nature

Wordful Wednesday: flora edition

/ Tracy Abell / 7 Comments

As mentioned,  I spent part of yesterday in the backyard. However, my attention wasn’t solely aimed at birds, bees, and butterflies. I also found beauty in the bindweed blooming at the base of a clump of lamb’s ear.

Backyard.   July 2, 2024

 

Don’t get me wrong: I’m no fan of the invasive bindweed that wraps itself around other plants, choking them off. But the flowers are pretty. I still remember my neighbor’s horror years ago when I’d said as much. The funny thing is, the neighbor who now lives in that house also thinks bindweed flowers are pretty. Still, we both try to keep it at bay. And we’re both wildly unsuccessful.

In addition to the lovely blooms, I have to admire the weed’s tenacity. Bindweed and cockroaches, man. Survival instincts like no other.

Twofer Tuesday: house wren edition

/ Tracy Abell / 14 Comments

Earlier, I was feeling loads of anxiety about the state of the world and planet, and so wisely went outside to sit below the deck for a hit of nature. The lamb’s ear are abuzz with bees and a painted lady butterfly landed on the plant closest to me. A swallowtail butterfly floated past. Various birds sang and then went silent for a while. As I petted Emma who was curled up on the bench next to me, a house wren began singing again. I aimed my camera into the light to capture the songster.

Didn’t catch the wren mid-note, but they were singing their little heart out.

And then I became aware of another wren, this one making the churring sound. That bird was a little farther down the fence.

I took a few more photos, grinning as the first wren continued the melodious song while this one stuck to its churring call. I lowered the camera then squinted, wondering if I was seeing things. No, I wasn’t imagining it!Two wrens, side-by-side. Two fluffy wrens. The baby wrens that’d been very vocal on Saturday as their parents worked tirelessly to feed them. The baby wrens that’d left the nest on Sunday, leaving Zippy and me to wonder where they’d gone. Just minutes before they showed up on the fence, I’d asked him whether young wrens stick around or head to a whole new area on their own. Zippy said he didn’t know.

But now we do know: they stick around!For a while, at least. To learn their calls and songs, and to practice flying.

 

 

His poetry and my photo

/ Tracy Abell / 3 Comments

This morning I went into the backyard with the camera and came away with this image from one of our blooming Apache Plumes.

The image reminded me of dancing fairies, delicate and airy. Later, I received an update and thank-you email from a fundraising campaign, sponsored by the Gaza Poets Society, to evacuate two young children from Gaza. The email update stated that due to the continued closure of the Rafah border, the campaign is shifting from evacuation to sustainability (food and basic supplies), and donations of any amount are gratefully accepted.  The thank-you portion of the email was a PDF of the Gaza Poets Society Anthology.

As I read through the poems, Dance with Me made me think of my blooming Apache Plume, and I wanted to share the pairing here. His poetry and my photo, connected across the miles, in honor of our shared humanity.

Dance with Me – Mohammed Moussa

I’ll dance with you
under the rain
in love and pain;
on the seashore of hope
we will sing for life and joy.
We’ll dance
on behalf of absence
in the streets, and
on the outskirts of our city
we’ll flap our wings
lift joy and love
and sing
         and sing

Twofer Tuesday: out my window

/ Tracy Abell / 12 Comments

Today I’m grateful for all the activity that’s viewable from my windows. Just a while ago, I paused my laundry duties to watch house wrens at the nesting box hanging outside the window. Nothing like a little avian activity to lighten the drudgery of dealing with dirty sheets and towels.

Last week, I photographed this youngster eating the nut munch we provide for neighborhood squirrels. I smiled the entire time.

A few minutes later, I was gifted the sighting of this magpie and its colorful plumage. It wasn’t until looking at the photos that I realized a tail feather is damaged. That imperfection doesn’t detract from its beauty, but instead adds to its mystique.

It’s currently 95 degrees and I’m hunkered down inside, grateful for the swamp cooler keeping the house cool-ish and for the windows that allow glimpses of our wildlife visitors.

When magpies sound the alarm, heed their calls

/ Tracy Abell / 6 Comments

This morning as I did my daily “bed stretches,” it finally registered in my brain that the magpies were being unusually loud and persistent outside my window. I got up and looked out.

A fox!

