I appreciate the work of acoustic ecologist Jim Cummings.  His work first came to my attention when I heard him interviewed on NPR several years ago.    

     Jim listens closely to the natural world.  As some would preserve the natural world in photograph and on film, Jim preserves sounds, especially threatened ones.

     Jim’s interest in the sounds made by non-human creatures in their native habitat has taken him–and his recording equipment–to many places.  He has recorded by day and by night, in a wide range of  environments. 

   Jim Cummings has a website, “Bright Blue Ball:  A Simple Witness to the Years.”  On Jim’s site, you’ll find many lovely pieces he has written, some of his recordings, as well as pieces on movies, music, and other subjects.

     I invite you to click on the link below to read a short, winter piece Jim wrote.  And don’t forget to listen to the recording he provides.–April Moore  http://brightblueball.net/2011/12/08/snowy-passage/

     Greetings to Earth Connection readers! 

     I very much wanted to share with you a particularly beautiful winter slide show that I found inspiring.  But, struggle as I might, my computer skills are so meager that I was unable to obtain the music and slide show effect.  However, you can still enjoy these fine photos of our fellow creatures in the snow by scrolling from one picture to the next.   

     Please click on this link:  hiver208672_martine_34

And Happy New Year!–April Moore

     At this season of giving, I am reminded of how much we humans are given by the animals and plants with whom we share our planet. 

     I am posting here a lovely, short piece by Joanna Macy, a woman I greatly admire for her work in helping people to experience their grief over what we have lost and are yet to lose of this beautiful world that nurtures us every minute.

     And I add, here at year’s end, a heartfelt thank-you to EARTH CONNECTION readers.  I am grateful that many people are interested in reading my postings.  Happy Holidays to you.  And a healthy New Year–for all of us humans and for the planet we love.–April Moore

     “We hear you, fellow creatures.  We know we are wrecking the world and we are afraid.  What we have unleashed has such momentum now, we don’t know how to turn it around.  Don’t leave us alone;  we need your help.  You need us too for your own survival.  Are there powers there you can share with us?

     “”I, lichen, work slowly, very slowly.  Time is my friend.  This is what I give you:  patience for the long haul and perseverance.”

     “”It is a dark time.  As deep-diving trout, I offer you my fearlessness of the dark.”

     “”I, lion, give you my roar, the voice to speak out and be heard.”

     “”I am caterpillar.  The leaves I eat taste bitter now.  But dimly I sense a great change coming.  What I offer you, humans, is my willingness to dissolve and transform.  I do that without knowing what the end-result will be;  so I share with you my courage too.”"–Joanna Macy

     A friend, Fred Andrle, is also one of my favorite poets.  I post here his poem Winter Boys.  Fred captures beautifully, I think, his memories of being a boy out with his friends on a snowy day.  Mostly, the boys are about action, but the poem also depicts a moment of awe at winter’s beauty.

     Winter Boys is included in LOVE LIFE, Fred’s latest book of poems, published by XOXOX Press in Gambier, Ohio.–April Moore

WINTER BOYS

It’s the full life of winter’s blustery height
ice and flurry and sharp-scented cold
could be mistaken for nature’s call to death
but it’s character, soft landscape, chill flame.

So we’ll pull on big boots and tussle out the door
trek on back to the river frozen deep
jump up and down on the ice until it cracks
walk across water like apprentice Jesus.

Then up along the railroad track, hollering down the valley
teetering on the slippery rails, pounding our chests
at the approaching engine, falling away
at the very last second, down into warm and
                 welcoming drifts.

We pack up solid ice balls, lob them over the precipice
listen for their smack against the distant shivery pavement
then clamber down the hill to the snow-snarled street
dart out suddenly, grab rear bumpers, pogey on the cars.

All the neighbor girls are trying on their delicate skates
they’re ready to giggle across the ice in frilly skirts
they need our trusty shoveling to open up reluctant ponds
and that we do, but we disdain their dainty pirouetting.

We’re tough guys body-slamming each other on the ice
the pond is a great hibernal wrestling ring
it’s only when some peewee warrior cracks his head
                and wails
that we shrug away from rowdy bickering.

We’re headed out for an icy exploit
ready to revel in the frigid winter world
we’ll chop and stack an igloo fort, or roll up a snowman,
push in lumps of coal for eyes and a dead carrot nose.

All the frail adults indoors, but this our wild universe
we stride right forward into the knifey wind
breaking a path out back to the trees
and we don’t need any big-brother snowshoes.

