Whether walking in the woods, on the shore, or over the rocks, I try to pay attention. I am always astonished!
Category Archives: Nature
Limping Along on Faith
We pulled our little travel trailer from storage and headed out for a four-week road trip.
After 10 months of no travel, we embarked on an approximately 3,000-mile road trip with planned stops throughout the southeast. Preparation required some seemingly minor maintenance and repair for both the trailer and our towing vehicle.
PORCH MUSINGS
It’s morning on the bayou. The porch is cool and pleasant even though the temperature is already 79 degrees at 8 A.M. I suspect the “cool” is attributed to the fans. Fans on the bayou in late Spring serve two purposes – cooling and mosquito repellant!
There is, however, a bit of a breeze this morning. I hear it and see it as the leaves rustle, and the otherwise glassy bayou surface occasionally convulses and shutters. The bayou is up, filled with murky water from the recent rains and runoff, and flowing at a good clip. The spring rains came late and lasted longer this year – through May and into June. I spent several hours yesterday mowing. I have enjoyed mowing since I was a kid. For me, repeatedly making the square, focusing on the line between mown and not-mown grass is calming – almost sedating. I must say it is a bit easier now with the riding lawn tractor than it was back then with the simple, little 22-inch push mower. I see images of myself bent at the hip, focused, and determined to move the mower forward.
The receding water level has left areas, usually dust dry, soggy and squishy – ideal for getting stuck. I am extra cautious remembering last year when I got “too close,” and the lawn tractor slipped leaving me stranded on the muddy bayou bank. The 4Runner and a long, heavy chain saved the day.
When I first came out this morning the birds were in full flight and voice darting here and there to a cacophony of birdsong – tweets, warbles, chirps, screeches, and caws. Not so much now! Perhaps the wind has stilled their flight and voices – yielding to a higher power. Yielding to a higher power – that seems to be easier here on the bayou while immersed in silence, solitude, and the ordained simple, exhausting tasks of “chopping wood and carrying water,” which is according to Brother Lawrence in Practicing the Presence of God, finding God, the Holy, in the ordinary tasks of our days.
I am often drawn to the “monkish” life feeling immense contentment, peace, and joy in silence, solitude, and simple work while observing the awe and wonder of the beauty, complexity, simplicity, and horror of our natural world. I have sometimes felt the “monkish” life” to be a calling. Yet I question – calling or escape? I suppose there is a balance to be had.
Being here on the bayou, this “monkish” life, feels like a return to all that is true and real in life – me, the presence of God, work, and rest. Wow! Where did that come from? Though drawn to the silence and solitude, I know that even as an introvert I am a social being. I enjoy personal interaction with others just not a whole lot of folks at one time and not all the time.
In the natural setting of the bayou, it is not difficult to discern, feel, and commune with God – to practice His presence. But out there in the world, it is not as easy. I get caught up in the activity, the business, the people. In practicing the presence of God in the world I seek to experience a greater awareness of God’s presence in people, all people – created in His image – as I live, work, and rest with and among them.
That’s me, and perhaps humankind as well – a paradox, a jumble of contradictory qualities and traits. I suppose living with and within my contradictions while seeking a sustainable, functional balance that allows me to grow and mature into all I am and was created to be is the stuff of life and the spiritual journey. Whether on the bayou or in the world may I live in the realm of all that is true and real for me: me, the presence of God, work, and rest.
These words from Thomas Merton”s Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander, some of my reading on the porch, seem to be germane to my musings:
Solitude has its own special work: a deepening of awareness that the world needs. A struggle against alienation. True solitude is deeply aware of the world’s needs. It does not hold the world at arm’s length.
—-Thomas Merton
Walking. . . and Walking!
In these uncertain, sometimes surreal, times as we continue to navigate this uncharted coronavirus, so much in our lives is different. I strive to maintain some constancy and familiarity with my daily walks. Walking is one thing I can continue to do without violating any stay-at-home orders or wearing a face mask (I can’t seem to keep my glasses from fogging up!) all while accommodating the social distancing rule. So, I walk, and I walk some more!
I tune into Pandora on my phone and take off. Occasionally I dial in my Disco Station particularly if I feel the need for a brisker, aka workout, walk. Most of the time I opt for the quieter, soothing sounds of Relaxation Radio or Enya. Of late, my walking is more about seeing, reflecting, pondering, processing, and meditating. The exercise, albeit a good thing, is not the primary focus.