I ran to the other end of the house to grab the camera from the dining room table, updating Zippy on the way. When we got back to the window, the magpies were still chastising the fox and I started taking photos through our screen. Unfortunately, the shutter clicks disturbed the fox (s/he turned to look directly at me), so I stopped.

But I texted my neighbor to let him know he had a visitor. He quietly stepped out onto his deck and the fox ran for the back fence where it leapt up onto the same section where a bobcat had sat nearly two years ago, and then disappeared on the other side. A beautiful gift from the universe! And a very, very nice way to begin the day.

Note to self: when you hear incessant magpie calls, investigate!

Hope and grief can coexist

/ Tracy Abell / 14 Comments

I don’t know about you, but it’s increasingly difficult for me to get out of bed in the morning. So far, I’ve been able to rally my energy rather than remain curled in the fetal position with the covers pulled over my head, but today I feel the need to return to one of my favorite resources, LET THIS RADICALIZE YOU (mentioned earlier here).

Sandhill Cranes from March 11, 2024, here representing Hope and Grief

The wise Kelly Hayes and Mariame Kaba wrote a chapter titled “Hope and Grief Can Coexist” which is filled with wisdom from their decades of organizing. The following was written in conjunction with paragraphs about climate collapse, but also applies to our broader experience (emphasis mine):

We feel deeply for those who are suffering and for the young people who have inherited this era of catastrophe. We share in their heartbreak and fury.

We also know this: hope and grief can coexist, and if we wish to transform the world, we must learn to hold and to process both simultaneously. That process will, as ever, involve reaching for community.

In a society where fellowship and connection are so lacking, where isolation and loneliness abound, we are often ill equipped to process grief. [   ]  Grief can also lead us to retreat and recoil and, too often, to abandon people to suffer in ways that we cannot bear to process and behold. 

. . . we, as people, do have power. Depending on our choices, we can turn away from injustice and let it continue, or we can confront our grief and move forward to shift the course of societal action in the face of a massive failure of leadership and institutional abandonment. Grief, after all, is a manifestation of love, and our capacity to grieve is in some ways proportional to our capacity to care. Grief is painful, but when we process our grief in community, we are less likely to slip into despair.

Personally, it helps to view my grief as a manifestation of love, maybe because it’s a reminder of my sense of humanity and connection to others, which makes the pain feel almost welcome. Maybe this perspective does the same for you. Later in the chapter, Hayes and Kaba write:

When we talk about hope in these times, we are not prescribing optimism. Rather, we are talking about a practice and a discipline–what Joanna Macy and Chris Johnstone have termed “Active Hope.” As Macy and Johnstone write,

Active Hope is a practice. Like tai chi or gardening, it is something we do rather than have. It is a process we can apply to any situation, and it involves three key steps. First, we take a clear view of reality; second, we identify what we hope for in terms of the direction we’d like to see expressed; and third, we take steps to move ourselves or our situation in that direction. Since Active Hope doesn’t require our optimism, we can apply it even in areas where we feel hopeless. The guiding impetus is intention; we choose what we aim to bring about, act for, or express. Rather than weighing our chances and proceeding only when we feel hopeful, we focus on our intention and let it be our guide.

Hayes and Kaba continue: This practice of hope allows us to remain creative and strategic. It does not require us to deny the severity of our situation or detract from our practice of grief. To practice active hope, we do not need to believe that everything will work out in the end. We need only decide who we are choosing to be and how we are choosing to function in relation to the outcome we desire and abide by what those decisions demand of us.

This practice of hope does not guarantee any victories against long odds, but it does make those victories more possible. Hope, therefore, is not only a source of comfort to the afflicted but also a strategic imperative.

Whew. Just typing out those words helped center me in my grief and to feel those stirrings of hope all over again. My wish is that they do the same for you. Solidarity, friends!

Bird balm for the soul

/ Tracy Abell / 10 Comments

This afternoon Zippy and I went to Belmar Park for an infusion of nature, and it was just what we needed. The Double-crested Cormorants were nesting and their grunting, pig-like sounds cracked me up.

I also enjoyed the Canada Geese and after downloading my pics was pleasantly surprised to discover this photo also includes an array of sunning Painted turtles.

