From My Nature Journal: The Ephemerals Part 2

Some time ago, I wrote of an encounter with early spring wildflowers we had never seen before in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Though we had arrived to open our little cabin in the woods at the normal Memorial Weekend timing, winter had conspired that year to hang on for dear life, so that ice-out on the lake did not take place until the second week in May, the ground held its winter frost abnormally, and the normal early wildflower ephemerals we had typically missed were quite late in blooming. We saw for the first time Trout Lily and Hepatica, Wintercress and, my favorite, Dutchman’s Breeches, along with the more familiar-for-the-date Skunk Cabbage, Marsh Marigolds, Trillium and Spring Beauties. 

This year is the first since our move to Western Washington several years ago that we have been able to enjoy a long spring without needing to be away from our Whidbey Island digs. As a result, we have been able to enjoy a brief but lovely season enjoying this habitat’s ephemerals. Of particular delight are the Coastal Rhododendrons, Washington’s state flower, that bloom almost absurdly pink, huge and showy in the dark and wet coniferous forests (about which I have also written earlier). But of additional delight are also the rarer prairie plants at a unique historic prairie remnant quite near to our Coupeville home. On property owned by Pacific Rim Institute, a Christian faith-based environmental organization, it’s just down the road from us on land that formerly housed of all things the Washington State Pheasant Hatchery. Somehow a small backset tract of five acres here have avoided the plow over the last 170 years on this intensely but carefully farmed stretch of twelve thousand or so acres of natural prairie on central Whidbey, a habitat very rare to western Washington. It’s that same immediately-plowable prairie that brought permanent European settlers to the area in 1850, one of the earliest non-native settlements in the Oregon Territory in spite of it being an island. But back to the unique remnant: as a result of it never being tilled, this small parcel contains native prairie plants long stewarded by first nations peoples, and one of PRI’s tasks has been restoring area prairie habitat by protecting native blooms and collecting seeds, propagating them for replanting in other places. 

Breathtaking are the huge but short-lived spring stands of the bluish-purple Camas Lily, a plant not currently threatened but still surprisingly rare compared to its former profusion. Native Americans dug camas tubers soon after their flowers dried, and ate them raw, roasted like potatoes, or dried and ground to make bread. (Such were ‘enjoyed’ by the Lewis and Clark expedition, though its final impact upon its Anglo members was recalled as less than pleasant!) Another spring beauty is the intensely yellow Spring Gold, aka Foothill Desert Parsley. Closely related to the almost-always-nearby Barestem

Biscuitroot, a bloom that for all the worls  world looks to me like exploding fireworks, both are members of the biscuitroot genus, which also gives indication of their indigenous use. A special favorite of Gail and mine (we’ll leave you to guess why) is the Chocolate Lily, a species in the state’s sensitive category, with its unusual brownish-purplish petals. How often do you see a flower with brown petals?! And no, it doesn’t taste like chocolate, though like Camas it is edible. But the real spring showstopper on this prairie remnant is the rare and deeply-hued Golden Paintbrush, said to be growing naturally in only thirteen places in the world, nine of which are on Whidbey Island. This is the plant that Pacific Rim seems almost to be bringing back from extinction’s doorstep, so much so that it has been able to be downlisted from endangered to threatened status in the state. Gail and I always loved the prolific orange and red-orange paintbrush of Colorado’s high plains and foothills when we lived and hiked there, so this seems like coming across its rarer cousin, its ‘brother-from-a different-mother,’ or, in this case, its Creator!

(Above photos, in order: a camas patch; spring gold and camas; barestem biscuitroot; camas, spring gold and chocolate lily; golden paintbrush patch; paintbrush close-up)

Western Washington’s forest and prairie ephemerals seem to last somewhat longer than those we have found in the Midwest’s northwoods, but one still must be ready to get out there pretty quickly to enjoy them before they’re gone. And the very term ephemeral gives us a clue to this reality. As I mentioned in one of those earlier posts, ephemeral is from the Greek ephemeron, which means ‘liable to be cut short,’ a good descriptor for a bloom that might last in some cases only a few hours or days. Understandably, ephemeron is from the same root as the common Biblical word daily, the word we use in the Lord’s Prayer when we pray, “Give us this day our daily bread.” If I remember correctly, I think it is also the word used in Exodus 16 in the Septuagint (an early Greek translation of the Hebrew Old Testament), when the Israelites are told to daily gather manna sufficient only for a single day, in other words, to trust God that God will continue to daily provide for them again the next day. Thinking about and meditating on this Biblical word has added a lovely meaning and deeper appreciation to our early spring wildflower-gazing and identification. Give us this day our daily blooms as well as all our daily needs.