As I walk, I look up, around, and down practicing wakefulness in the moment, resting in the rhythms of connection to myself and my surroundings. I see the squirrel perched precariously at the tip-end of a tiny limb. How does it not break! I see and hear the dogs barking and jumping at the fence as I pass. I don’t think, I hope, they can’t jump over it! I see the steadfast sky, serene and majestic in its brilliant blue or ominous and quarrelsome dripping gray. The stalwart lilies and irises turn their 
vivid, multicolored faces to the sun. I see the sap rising in the trees oozing out in variegated green leaves of all shapes and sizes – a gorgeous contract against the blue sky. I feel the warm, spring sun tempered by a slight, cool breeze. I delight in seeing the youngsters on their bicycles and scooters.
I reflect. It is all so good, so joyous! I ponder the contrast between the vibrance and beauty around me and the devasting reality currently engulfing our world – sickness, death, hunger, uncertainty. Added to this is the personal grief and loss with the recent death of my twelve-year old great-niece. The angst is palpable! I walk. I process. I embrace the both/and of my realities. I walk meditating. Borrowing from our Buddist friends, I lean into the sharp point, feeling the pain and losses for myself, my family, and the world. Yes, at times the tears do come. I breathe exhaling the pain. I breathe in the serenity, comfort, and peace that surrounds me. I keep walking.
This morning as I walked, I thought about Jesus and how much he and his disciples walked. I imagined their sandeled feet steadily walking the dusty roads, cobbled streets, and lush gardens. I wonder what their walks were like. I kept walking!
“. . . reverence humming in me.”
I recently started participating in a book study. It is a diverse group of good folks –christian, atheist, agnostic, whatever — each on a journey of personal spiritual growth. Like me, they seem to be pilgrims, seekers, and heretics – awash in questions and doubts, deconstructing former concepts and beliefs, constructing personal truths and unique spiritual paths, — staying the course with authenticity and integrity in our often chaotic intersections with the world we live in, the life inhabiting that world, and the Spirit/God embodied in both the world and its inhabitants.
We are studying Rob Bell’s What We Talk About When We Talk About God. Much of our first discussion centered around Jane Fonda’s remarks made during a 2007 interview with Rolling Stonemagazine, “I could feel reverence humming in me.” Do you have a sense of “reverence humming” and “What is it?” My response to that question was to share a bit of my winter hike expereince. Hiking along an ice and snow laden trail I was bent, literally and figuratively, on keeping my eyes on the trail, following exactly in my hiking buddy’s footprints, and cautiously testing every step for firmness. I finally had to stop and straighten my aching, bent back.
As I looked up, my breath caught. The towering, red-rock canyon walls glistened in the bright, cold afternoon sun. They jutted straight up into a flawless, cobalt blue sky. “Wow, look at that!” was all I could utter. As I stood there taking it all in, I was overwhelmed with feelings of wonder, awe, gratitude, humility, and reverence. My heart was full and overflowed as tears filled my eyes. That, for me, was “reverence humming in me.” It was an experience I will never forget, and one which I frequently recall on hiking trails and elsewhere as I remind myself to “look up.”
Since that experience 28 years ago, I have (I think, I hope, but maybe not?) become more open, receptive, and settled to and into the various sounds, rhythms and vibrations of “the hum.” Never used the word “humming” to describe it, but I like Ms. Fonda’s analogy. “Hum” seems to give some substance to an otherwise intangible, indescribable feeling.
Where does the “humming” come from? For me, at this point in my journey, it comes from a sense of awareness, connection, and gratitude. A keen awareness of the mystery, the miracle, the love, the grace, the wisdom and truth of the of Spirit of God present in our world. A profound sense that I am connected to it all — a part of it, a product of it, a participant in it. And grateful for it all!
Here’s and idea! Let’s all “hum” in concert!!
A New Tempo?
It is January 3, 2020, and I can’t seem to get started in this new year. Perhaps this is due to my still processing the last of 2019. I checked my sister out of the hospital on August 19, 2019 and took her to our family home (where our parents once lived) located on Big Cypress Bayou outside of Jefferson, TX. The plan was to spend about three weeks there caring for her as she recovered from a partial foot amputation. Unfortunately, the healing did not go as well as hoped and three weeks turned into three months!
