A Leaf Is More Than a Leaf

 A few days ago, I noticed some crescent moon shaped bites had been taken from the two Serviceberry plants in the front garden. Yesterday, I became concerned enough that I plucked a leaf and took it to our local family owned nursery. There, a man, someone about my age, approached me and asked if I had any questions. I pulled the leaf out of my pocket, told him its source and explained my mission. He looked at the leaf, and then looked up and smiled as he explained,  "You have leaf cutter bees!" 

Never had I heard of that particular bee. He went on to explain that the leafcutters take those lovely shaped bites and use them to build their nests. In response to my question about whether or not there was anything I needed to do, he added that they never take so many leaves that the plant is in danger of dying. They take only what they need and move on. He then asked, "Isn't that lovely?"   

I had to agree, and he and I took just a moment to gaze upon the leaf.  It was a very pleasant moment of sharing our mutual admiration of what we were seeing.

Robin Wall Kimmerer, author of the book, Braiding Sweetgrass, wrote a beautiful book about the Serviceberry. This berry is also known as the Saskatoon in Canada, and I don't think there is a more fun word to say. The berries are very sweet and Kimmerer advises that birds, as well as humans, love to eat the berries. I have not yet seen any birds pecking at the berries, but our two plants are fairly new. 

As I ponder the pollination that the leafcutters provide (they carry pollen on their abdomen), I wonder if the experience would have been a little different if I had simply taken the picture I have of the crescent moon bites. At the last moment before leaving, I decided to take an actual leaf as I talked to an actual person. It was a very rewarding experience of holding the leaf in the palm of my hand as we expressed our mutual respect, with both words and silence, for the work of these bees. 

 

      

"The practice of observing the living world and taking inspiration for human ways of living from its model is an essential element of Indigenous science. It embraces the reality that there are intelligences other than our own, from whom we might learn."

Robin Wall Kimmerer, The Serviceberry, Abundance and Reciprocity in the Natural World, page 67

           

    

Earthing

 “Knowing that you love the earth changes you, activates you to defend and protect and celebrate. But when you feel that the earth loves you in return, that feeling transforms the relationship from a one-way street into a sacred bond.”

—Robin Wall Kimmerer

    

Tyler and I returned home on Saturday from our trip across the Sierra. I have felt unmoored since then. I found the trip to be thought provoking, beautiful, but not always easy. We traveled some backroads that were rough and would have been inaccessible had we not been in  a four-wheel drive vehicle. Tyler had invested in an electronic GPS mapping system that proved invaluable, and we were able to find and camp in sites that while on public land, were fairly remote and wonderfully quiet. Every night we sat out under a dark, clear sky filled with stars. As we sat in silence, I felt embraced. The stars seemed to be singing a chorus of love that completely bypassed my ears but reverberated in my soul. I miss them.   

   

As we journeyed, we were surprised that we saw almost no wildlife. We saw what we believed to be kangaroo rats that darted across our paths as we drove. We saw two deer, not together or even on the same day, but both were standing in the middle of a highway. One night we heard a Great Horned Owl, and on another we heard the raucous celebratory yips and howls of a band of coyotes, animals that I deeply respect. The night that we heard them, we were sitting on some rocks above the valley floor (where we believed the coyotes lived) to watch the stars. There I saw a small mouse darting in and out of the rocks. It would periodically pause and look at me, and then dash away. I tried to not even move a stone in order to leave its home the way I found it.  Earlier that afternoon we were visited by yellow jackets. One landed on my arm. I was not alarmed because I, too, had on a jacket. Again, it paused and looked at me, and I returned the gaze. A few moments later it flew away, perhaps out of boredom. I do not know. 

 This particular campsite was so thickly covered in pine needles I could walk barefoot. I have since learned there is a word for this connecting to the ground: earthing. Research is revealing that earthing is healing for us, and I will add it is probably healing for the earth as well. I say that because we humans are generally not giving the earth a chance to rest and return to balance. Therefore, we are not giving ourselves a chance to rest and return to balance either.  I suspect gardeners have long known about earthing, even if they never heard the word or never have taken their shoes off to walk among the cabbages. Hands are also highly sensitive receptors.    

   

On this trip we saw far too many dead and dying trees. Drought, fire, and bark beetles have taken a heavy toll.  Yet, fortunately, there are still healthy trees, and one morning I was able to practice a Qigong standing meditation position, "embracing the tree" while standing among some of them.  I learned they are unafraid. I shall practice that as well.   

We camped at both high altitudes and lower. I shall write later about the desert. Thank you for reading. It encourages me to keep writing, and to keep exploring. I pray for those trying to recover from Hurricane Helene passing through their land and neighborhoods. Let us listen to her warning. She is quite sincere.  

    

     

       

image:  Donnell Vista, September 22, 2024

Heart o the Matter

 I have mentioned before how grateful I am for the book Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer. Kimmerer's book has taught me to walk a little more gently and leave things as I found them. (In other words, don't turn everything I can pick up into a personal souvenir.) She also has taught me about lichen, something I have never paid much attention to. I have learned that they are not a plant, but rather a combination of an algae and a fungus. Here in Northern CA, if our air is healthy (clean air critical for lichens) we often see them on rocks or tree bark. They do no harm to either, but they provide food for many creatures, including humans. I have no interest in eating lichens; I munch my way through the world enough as it is. Yet, what I love about them is when we see them we have reason to celebrate. Lichens are not alone in requiring clean air, so when we see a nice healthy patch we can gratefully take a deep breath in. While I was cropping the attached photograph, I realized that the shape of a heart was appearing. I feel like I am passing on a message from the lichens reminding us to love this world.

Another thoughtfully written book has come into my hands, The Comfort of Crows, a Backyard Year by Margaret Renkl, wonderfully illustrated by Bill Renkl, her brother. Even the paper is beautiful. The book contains a devotion for every week of the year. In her devotion for week 2, Renkl advises that according to birding traditions, the first bird you see on the first day of the new year sets "the tone" for the next twelve months. While I can't remember the first bird I saw that day, more than likely it was either a house sparrow, crow, or a scrub jay. They tend to be out early. I will just go with the trio since seeing and hearing those birds are everyday occurrences that gives me delight.

We are in Week 8 of this year. Tomorrow is not only Valentine's Day, it is also Ash Wednesday.  Neither is mentioned in Renkl's devotional. I am okay with that. There is no shortage of writings dedicated to them both. Today I find myself yearning for another viewpoint. Fortunately, life seems to always be willing to provide just that as long as we are willing to try to learn how to both look and see. 

   

"We were never cast out of Eden. We merely turned from it and shut our eyes. To return and be welcomed, cleansed and redeemed, we are only obliged to look."  

Margaret Renkl  

 

Image is from the Huckleberry Botanic Regional Preserve Trail in Oakland, a truly wonderful place that has been lovingly tended to.  A valentine for us all. February, 2024