It’s there in the woods that we’ll build a fire
with matches purloined from mothers’ purses
crisp sticks gathered by our aching mitten hands
suddenly we’re warming and invincible.

All around the sky is milky white and falling
not a sound in the little tree grove
our piping voices hushed and still
as the great being of winter embraces our small daring.–Fred Andrle

     Georgia O’Keeffe once made a comment that has stayed with me for many years:  “God told me that if I painted the Pedernal (a mountain in New Mexico) enough times, He would give it to me.”

     The artist’s comment came to my mind recently as I watched a bright-eyed titmouse, perched on the edge of the feeder, while I also savored the sounds of a couple of juncoes nosing about in the brush.  If I love these birds enough, I wondered, can I save them?  Can my love protect them from the hardships imposed by global warming and a degraded environment? 

     As I savored the sights and sounds of the birds around my home, I remembered something else.  I recalled how, many years ago, I told a wise woman of the grief I felt for the planet, of my sense of helplessnes and frustration that, despite my great love for many of my fellow species, I was impotent, utterly unable to help them survive the threats they face.  

     Then, a thought I’d never had before popped into my head, and I asked her:   “Do you think it’s possible that my love itself could make a difference?” 

     “Of course it does!” she answered, without a moment’s hesitation.   Her reply comforted me.  Someone whose opinion I respected so much was sure that my love actually benefitted the creatures I love so deeply.

     Was she right?  Well, I’m at least certain that my love does no harm to the birds and all the other creatures whose beauty fills my heart.  And I’m sure that the love I feel is good for me, even though it is inextricably mixed with grief.  After all, I am more alive than if I turned away from the love because of the pain.  

     A poet I admire, Stanley Kunitz, said it very well:  ”The heart breaks and breaks, and lives by breaking.”–April Moore 

 

a titmouse at our feeder

 

 

one of Georgia O'Keeffe's paintings of the Pedernal

 

    

     I just had to post this lovely photo taken recently by my friend Monika Kienzle.  So much red!–April Moore

     Last weekend we got eight or more inches of snow in the freak October snowstorm that hit the east coast.  My husband Andy Schmookler wrote this nice little piece about our experience: 

     “We were caught in that early snowstorm of yesterday–heavy, wet snow on trees whose leaves had not yet dropped off.   One much-loved tree on our place sustained damage I’ll do my best to repair with ropes and splints.  But our day was most affected by presumed tree damage elsewhere:  as predicted by the weather channel, the storm brought massive power outages, and we were among those cast suddenly back into the 19th century, except that we are not set up for life without electricity.

     “Our heat depends upon electricity, our well uses electricity to pump water.  We do, however, have candles, and after the sun went down, we read by candlelight while under the blankets.

     “Finally, after about 12 hours without power, some blessed crew somewhere on the landscape re-established the connection and, “Let there be light!”  And heat.  And the Internet.

      ”It all makes us appreciate how much our lives are enriched by the power we so often take for granted:  switch a switch and one goody or another is ours to enjoy.

     “Powerlessness for 12 hours was an adventure–shaking snow off bending trees, helping neighbors, walking in the woods, cobbling together a cold dinner, measuring reading light by candlepower.  But we were glad for the adventure to end.

     “In the political sphere, powerlessness is not so easily overcome.  But the urgency is no less great!” 

snow and fall color--together around our house

     I decided the other morning to go outside for awhile to nourish my spirit.  I thought I might shuffle through some leaves and enjoy the fall color.  But as often happens when I go out for a little ’spirit time,’ the wonders that I actually experience turn out to be different from those I’d imagined.

     As I strolled down into what was formerly an orchard, I noticed movement in the nearby butterfly bush.  There, in the cover of leaves and branches was a little grey bird.  Could it be a junco?  This early in the season?  While I couldn’t see whether this bird had the distinctive grey and white junco breast, this fellow did sport a short, stout junco beak.  And it was making those slight, sweet chipping sounds that juncoes make.  And then I noticed a second grey bird a little higher in the bush.  Yes, both were juncoes!  Soon, the first bird flew up and out, to perch in the top of a big oak tree farther down the hill.  Within seconds, the second junco swooped off to join the first.