Outside of her foot not healing and my missing my home and wife, who did come and stay a few days a couple of times, it was a different and mostly good three months for me. We visited, reminisced, watched television, and each had ample time to ourselves. I spent a lot of my free time on the porch rocking, reading, journaling, writing poetry, and simply watching in awe the natural world surrounding me. My journal entry from October 14th sheds a bit more light on the experience:
I’ve chopped and diced vegetables and the soup is simmering in the pot. It is marvelous sitting on the porch. The heat has finally – I hope – moved away and the cool air is welcomed. Actually, it is raining with a steady chorus of drops making their “pits, pats, plops” on the tin roof. Drips are becoming steady ropes of water running off the roof’s edge. The river is pelted and puckered with raindrops. The rain and gray sky meld to form a haze surrounding the trees across the water. Quite calming and restful!
Yet, I feel a bit anxious and unsettled. Perhaps ambivalence might be a more apt description. I have been here for almost two months caring for my sister following a partial foot amputation. The healing has not gone as well as hoped, and she is still under doctor’s orders to put no weight on the foot. I have kept busy with her care, meal preparations, laundry, cleaning, and mowing. I have pressure washed a 10’ X 60’ porch and the front of the house. I have dusted, vacuumed, or mopped everything in the house. I have cleaned and reorganized much of the huge pantry and the bedroom walk-in closet. I have taken down, washed, and replaced every curtain and drape in the house – at least all those that could be removed.
I have rewired and configured the TV antennae and cables. We now get 25+ channels instead of the previous eight to ten. And, yes, I must admit that I have watched more TV in the last two months than I have in the last two years. I have played too numerous to count solitaire games on my computer (no internet or cell service down here) to the point I believe the program is duplicating games. I have mowed two acres of grass sometimes going over the taller areas two to three times. I have used the weed eater trimming the tall grass on the riverbank until my elbow hurts.
I have made four trips home to Tyler for personal appointments and commitments and two trips to Henderson for doctor appointments. All totally about 1000 miles on the road. I just returned from three days at home catching up on paying bills, household concerns, and social and civic commitments.
Why the ambivalence? Using Brother Lawrence’s words, “to chop wood, and carry water” along with the quiet, serenity, and solitude of the surroundings seems to have precipitated some shift within my being as I feel more centered and settled. As I ponder on that for a bit, my thoughts return to my reading of October 3rd:
I find more and more the power—the dangerous power—of solitude working in me. The easiness of wide error. The power of one’s own inner ambivalence, the pull of inner contradictions. How little I know myself really. How weak and tepid I am. . . . Everything has meaning, dire meanings, in solitude. And one can easily lose it all in following the habits one has brought out of common life (the daily round). One has to start over and receive (in meekness) a new awareness of work, time, prayer, oneself. A new tempo—it has to be in one’s very system (and it is not in mine, I see).
And what I do not have I must pray for and wait for.
—from A Year with Thomas Merton: Daily Meditations from His Journals (October 25 and 30, 1965, V.309-10)
Perhaps therein lies the basis for my ambivalence. Perhaps I fear losing it all upon returning to “common life (my daily round).” Perhaps my 2020 is to be a time for “a new tempo.”
Going Upstream with Mary Oliver
In her recent Baptist News Global piece, Hidden pencils, urgent warnings and instructions Mary Oliver left the Church, Carol Davis Younger offered a lovely tribute to poet, Mary Oliver, and an insightful exhortation to the church to approach “Scripture – and our world – with the holy curiosity and expectancy Oliver did when she went to the woods and to the shore.” As Younger shared her experience with Upstream, I caught my breath and embraced the mutuality of our stories, our experiences, and perhaps our feelings – Mary Oliver’s, Younger’s, and mine.