And speaking of ephemerals:

As for people, their days are like grass. They flourish like a flower of the field, for the wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place knows it no more. But the steadfast love of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting upon those who fear him, and his righteousness to children’s children, to those who keep his covenant and remember to do his commandments. (Psalm 103:15-18)

OR

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin. Yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field which is here today and gone tomorrow… will he not much more care for you…? Therefore, do not be anxious… (Matthew 6:28-31, portions)

OR

The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever. (Isaiah 40:8)

May you and I be completely and ephemerally assured of the blessing of God’s daily care.

~~ RGM, May 26 2022

From My Nature Journal: Welcome to the ‘Season of Creation’

Before too much more of the month of September gets past me, I wanted to get something on my blog regarding what is known in some Christian circles as the Season of Creation. To my neglect, I was not at all familiar with it as such before my recent connection this past year with the Greening Congregations Collaborative, a local ad hoc association of churches here in our new Washington digs committed to creation care, about whom I have written before. And once again, it seems it is our Catholic friends whom we have to thank for the original effort.

The Season of Creation is a special time when people of Christian faith are urged to pray and work toward greater stewardship of God’s good Earth. It actually is celebrated annually from September 1^st through, appropriately, the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi on October 4^th (or St. Francis’ birthday, if you prefer). Even if you are not Catholic, it will be well for you to know that he IS, after all, the Patron Saint of Ecology. Of course, it’s not as though one should ever really celebrate Earth stewardship for one month and neglect the issue the remainder of the year. Good stewardship is good stewardship, and one month of it is not intended to be a bad stewardship ‘offset.’ Creation care is a critical dimension of Christian discipleship – always has been, always will be – and it is becoming increasingly important as Earth’s degradation dangerously proceeds.

Anyway, I’ll quit preaching. Here is a prayer that Christ-followers are urged to pray and work toward :

Divine Creator,

For the web of life that connects us all, we give thanks.

For the sacred places where we hear Your still small voice, we listen.

For those carrying the heavy burden of climate injustice, we speak out.

Guide us to be good stewards of Your marvelous creation.

Inspire us to advocate for our common home.

Help us work for justice so all may receive Your abundance.

Amen.

Find out more on the Season of Creation website, https://seasonofcreation.org/about/. You could also check out one of my favorite Christian faith-based creation care organizations, Earth Ministry. Find them at https://earthministry.org.

~~ RGM, September 5, 2019

From My Nature Journal: “Behold the Earth” -- A Review

Time for a blog shout-out to a new resource brought to my attention by a new friend here in our new digs. Sorry, that’s a lot of new, but the issue the resource presents goes back to the beginning. The very beginning. As in, the Garden of Eden beginning.

Namely, it's a simple video resource/documentary released recently called Behold the Earth. BtE is a music-rich film that explores the subject of earth stewardship/creation care as a critically important spiritual practice for all people of faith, and asks tough questions about church engagement with environmental issues.

Do you think of earth care as one of the core issues of Christian discipleship? Many church-goers do not, and, I'm very sorry to say, perhaps particularly us evangelicals. I cannot begin to count the number of times people have expressed their surprise to me in meeting an evangelical concerned with creation care. What a sad reality. And I'm not sure what the deal is here. Is it some evangelicals' sole preoccupation with personal salvation, or at least that perception from others? Is it poor exegesis on our part with Jesus' admonition to 'love not the world' (1 John 2:15), which isn't referencing creation care at all? Is it the evangelical error of equating the issue with 'liberalism' (whatever that is)? Or do we limit the stewardship idea to the traditional mantra of time, talent and treasure? If so, then I'm flummoxed: if God's creation is not also treasure to us, I'm not certain what is. Of all people, evangelicals, as 'people of the whole book,' should be at the forefront of the issue.

