathers tucked in, the small green heron looks tense.

When he stretches his neck out - he can look pretty fierce.

Stress

Crouching Green Heron,

swiftly shoots forward to strike -

struggling, like me.

I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart.

Vincent Van Gogh

The green heron is a fierce little fisherman. Drawing its feathers in, tucking its neck into its body - it drops little lures on the water to bring its prey to the surface, and waits. Then, suddenly, it strikes out with that sharp pointed beak, extending its neck to catch them when they appear. It looks like two different birds from one moment to the next.

Last week, when I wrote about the night heron, I admired it for its patience and trust in the flow of things. The green heron seems to strive a little more. They are both following their natures, but I often think it would be better to be like the night heron - calm and graceful. Sometimes when things are harder though, I know I’m more like the green heron. I can almost feel the stress in its hunched shoulders when it’s standing on the edge of the water, and its striving when it stretches out its neck in the treetops. It’s like me when I’m doing my taxes. I guess it’s all an ebb and flow. Sometimes I struggle, and other times I flow.

I really appreciate you being here, reading my musings. Thank you so much for all your feedback. I’m thinking about doing another photography challenge…let me know if you’re interested, and I’ll see you next week!

Settling back into his perch. (If you want to know more about green herons, click here.)

Finding My Way in Granite Creek and the Grand Tetons

…Let us risk the wildest places, Lest we go down in comfort, and despair.

Mary Oliver (excerpt from the poem, Magellan)

Return

Walking

this wooded path

under the shade of pines

beside the cool river

I know

this is where I’ll return

when I return

to dust.

The Ranger at the Bridger-Teton National Forest told me - “we’re really happy about the wildflowers this year. - you came at a good time.”

A magpie, tussled in the wind, perched on the roof of a shelter where I stopped to eat breakfast and plan the day.

Granite Creek Campground - Bridger-Teton National Forest. The Fortress.

The Falls at Granite Creek.

First view of the Tetons in the Grand Teton National Park.

The smell of pine was everywhere.

A little girl said there were moose at the moose pond, so I went, and there they were, huge, beautiful beasts.

Hidden Falls. Cooling relief after a hot climb.

Gros Ventre Campground. Storms threatened the first night, but passed around the park.

The beginning of a hike to Cascade Canyon.

Hawk protecting his family nest.

On my hike through the canyon, I met a family who generously let me tag along with them so I wouldn’t get eaten by bears - and one of them took this photo of me to send to my family.

Cascade Canyon Trail - Weather started to turn while I hiked back to the trailhead.

A chipmunk at Inspiration Point - a stop back along the trail

Groundhog near the Moose Pond. Think he was startled to see a human in the rain.

What a difference a few hours can make in the weather. Arriving back where I started, the Tetons enveloped in clouds and rain.

Sunset from my campsite.

My last night at the park, another storm rolled through. I woke up in the middle of the night, praying a tree wouldn’t fall on my van. In the morning, although limbs and trees had fallen and the power was out at the park office, all my fellow campers and I were ok.

And that’s how it ends. My last morning in the Grand Tetons.

When I was here, I felt my mortality for so many reasons. Bears, remote and unnavigable roads, lack of cell service, storms. I think that’s why I began to think about where I would want my ashes to be spread after I die. If I could choose anywhere, it would be in the woods somewhere…

The thing is, if I were to die out here - in some beautiful remote place, doing something I love to do, it wouldn’t be the worst thing. Life itself is risky. I would rather take some risk than never dare. What do you think?