I too became better acquainted with Mary Oliver through her collected essays in Upstream. I was drawn to the book, so much so that I paid full, independent bookstore price for it. Something I rarely ever do! I had admired Mary Oliver as a poet and was curious as to her prose. Being a woods wanderer and stream jumper, the title Upstream, and its connotation of going against the flow, which I often do, piqued my interest. The cover photo looked like a place I would enjoy. I fully understand Younger’s response to the essay, “Power and Time.” As I read the essay, I felt that I was personally being both affirmed and admonished. I am keenly aware that my creative self needs solitude, a place apart, without interruptions. Oliver buoyed my spirit with her affirmation of this then promptly admonished me for being my own primary interrupter.
But just as often, if not more often, the interruption comes not from another but from the self itself, or some other self within the self, that whistles and pounds upon the door panels and tosses itself, splashing, into the pond of meditation. And what does it have to say? –Upstream, page 23
For me it says that I need to attend this civic meeting, that I should give my wife more time and attention, that I must do my share of home maintenance. Returning to the creative work often finds that the spark of an idea has dimmed and the flow of words has dried up. In the creative work we can be, and probably are, our worst impediment.
Oliver tells me that the “machinery of creativity” can’t be controlled or regulated. I believe it! More times than I want to recount I have awakened in the wee hours of the morning with an idea or a string of narrative going through my head. Over time, I have learned it is best that I go ahead, drag myself out of bed, and write it down for I will not be able to sleep if I don’t.
For me, as perhaps for Anderson, Oliver’s most unsettling words are:
The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, and gave to it neither power nor time. — Upstream, page 30
I most assuredly will join Anderson as a “candidate for future regret” as I see a bouquet of withered buds of exciting ideas and plans that failed to blossom because I did not nurture them with power and time. I suppose my task going forward is to recognize the tiny buds of creative thoughts and ideas and give them their needed power and time. I suspect it will be an erratic path even in all my efforts to “keep my eyes on eternity,” reject the responsibilities that have claimed me, and discard the “many heavy coats” that burden.
My prayer, with a bit of assist from Mary Oliver, as I move forward is:
In my wild and precious life
May I stay forever in the stream.
May I pay attention and find my devotion.
May I be astonished at the profound simplicity of our natural
world,
Even as I marvel at its intricate complexities.
May I be humbled by its majesty.
May I revere the fruit of the earth-the grass, the flower, the tree.
May I respect the creature — the minuscule and the mighty.
May I glorify the Creator of it all and be grateful.
May I hear the silence that calls to me.
May I feel the rippling waters.
May I stay forever in the stream.
Whether with voice or pen in hand, may I tell about it all.
The Neighborhood Dress
Dec 21
This gallery contains 34 photos.
As we observe the Winter Solstice take a minute marvel at the glorious Fall we have enjoyed.
Big Bend Gallery
The gap where the Rio Grande exits the Santa Elena Canyon.
I am finally making public some of my photos from our April 2018 Big Bend Trip. Click on the first photo in each group and you can scroll through the photos in the light box. Unfortunately, I did not upload them all at once, so you will have to view them in groups: BOQUILLAS, THE WINDOW TRAIL, SANTA ELANA CANYON, CASA GRANDE.
I hope there is no wall built along the Rio Grande River. That is not a political statement, but an ecological statement. The land is awesome. The ecosystems both magnificent and fragile. The views are breathtaking. I can not imagine a wall on this sacred land. Take a look and enjoy!!
-
- BOQUILLAS: Boquillas Port of Entry is the only official Rio Grande River crossing along the 118 miles of river border in Big Bend National Park.
-
- Going up the Boquillas Canyon Trail with minimal pain two days after the knee injury.
-
- The Spiny Fruited Prickly Pear cactus along the trail is a reminder to pay attention and stay on the trail.
-
- The Rio Grande winds its way to Boquillas Canyon.
-
- Hickers dwarfed by the massive wall of the Sierra del Carmen on the Texas side of the river.
-
- Boats on the Mexico side of the river. It is reported that at times Mexican musicians use the boats to float up and down the river playing for the hikers. Sometimes they will toss sealed mason jars in the water hoping to retrieve them later filled with money from the hikers.
-
- The limestone and shale canyon wall near the near the entry of Boquillas Canyon–the longest and deepest canyon in Big Bend.
-
- Hiker heading back up the Boquillas Canyon Trail as others start the descent.
-
- THE WINDOW TRAIL: The Window Trail just before it descends again and becomes very rocky.
-
- One of many rest stops on the hike out.