How is it that we forget that the charge to steward creation is the very first commandment in the Bible? Yup, Genesis 1:25 and 2:15. And don't get hung up here on the words dominion and subdue; the words are far richer and more complex than appear on the surface, surprisingly so if we truly get into them. But I'll write on that another time.

OK, end of sermon. Sorry. I am likely preaching to the choir. Let me highlight the resource.

Set with lovely videography and provocative music, Behold the Earth features conversations with legendary biologists Edward O. Wilson, Theo Colburn and Calvin DeWitt, interspersed with the perspectives of emerging leaders Katherine Hayhoe and Corina Newsome, and founder of Young Evangelicals for Climate Action Ben Lowe. Yet this is no talking head documentary. In addition to the stunning video, it is full of fabulous Appalachian-style folk music, a pleasure to listen to in its own right, featuring Grammy winners and musicologists Rhiannon Giddens, Dirk Powell, and Tim Eriksen. Extensive music is interwoven in such a way as to give the viewer a contemplative opportunity to reflect on the verbal material just presented, and, if you're like me, in addition to the subject matter, the music is the thing you will remember long after the documentary has finished, and may be the thing you want to come back to again and again. It has certainly spurred my interest in these artists.

One final thing. I've gotten involved here in our new Washington community with a cooperative of churches called Greening Congregations Collaborative. It consists of members from numerous area churches who want to bring a greater awareness of earth stewardship to their congregations by creating and sponsoring cooperative events, initiatives and presentations that highlight creation care as a critical part of Christian discipleship. Does your church have such a committee or team, even a small group of people interested in championing this concern in your church fellowship? This simple, one-hour movie can provide you a quality way to introduce this subject to your church leadership and your friends. It's not intended to resource those of you who are already advocating for this issue in your sphere, though it can inspire you, as it has me; it's intended to touch those who may not yet be there, and is a great discussion starter. Here's the trailer.

~~ RGM, May 31 2019

From My Nature Journal: The Oldest Profession in the World

No, it’s not what some might think. I’ve run into a couple of nature writers recently who have cleverly asserted that it’s actually the taxonomist who is a member of the world’s oldest profession, because naming the animals was the first task commanded by God of Adam in the Garden of Eden. Hmm, unarguable point, that one…

So what’s a taxonomist? In the natural sciences, a taxonomist is one who describes and names life forms, or, more specifically, the one who practices the science of biological classification. Now, I’m sure a gifted humorist could have some good, clean fun imagining poor ol’ Adam in the garden sorting through all the names without the benefit of either Latin or a field guide, or a woman, for that matter, who always seems to be better at these kinds of things. “Ummmm, OK God, let’s call this one ‘Little Brown Bug Number Eighteen-thousand, Six-hundred and Twenty-two. No, wait, hmmm, I think it’s almost exactly the same as Number Eleven-thousand, One-hundred and Sixteen… No? Say what? It’s the same but it’s a female? What’s a female?”

Humor aside, taxonomy is an intriguing thing, something about which I have actually been thinking a lot lately. Naming. The power of names. People say I have a gift of learning names easily and quickly, but I do not believe that is true, since it is always only someone whose name I can coincidentally recall who compliments me on this, and they don’t have a clue the many, many others there are whose names I do not remember at all. I can meet someone, ask their name, and not remember it sixty seconds after I walk away. Of course, perhaps that is more of an attention problem than a memory one.

But the power of names is not the only reason that I’ve been thinking lately of taxonomy. I think it has to do with the responsibility of names. To know a name is to have a specific kind of knowledge, and knowledge is not just power, as the saying goes, as if that’s the only thing people should care about in knowing something or someone. Much more than that, knowledge is also responsibility. The more one knows, the more one must take responsibility for the adjustments and accommodations that are required by knowing what one knows.

If something is significant enough to name, it’s significant enough to know about and care about. And vice versa. In other words, naming is the first part of knowing, so naming is the first part of caring.

If something is significant enough to name,

it’s significant enough to know about

and care about. And vice versa.

