Tuesday, December 25, 2018
Christmas Day 2018
Christmas Day at The Acres: Both the morning walk and the afternoon walk had a touch of snow flurries. Not exactly a white Christmas, but I will survive. Chilly day in case you decided to stay inside by the fire with your chestnuts. The feathered friends were active per usual. Winter's normal crew--chickadees, titmice, juncos, blue jays, cardinals, nuthatches, woodpeckers of various brands, several different kinds of sparrows, goldfinch without the gold, pine siskin, a mourning dove or two. Even a small red fox squirrel--fortunately for him my gun needs repair. The Boss is always thrilled when he shows up though. The pond is covered in ice so there were no red clouds today. The pussy willow by the pond is already starting to bud for its February display. The pond must be pussy willow heaven. The others on my property don't bloom until March or even early April. And they are not nearly as magnificent as the pond patriarch. The wild is filled with bird-life as well--seed gathering I imagine. Otherwise, it's a quiet place to walk. This week, for the most part, I am just enjoying the solitude and quiet. Next week, I will have to do some manual labor--chainsaw stuff. As always, the time at The Acres makes me long for a full--time hermit position. And gives me more time to write a little than when school stuff is required. And more time to read and study. I have slowly started to think through my chapel assignment for the first week of our return--prayers appreciated. I've been thinking and writing some lately on discipleship so the ideas have been churning in my heart for quite sometime. My pine trees have no lights shining on them--unless the moon and stars count. Haven't seen any angels lately--I don't think. But His presence--even on a winter walk is evident. Can't wait to walk with Him in the Heavenly Gardens.
Monday, December 24, 2018
To See December 24, 2018
Backroads of Morrow County Update:
I love to traverse the backroads in the winter. Okay, I love them all year round. But in the winter you can see:
The shapes of the limbs uncovered by their leaves, beginning with the twisted, gnarled corkscrew willow as I turn on Country Road 25 and leave The Acres for my excursion,
The contours of each field, the undulations of the small rises that once were hidden under rows of corn and soybeans,
The horizons that have magically reappeared,
The houses and barns not seen since summer,
The depths of the stands of woods now devoid of shrubs, no longer deep and mysterious but open and light.
So much to see--it was always there, but now I can sense the vastness, the secrets, feel the temptation to get out of The Last Ride and walk off into the sky.
I wonder if I'm recognized now that it is not the Little Red Wagon that creeps along the backroads?
And I love the variety of trees that catch my attention now in their starkness or their greenness--always there as well, but now I notice. Now I see. Perhaps the gray canvas of the sky with its small oceans of blue sky bring out their presence: a stand of paper birch by the old red, dilapidated barn, the windbreak of pines guarding the house, the white beauty of the sycamores standing--and leaning--by the streams they call home, even the oaks still clinging to their leaves as if afraid that they won't get new ones in the spring. And, today, with the cold wind, it was as if they nodded as I crawled by, crooning in the wind.
The cattle and sheep are out impervious to the cold wind, intent, heads down, dining out. Not much bird life--I think they are all at The Acres having a little dining out themselves. When I return from my wanderings and wonderings, they will flee for a second or two as I slide by the feeding stations--except for the chickadees and nuthatches who seem to fear nothing, let alone a chubby old bald guy in a car--or even walking about. Why fear an old earth-bound human when you have wings to fly?
So though winter has come with its canopy of white and dark, do not pity the old hermit, the beautiful remains. The Hand of the Artist, the Master Painter, always surrounds us--if we will see.
The shapes of the limbs uncovered by their leaves, beginning with the twisted, gnarled corkscrew willow as I turn on Country Road 25 and leave The Acres for my excursion,
The contours of each field, the undulations of the small rises that once were hidden under rows of corn and soybeans,
The horizons that have magically reappeared,
The houses and barns not seen since summer,
The depths of the stands of woods now devoid of shrubs, no longer deep and mysterious but open and light.
So much to see--it was always there, but now I can sense the vastness, the secrets, feel the temptation to get out of The Last Ride and walk off into the sky.
I wonder if I'm recognized now that it is not the Little Red Wagon that creeps along the backroads?