We also saw a whole lot of Barn Swallows flying above the water, catching insects. A couple times we startled at whirring sounds as they flew inches from our heads. Here’s one taking a break.

Later, I saw this Tree Swallow perched in a tree. Always a thrill when swallows (or any bird, for that matter!) sit still long enough for identification and a decent photo.

There were other sightings (Red-winged Blackbirds, American Robins, Common Grackles), but I’m losing steam so will close with this fellow:

Although I had no idea what I was seeing, Zippy informed me this is a Greater White-fronted Goose. I was particularly taken by the orange feet and legs which is quite a dapper look. However, when Zippy walked past the second time there was some hissing.

But no biting, so all was well. No harm, no fowl!

Climate Movement Monday: human composting

/ Tracy Abell / 7 Comments

Welcome back to Movement Mondays in which we discuss all things climate. Today also happens to be Earth Day which, to be honest, I’d like to ignore rather than get caught up in overly-optimistic and/or downright dishonest rhetoric (I’m looking at you, Biden, as you supply tens of thousands of tons of explosives so that Israel may continue blowing up Palestinians, their residences, infrastructure, and farmland). Those in power are not honoring the earth and its inhabitants, and they should all keep “Earth Day” out of their mouths. Okay, Tracy. *deep breaths*

Instead, let’s talk about human composting, otherwise known as Natural Organic Reduction! I’m interested in this topic for two reasons: (1) I plan to be composted upon my death and (2) because my work-in-progress is a middle grade novel about a girl and her family’s funeral home that pivots from conventional death care (embalming, burial in ornate coffins, flame cremation) to green burial and natural organic reduction. Fortunately for me, in March of 2023, I was able to (virtually) attend the very first human composting conference ever (organized by Seth Viddal of The Natural Funeral)! I learned so much and could talk your ear off about all this, but today will only provide a brief overview along with some resources.

Recompose vessel

In early 2021, Recompose became the first human-composting funeral home in the U.S. Katrina Spade is the founder of Recompose, and the person most responsible for spearheading the human composting  movement. Thanks to her efforts and those of advocates around the country, human composting is now legal not only in Washington, but also Colorado, Oregon, Vermont, California, New York, Nevada, and Arizona. Legislation has been introduced in another sixteen states (scroll down for list/links).

Why is human composting a climate matter? For every person who chooses Recompose over conventional burial or cremation, one metric ton of carbon dioxide is prevented from entering the atmosphere. In addition, our approach to human composting requires 1/8 the energy of conventional burial or cremation. Recompose allows you to choose an end-of-life option that strengthens the environment rather than depleting it. (This info came from Recompose, but the same applies for human composting via any funeral home’s process.)

From that same page: Current funerary practices are environmentally problematic. Each year, 2.7 million people die in the U.S., and most are buried in a conventional cemetery or cremated. Cremation burns fossil fuels and emits carbon dioxide and particulates into the atmosphere. Conventional burial consumes valuable urban land, pollutes the soil, and contributes to climate change through resource-intensive manufacture and transport of caskets, headstones, and grave liners. The overall environmental impact of conventional burial and cremation is about the same.

Not only does human composting avoid those environmental costs, the process produces soil! Why does that matter? Again, from Recompose: The breakdown of organic matter is an essential component in the cycle that allows the death of one organism to nurture the life of another. Soil is the foundation of a healthy ecosystem. It filters water, provides nutrients to plants, sequesters carbon, and helps regulate global temperature.

Human composting produces about a truck-bed full of soil. Families of the deceased are given the option of taking some or all of that soil OR donating it to land conservation and restoration sites. I’m not sure about other states, but know that here in Colorado the law prohibits the sale of the soil or using it on plants grown for food. The Colorado Burial Preserve in Florence, CO, accepts human composting soil for land restoration (in addition to being a green burial site).

I learned during the conference that many who choose human composting don’t make that choice based on climate concerns, but because it just feels right to be returned to the earth after death. One of the other human composting vendors said that people want more choice for their deaths and that natural organic reduction appeals to them on a “freedom” level. A while back, I wrote about death and how my decision to be composted has given me incredible peace of mind. Everyone should have the freedom to make a death-care choice that speaks to their values. There’s much more to be said about the grief process and how natural organic reduction allows for participation by family and friends, along with a timeline that supports gentle grieving as opposed to an abrupt “that’s-that” burial practice, but I’ll save that conversation for another post.