     No sooner had the juncoes flown off than I began to notice quite a bit of avian activity right around me.  At the center of the action was the nearby pole bird feeder.  Titmice made their way to it from at least 100 yards off, from beyond the other side of the house.  I watched individual titmice, as they flew under the deck, close to the ground,  navigating with ease around deck support posts.  Once out from under the deck, the birds would make several stops en route to the feeder.  After perching for a second or two in the corkscrew willow, a titmouse would lift and then settle in the magnolia tree a few feet closer to the feeder.  Then closer.  Once a bird reached the tree just over the feeder, it would let go and glide down, gracefully wrapping its little feet around the feeder’s edge.   

     Standing on the hillside below the feeder, I watched each titmouse, perched on the rim of the feeder.  It would turn its head sharply from side to side, as if to satisfy itself that it was indeed safe to dip down and pluck out a sunflower seed.  Then, having done so, the bird would take off.  Back under the deck it swooped, to eat its snack in peace in an undisclosed location.–April Moore 

 

the center of the action--the pole and umbrella shield are liberally greased with shortening in an attempt to deter squirrels

 

 

     Fall is here.  The forest near my house is an autumn painting in progress, gaining color every day.

         A couple of days ago, I took a short walk to get a good look at how some of my favorite trees are coming along.  It was a joy to be among them, to look at their leaves, so green and fresh a few short months ago, now so completely altered.

     The red maple outside our bedroom balcony is still mostly green, save for a small, internal pocket of red, red, red.  I am reminded of a teacher of mine long ago, who fascinated her students with her jet black hair interrupted by a sudden streak of pure white.

     But this red maple is so different from the one that leans over our back deck.  The leaves of the tree in back are being consumed by a deep burgundy.  Some leaves have been completely overtaken, and all green has been erased.  On other leaves, a little green is still holding on in the middle, near the stem.  Only a few leaves on the tree still retain most of their green.  On them, the burgundy has advanced no farther than the tips.  But I know what’s coming!

     Then there are the stalwart giants that I love, those chestnut oaks that dominate our forest.  The last to leaf out in spring, they are also the last to shed their leaves in the fall.  Today most of the chestnut oaks’ leaves are still green.  But a few leaves are a dull yellow, well on their way to an even duller brown.  The nearby chestnut oak saplings, however, these masters of camouflage, are completely brown–every leaf and twig. 

     Finally, I take in one of my very favorites–the giant sugar maple farther down the hill.  Looking at the lower branches on a level with my eyes, I see hints of the glory to come, dots of orange speckling the green leaves.  I imagine the spread of these unassuming dots, that will transform the leaves into tongues of orange that will join with its fellows  to form a massive blaze of orange, from the highest to the lowest branches.--April Moore 

a red maple tree, with its swath of red

 

the leaf of a red maple, being overtaken by fall color

 

 

     Greetings to all readers of  THE EARTH CONNECTION. 

     I have decided that, starting next week, I will reduce the frequency of my postings from twice a week to once a week. 

     The reason I am moving to weekly, rather than semi-weekly publication, is that my husband Andy Schmookler is running for Congress!  

     I want to spend more time helping Andy in his campaign because we need him in Congress, and because the country needs to hear Andy’s message.  More than anyone I know, Andy deeply understands why our lawmaking process has become so dysfunctional.  He clearly sees the destructive force today’s Republican Party has become, how willing these radicals are to hold a gun to the head of the country to get what they want.  And Andy is frustrated that the Democrats have, for the most part, not stood up to the Republicans.  Nor has the press been telling the public that the behavior we see on the news every night is unlike any we have witnessed before in one of the nation’s major political parties. 

     Andy never imagined he would run for political office, but now, at age 65, he feels he must.  He is stepping forward to do all he can to reverse our country’s downward slide. 

     I believe in Andy and his campaign.  So I am paring back my other activities and responsibilities.  I feel a little sad at the prospect of devoting less attention to THE EARTH CONNECTION than I have.  I love the site, and it heartens me that several hundred people a day read my postings.  

     But I am happy to make this change in my life.  I know that electing Andy to Congress will do at least as much to advance my own environmental goals as my own efforts have.  And I am pleased to report that the campaign is going well.  People are responding enthusiastically to Andy’s message.  

     I encourage you to learn more about Andy and his campaign.  Just click here to visit his website:  http://andyschmooklerforcongress.com/  If you agree with Andy’s message, please forward the link to your own networks.  After all, Andy’s message is one that needs to be heard throughout the nation.  And if you feel motivated to donate, please do!  It takes a lot of money to make a successful run for Congress. 

     So keep coming back.  I’ll be posting a new piece every week.–April Moore