Everyday Sublime, nature helping nature, fire primeval

Sunrise at the farm

One impulse from a vernal wood

May teach you more of man,

Of moral evil and of good, 

Than all the sages can.

 - William Wordsworth

     Were we asked to conjure  a scene of grandeur to the mind's eye, our imaginations might  race to the magnificence of such awe inspiring landscapes of the extreme, such as the Grand Canyon or the peaks of the Himalayas; the ocean of sand of the Saharan Desert or the frozen vastness of the Antarctic.  The fact that we likely have not been to these places serves only to testify to the power of their mythic beauty.  I would consider myself fortunate if I were able to, one day, visit all these places.  One need not travel far, however, to experience such exaltedness.

     Outside my front door exists a beauty no less sublime than these famous natural wonders.  The fact that they are "common" and readily accessible only increases their innate value.  The Sun igniting the clouds with an explosion of orange and yellow would jolt awake the most reluctant of early risers; and no matter how many times I'm privy to this celestial display, its power to inspire joy and wonder never diminishes.  My outlook for the day is infused with optimism for having been a witness to such a sight.
      Not all of nature's artistry is so opulent and their discovery requires a higher level of alertness.  As I walk about the farm, I find my gaze as often drawn downward as upward.  Treasures lie afoot.  I am often surprised by a wild flower I haven't noticed before, or the artistic weaving of a spider seeking sustenance.  Stories I am not yet wise enough to discern are inherent in these discoveries - what type of minerals and organisms in the soil make such a flower possible and what does this specific flower gift to the soil in return?  Might it be a delicacy for a cow, goat, or hog?  What type of spiders are making their living in the farm's tall grass and what does their dining preference tell me about their preys dining preference - does it indicate a warning, a recommendation, or both to the crops I may plant there.   This is no vacuous beauty, this Farm; there's much it has to teach me, so many narratives to discover.  I feel fortunate to be here, to be part of such refinement.  What wonders lay just outside your door?

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     The spiders do not only set their symmetrical traps in the grass.  Their weaving is also noticeable in my orchard trees.  This is the first year I've had apples that are any good to eat.  The trees are still only a few years old, so the apples are fairly small (smaller than a tennis ball).  But one tree in particular has produced several dozen apples with big taste - tart and crisp.  (I hope I don't need to mention again that I don't use any sprays and will never use any toxic sprays).  In every tree that has fruit, a spider has set up shop.  Again, I don't claim to be an expert, but I have yet to hear of any apple eating spiders.  Whether it's coincidence or not, I can't absolutely say, but the apples have not been plagued by any pests, no borers feasting on the inside.  I hope to see them making themselves at home in the orchard again next year.

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     Last week I set match to a burn pile that has been in the making since last Fall.   The pile composed primarily of dead trees I cut down last year, old fence posts I pulled from the ground with my truck in the Spring, and leaves and weeds from various locations on the farm, took a little coaxing before the fire finally took hold.  

     There is something mesmerizing about the raw beauty and destructiveness of fire that draws us to it and magnetizes some ancient part of our brain.  I pulled up a chair, threw my feet on my truck canopy that lay in the grass and watched the burning pile for several hours.  I wasn't alone.  My faithful canine sidekick, Kona, came and sat next to me several times, as we watched the flames work their way along the length of the pile, east to west.  I imagine that Labs, being an ancient breed, must experience that same primordial connection to fire we humans feel.

     By nightfall the fire was reduced to a few smoldering embers and I retreated to the house where an unseen pilot light ignited the gas in the furnace, its flames keeping my home warm and comfortable.