-
- Rock spires along the trail.
-
- A flatter portion of the trail-the Window is the crevice to the right of the peak in the distant center.
-
- Dealing with physical limitations.
-
- Limping up and down the steep rock steps.
-
- Just a small portion of the climb on the return hike.
-
- Hikers enjoying the view and the shade at the Window.
-
- Brenda and Lou Anne with the desert below through the Window.
-
- The lower rocky portion of the Window Trail.
-
- SANTA ELANA CANYON: The Rio Grande making its abrupt turn into the Santa Elena Canyon.
-
- Torrey Yucca with the Chisos in the background.
-
- The lower Santa Elena Canyon Trail plants, mountains, and sky offer an impressive array of colors and textures.
-
- Solititude at the end of the Santa Elena Canyon Trail.
-
- The gap where the Rio Grande exits the Santa Elena Canyon.
-
- A view of the diverse ecology found in Big Bend National Park–the desert, fertile river valley, and mountains.
-
- The Chisos range from Ross Maxwell Scenic Drive.
-
- The Rio Grande from the rocky cliffs of the Texas Mesa del Auguila.
-
- A view of the Mexican Sierra Ponce as the river enters the Santa Elena Canyon.
-
- A stranded log on the banks of the Rio Grande as evidence of periods of higher water.
-
- Hikers entering and exiting the Santa Elena Canyon Trail. Luckily the ascent is at the beginning.
-
- The Mule Ears formation and the abundant ocotillo plant on the Ross Maxwell Scenic Drive.
-
- The Rio Grande beneath the towering vertical walls of the Santa Elena Canyon
-
- Hard stalwart canyon walls provide the backdrop for the willowy, flowing reed plants.
-
- Remnants of light volcanic ash and black basalt in the Tuff Canyon area.
-
- The view and some of the many sotol plants at Sotol Vista.
-
- Not a pig, but a javelina at Cottonwood Campground near Castolon.
-
- Casa Grande rises to 7,325 feet with bare rock towering cliffs hovering 2000 feet above the ranger station at Chisos Basin.
-
- Brenda ready to tackle the 1.9 mile Basin Loop. After the fall and knee injury all the other mountain trails are off limits.
-
- Lou Anne on the Chisos Basin Loop Trail with the Window in the background.
-
- An Alligator Juniper along the Basin Loop Trail.
-
- The rectangular scaly bark of the Alligator Juniper is a marvel.
-
- The Basin Trail is narrow at times but the Pinon Pine, various oaks, and juniper trees offer a good bit of shade in the upper portion.
-
- Looking south across the basin and the rim toward Emory Peak.
-
- Ran across this fellow, a Southwestern Fence Lizard, I think.
-
- Lou Anne nearing the end of the Loop Trail with a view of The Window.
-
- The Peregrine Falcon statue outside the Chisos Basin Visitor Center. Portions of the trails are closed March through May to protect them during their nesting season.
-
- Dugout Wells is an oasis of green, colorful flowers, and many birds in the midst of the Chihuahuan Desert.
-
- DUGOUT WELLS Desert Nature Trail with Nugent Mountain in the background.
-
- Imagine what this Blind Prickly Pear will look like when all the blooms are open!
-
- A Strawberry Pitaya bloom.
-
- The Strawberry Pitaya plant in bloom.
-
- Sunset on the Sierra del Carmen at Rio Grande Village.
Big Bend Gallery
The gap where the Rio Grande exits the Santa Elena Canyon.
I am finally making public some of my photos from our April 2018 Big Bend Trip. Click on the first photo in each group and you can scroll through the photos in the light box. Unfortunately, I did not upload them all at once, so you will have to view them in groups: BOQUILLAS, THE WINDOW TRAIL, SANTA ELANA CANYON, CASA GRANDE.
I hope there is no wall built along the Rio Grande River. That is not a political statement, but an ecological statement. The land is awesome. The ecosystems both magnificent and fragile. The views are breathtaking. I can not imagine a wall on this sacred land. Take a look and enjoy!!
-
- BOQUILLAS: Boquillas Port of Entry is the only official Rio Grande River crossing along the 118 miles of river border in Big Bend National Park.
-
- Going up the Boquillas Canyon Trail with minimal pain two days after the knee injury.