Which brings me back to taxonomy and naming. For those of you who never had an introduction to biology (I didn’t either), taxonomy classifies every living organism, plant and animal, into groupings based on similarities, if they have any, to other living things, isolates that organism’s uniqueness from all others, and then gives it a scientifically recognized name. Carl Linneaus kick-started this whole system in the 1700’s. It can get complicated, because it’s science, after all, but you’ve heard of species, right? Species is the final step in the classifying/naming process, the end of the line when it comes to differentiating a living thing from any other living thing. Along the way, that living thing’s Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family and Genus have also been described and defined, all before its species is scientifically named. Some biology students are taught cute sentences to remember these categories of classification, something along the order of  ‘King Philip Came Over For Great Scones,’ or the like. These finally clarified, it is thus fully named and, as a result, known in the scientific world, and this always by a two-part Latinized species name which stands beside its common name. The Common Loon, for example, is the species Gavia immer, or the Black Bear Ursus americanus. Get this: scientists have classified and named 1.78 million organisms in the 250 years this naming has been going on, all the animals and plants and microorganisms currently known, but biologists say five million more are yet to be discovered, described and named. Wow. The vast majority of these are, understandably, in the microorganism category, but not a year goes by when scientists are not classifying several new and rare animals, and scores of new plants. It seems there is still a lot yet to know, and, as humans, back to my point, to be responsible for.

This is why the natural world is such an important study, such a critical thing for normal, everyday people to know about. How can people take care of things unless they know, even in a limited way, what something is, how it works, how it relates to other things, and what impacts it both positively and negatively?

So, as I have been thinking lately of taxonomy and the significance of naming, I ran across a couple quotes that struck a personal chord. The first is from a delightful collection of essays by urban naturalist and Chicago newspaper columnist Jerry Sullivan, now deceased, whose writing is all the more evocative to me because his essays feature many of my familiar nature haunts growing up on Chicago’s north side. And besides, his book, Hunting For Frogs on Elston Avenue, engagingly conveys a truth I’ve always maintained, that one can find astounding natural beauty even in a hardcore urban setting. Sullivan says:

When you step off the pavement and into a natural area, the depth of your experience is directly correlated to the number of things you can name. If you operate with preschool categories like “tree” and “bird” and “bug” you are going to miss a whole lot.

I like that. Just for starters, naming leads to knowing, and knowing deepens and enriches our experience. Throughout his entertaining book, citified Sullivan makes clear how simple things contribute to his passionate love for nature. And it all may start for any of us by knowing as simple a few things as a Douglas Fir, a Black-capped Chickadee and a Tiger Swallowtail.

You see, it goes far deeper when we not only name and know, but also care, even love. This brings me to Paul Gruchow’s Grass Roots. In contrast to Sullivan, Gruchow wrote from a rural perspective, but like Sullivan, his also is a lovely book on environmental stewardship. Now, I want to point out that this book was written nearly twenty-five years ago, but notice how relevant his statement is:

A very old but not outmoded idea is that we will find our salvation in what we love. We have learned in recent times to fear for the earth, for its suddenly apparent fragility… But fear is no basis for an intelligent relationship… We will love the earth more competently, more effectively, by being able to name and know something about the life it contains. Can you, I asked my students, imagine a satisfactory love relationship with someone whose name you do not know? I can’t. It is perhaps the quintessentially human characteristic that we cannot know or love what we have not named. Names are passwords to our hearts, and it is there, in the end, that we will find the room for the whole world.

Room for the whole world. The same whole wide world that God holds in his hands. So if taxonomy is the world’s oldest profession, I guess I want to get very good at it myself. Maybe we all could get better at it, and, in the process, do a whole lot better job of taking care of things around here.

~~ RGM, October 27, 2017

Blowin' in the Wind: Richard Rohr and Creation Theology

("Blowin’ in the Wind" is a periodic feature on my blog consisting of an assortment of nature writings – hymns, songs, excerpts, prayers, Bible readings, poems or other things – pieces I may not have written but that inspire me or give me joy. I trust they’ll do the same for you.)