And I love the variety of trees that catch my attention now in their starkness or their greenness--always there as well, but now I notice. Now I see. Perhaps the gray canvas of the sky with its small oceans of blue sky bring out their presence: a stand of paper birch by the old red, dilapidated barn, the windbreak of pines guarding the house, the white beauty of the sycamores standing--and leaning--by the streams they call home, even the oaks still clinging to their leaves as if afraid that they won't get new ones in the spring. And, today, with the cold wind, it was as if they nodded as I crawled by, crooning in the wind.
The cattle and sheep are out impervious to the cold wind, intent, heads down, dining out. Not much bird life--I think they are all at The Acres having a little dining out themselves. When I return from my wanderings and wonderings, they will flee for a second or two as I slide by the feeding stations--except for the chickadees and nuthatches who seem to fear nothing, let alone a chubby old bald guy in a car--or even walking about. Why fear an old earth-bound human when you have wings to fly?
So though winter has come with its canopy of white and dark, do not pity the old hermit, the beautiful remains. The Hand of the Artist, the Master Painter, always surrounds us--if we will see.
Sunday, December 23, 2018
On Golden Pond December 23, 2018
One of the delightful surprises this time of year at The Acres is the emergence of the goldfish. They are everywhere in early spring and then disappear until early winter. Then, often, when the layer of ice is thin, they reappear on the surface just under the ice--gray day or sunny day. An orange cloud of 75 to 100 goldfish floats on the surface of the pond. It's an amazing sight--not much movement, just a hovering of orange. Why early winter and a sheet of ice to re-emerge? I have no idea--but it is lovely.
Saturday, December 22, 2018
Winter Begins 2018
And so Christmas break and winter itself begins at The Acres. A covering of snow on the ground to begin the day of course. Cold, but not frigid. Pond is clear of ice. Feathered friends are active so the Boss is entertained. Part of the Wild Area has been leveled by the rain and snow of the last few weeks. The ground is so saturated that every new drop stays above ground. No place to go. Hope things aren't rotting under the soil. Three and a half months until spring and tulip and daffodil time. I know the iris don't like wet feet. I will see how they are affected come early May. The morning walk was quiet. You can tell where the deer have been passing by. Lots of trees have fallen down especially in the "woods." I think they may be all the ash trees that the borers killed. A couple of them were quite large. Thankfully, they fell away from the house. The pines, of course, and other green things stand out this time of year--for example, the Lenten roses. The cedar I brought up from Mom and Pop's is really starting to grow--which I love. Lots of Mom and Pop memories growing all over The Acres. Memories--visions of the past--good remembrances. Lots of chainsaw work to do over break. Lots of bird watching. Lots of hiding. Lots of quiet times. Need to prepare for the first chapel after break. Prayers would be appreciated if it comes to mind. Other than that, I will just be the hermit. If you see someone about who looks like me--probably not. 
A stunt double. A lovely first day--more to come. I can easily get too comfortable to seclusion. Beauty comes in all seasons--a hope I don't miss any of it.
A stunt double. A lovely first day--more to come. I can easily get too comfortable to seclusion. Beauty comes in all seasons--a hope I don't miss any of it.
Saturday, December 15, 2018
Bed 12--Railroad Tie Bed--2018
This is just a tiny bed near the house--new this year in essence. Not much went on--looking forward to 2019. A shade bed.
Bed 11--The Rainbow Bed--2018
Originally, this bed was a rainbow of iris. Situated right next to the house, it was beautiful. But this fall, I had to re-do it. From a 32 by 8 monstrosity, it is now three beds in essence: 4 X 12; 3 X 12; and 2 X 12. The first two of those beds has been re-rainbowed with iris. The third will be a shade garden of sorts since in sits under a fruit tree of some kind--I have no idea what; and it doesn't seem to be a favorite of the birds or animals either. So, next year the shade flowers should bloom; the iris, I assume, will be on the two year plan. Maybe one or two will bloom. There are also two pot bunker beds attached to this larger bed collections. Anyway, tune back in in 2019 and see what emerged--and if I'm still around in 2020--the rainbow should return in all its glory! Here are a few things that bloomed before deconstruction.
The House--2018
The house is the place for many--most--of the annuals. There are some rhododendron around as well, a clematis is just starting to grow, a mass of magic lilies, and a ton of ferns, but mainly annuals. So here's a look at the annuals of 2018 that filled the flower pots at Iten's Acres in 2018.
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