-
- The Spiny Fruited Prickly Pear cactus along the trail is a reminder to pay attention and stay on the trail.
-
- The Rio Grande winds its way to Boquillas Canyon.
-
- Hickers dwarfed by the massive wall of the Sierra del Carmen on the Texas side of the river.
-
- Boats on the Mexico side of the river. It is reported that at times Mexican musicians use the boats to float up and down the river playing for the hikers. Sometimes they will toss sealed mason jars in the water hoping to retrieve them later filled with money from the hikers.
-
- The limestone and shale canyon wall near the near the entry of Boquillas Canyon–the longest and deepest canyon in Big Bend.
-
- Hiker heading back up the Boquillas Canyon Trail as others start the descent.
-
- THE WINDOW TRAIL: The Window Trail just before it descends again and becomes very rocky.
-
- One of many rest stops on the hike out.
-
- Rock spires along the trail.
-
- A flatter portion of the trail-the Window is the crevice to the right of the peak in the distant center.
-
- Dealing with physical limitations.
-
- Limping up and down the steep rock steps.
-
- Just a small portion of the climb on the return hike.
-
- Hikers enjoying the view and the shade at the Window.
-
- Brenda and Lou Anne with the desert below through the Window.
-
- The lower rocky portion of the Window Trail.
-
- SANTA ELANA CANYON: The Rio Grande making its abrupt turn into the Santa Elena Canyon.
-
- Torrey Yucca with the Chisos in the background.
-
- The lower Santa Elena Canyon Trail plants, mountains, and sky offer an impressive array of colors and textures.
-
- Solititude at the end of the Santa Elena Canyon Trail.
-
- The gap where the Rio Grande exits the Santa Elena Canyon.
-
- A view of the diverse ecology found in Big Bend National Park–the desert, fertile river valley, and mountains.
-
- The Chisos range from Ross Maxwell Scenic Drive.
-
- The Rio Grande from the rocky cliffs of the Texas Mesa del Auguila.
-
- A view of the Mexican Sierra Ponce as the river enters the Santa Elena Canyon.
-
- A stranded log on the banks of the Rio Grande as evidence of periods of higher water.
-
- Hikers entering and exiting the Santa Elena Canyon Trail. Luckily the ascent is at the beginning.
-
- The Mule Ears formation and the abundant ocotillo plant on the Ross Maxwell Scenic Drive.
-
- The Rio Grande beneath the towering vertical walls of the Santa Elena Canyon
-
- Hard stalwart canyon walls provide the backdrop for the willowy, flowing reed plants.
-
- Remnants of light volcanic ash and black basalt in the Tuff Canyon area.
-
- The view and some of the many sotol plants at Sotol Vista.
-
- Not a pig, but a javelina at Cottonwood Campground near Castolon.
-
- Casa Grande rises to 7,325 feet with bare rock towering cliffs hovering 2000 feet above the ranger station at Chisos Basin.
-
- Brenda ready to tackle the 1.9 mile Basin Loop. After the fall and knee injury all the other mountain trails are off limits.
-
- Lou Anne on the Chisos Basin Loop Trail with the Window in the background.
-
- An Alligator Juniper along the Basin Loop Trail.
-
- The rectangular scaly bark of the Alligator Juniper is a marvel.
-
- The Basin Trail is narrow at times but the Pinon Pine, various oaks, and juniper trees offer a good bit of shade in the upper portion.
-
- Looking south across the basin and the rim toward Emory Peak.
-
- Ran across this fellow, a Southwestern Fence Lizard, I think.
-
- Lou Anne nearing the end of the Loop Trail with a view of The Window.
-
- The Peregrine Falcon statue outside the Chisos Basin Visitor Center. Portions of the trails are closed March through May to protect them during their nesting season.
-
- Dugout Wells is an oasis of green, colorful flowers, and many birds in the midst of the Chihuahuan Desert.
-
- DUGOUT WELLS Desert Nature Trail with Nugent Mountain in the background.
-
- Imagine what this Blind Prickly Pear will look like when all the blooms are open!
-
- A Strawberry Pitaya bloom.
-
- The Strawberry Pitaya plant in bloom.
-
- Sunset on the Sierra del Carmen at Rio Grande Village.
Pilgrim Seeker Heretic 