It has been a very busy couple of months, and my personal practice of ‘contemplative activism’ (a.k.a. active contemplation!) has had to take a back seat simply to activism. I know, I know, I am the worse for it, and I expect a more reflective season before me, but one of the results of the pace has been insufficient time to give to a blog post yet this month. Please, I apologize. I am the worse for that, too. So before July is history, allow me a morning muse on the subject of Franciscan creation theology. This is not as heavy a subject as it sounds, because, after all, it is I who is writing. But the subject alone will drive me back to a more meditative space, and I pray it will do the same for you, as I always pray for these blog musings.

Many followers of Christ do not have a creation theology. I'm not talking at all about a theology of creationism, but the theology behind the practice that respects, honors and protects the good earth our good God has created for us. Some would call that Christian environmentalism. I call it creation theology. In fact, I called it that a long time before I found there are others who call it that as well.

A good friend to creation theologians who are Christ followers, if they look at Christian traditions beside their own, is St. Francis of Assisi, references to whom have popped up in this blog from time to time. Hit the index key above to see several posts that cite him specifically. Now, Francis is medieval history, 1200’s A.D., so how relevant can he be to our modern, complicated day? Well, that’s the beauty of theology. It is timeless, and so, I believe, is our friend Francis. He’s not considered the patron saint of environmentalism/ecology/creation care for nothing, you know.

Today I want to approach Francis’ thought through an excerpt from one who is a vastly better theologian than I, the Catholic priest Richard Rohr. Say what you want about Rohr (and I have also cited him in an earlier post); I don’t agree with all his theology, but as a Franciscan friar, there is much about his approach to creation that seems spot on to me.

I have a friend, Steve, who more closely follows Rohr’s writings, including a daily devotional piece I do not routinely use. But Steve periodically sends me one of Rohr’s postings when he knows, as a reader of this blog, that it will be meaningful to me. I am deeply appreciative of this, in fact, always love to hear back from readers regarding things related to creation care that inspire them. My sister Carolyn often does this kind of thing, too, and these sharings mean a lot to me.

“…You have to sit still in nature

for a while, observe it, and love

it without trying to rearrange it...”

Rohr shared a post in June entitled “At Home in the World” that I thought was quite good. Here are extracts from it:

Franciscan alternative orthodoxy emphasized the cosmos instead of churchiness. For the first few centuries, Franciscans’ work was not about the building of churches and the running of services… We were not intended to be parish priests. Francis himself refused priesthood, and most of the original friars were laymen rather than clerics. Francis knew that once you are in an authority position in any institution, your job is to preserve that institution, and your freedom to live and speak the full truth becomes limited… He wanted us to live a life on the edge of the inside -- not at the center or the top, but not outside it throwing rocks either. [In, but not of…] This unique position offers structural freedom and, hopefully, spiritual freedom, too.

Francis, a living contemplative, walked the roads of Italy in the 13^th century shouting, “The whole world is our cloister!” By contrast, narrowing the scope of salvation to words, theories, churches, and select groups, we have led many people to not pay any attention to the miracles that are all around them, all the time, here and now. Either this world is also the “Body of God” or we have less evidence of God at all.

The early Franciscans said the first Bible was not the written Bible, but creation itself, the cosmos. “Ever since the creation of the world, God's eternal power and divinity -- however invisible -- have become visible for the mind to see in all the things that God has made (Romans 1:20).” This is surely true; but you have to sit still in it for a while, observe it, and love it without trying to rearrange it by thinking you can fully understand it. This combination of observation along with love -- without resistance, judgment, analysis, or labeling – is probably the best description of contemplation I can give. You simply participate in ‘a long, loving look at the real.’

For Francis, nature itself was a mirror for the soul, for self, and for God… He would rejoice in all the works of the Lord, and saw behind them things pleasant to behold -- their life giving reason and cause. In beautiful things he saw a beauty itself. And all things were to him good. This mirroring flows naturally back and forth from the natural world to the soul… Once that flow begins, it never stops. You’re home, you’re healed… in this world.

This is what I love about nature, why so many of us find nature such an important spiritual pathway. What Rohr says is true, that “…you have to sit still in it for a while, observe it, and love it without trying to rearrange it...,” that the ‘combination of observation along with love’ will get us somewhere good.

~~ Yours for just such a good thing,

RGM, July 31, 2017