In the meanwhile, I’d like to offer resources:

  • Go here to learn more about pending legislation and how you can get involved in bringing human composting to your state
  • Visit “The Order of the Good Death” for lots of information about death care, including Calls to Action in support of a “good death” (Note: Founder Caitlin Doughty is an incredibly smart, funny, and compelling speaker/writer on this issue)

I’ll stop here, but PLEASE don’t hesitate to ask questions! As stated, I love talking about this issue and if I don’t have answers, I can point you in the right direction. It’s an exciting development in death care and I hope by sharing this information, some of you might experience a ping of recognition (as in, that’s what I want for me!)

Thank you for reading. Solidarity! ✊🏽

Past Solar Eclipses Inspired Peace

/ Tracy Abell / 9 Comments

I’m taking a break this week from my usual Climate Movement Monday post to instead focus on the solar eclipse. To be clear, I made exactly zero plans to see the eclipse and don’t have much to share on a personal level. In fact, Zippy, Emma, and I were out on the open space trails when I thought to ask Zippy if we’d get home in time to use our colander during the partial (65%) eclipse in our region of Colorado.

Nope.

Turns out, it was already 12:48 our time (peak eclipse was at 12:40) and while the light had a strange cast to it, we couldn’t really see much cool stuff in the shadows. I checked out a thistle to see if it made crescent shadows . . . nope.  Zippy pointed out that the shadows cast by our fingers had kinda fuzzy edges, but that was the extent of our eclipse experience.

But this morning I’d come across an article from Erin Fehr in Native News Online: Centuries of Indigenous Knowledge Found Along the Path of the Total Solar Eclipse that contains some very cool stories such as the Cherokees’ story of a giant frog that swallows the sun and the Choctaws’ story of a black squirrel that tries to eat the sun. I highly recommend reading the entire piece but want to highlight a couple excerpts:

Solar eclipses have also been central to historic events, like the birth of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy. On August 22, 1142, a solar eclipse occurred near modern-day Victor, New York, where the Five Nations were meeting to form the Confederacy and end the strife among their Nations. Oral history suggests that the fifth nation, the Onondagas, were the last hold-outs, but the total solar eclipse convinced them to join in bringing peace to the region.

Reading that, I couldn’t help wishing that we still lived in a time in which celestial events could inspire collaboration and peace among humans. And then Fehr goes onto share this information:

Tenskwatawa Courtesy (Courtesy of National Portrait Gallery)

In 1806, Tenskwatawa, also known as The Shawnee Prophet, was in conflict with then-Governor of Territorial Indiana William Henry Harrison, who later became the 9th President of the United States. Harrison was upset by the call for tribal unity in the region, fearing that a united front would be harder to overcome [emphasis mine]. He challenged Tenskwatawa to prove himself.

“If he is really a prophet, ask him to cause the sun to stand still, the moon to alter its course, the rivers to cease to flow, or the dead to rise from their graves. If he does these things, you may believe that he has been sent from God.” 

In response, Tenskwatawa predicted an eclipse of the sun in 50 days. 50 days later on June 16, 1806, a total solar eclipse hid the sun across parts of Indiana, solidifying his position of authority. 

The article doesn’t say whether Harrison quit trying to foment dissension as a result of that prediction, but reading that excerpt made me wish–again– that this solar eclipse had the power to convince our so-called leaders to quit their violent, colonizing ways.

Anyway, I’m glad I found and read that interesting article. Did you have a solar eclipse experience today? 

Edited to add: stunning eclipse photo and plea from Climate Defiance to JUST LOOK UP and join the climate struggle.

For Dillon

/ Tracy Abell / 7 Comments

You never got to see a Northern Harrier, so here are two slightly blurred but fully authentic photos of the harrier I told you about exactly one week ago when we were shoveling that heavy snow together, when you were being your typical generous self and helping clear the enormous snowplow-created snow berm so that Zippy and I would be able to get out of our driveway if needed.

Both images by Zippy. March 11, 2024

You delighted in the fact I’d just learned from Zippy: Northern Harriers have owl-like faces that help them hear prey as they fly low above the ground. I wish you’d had the chance to see and identify one when working with your surveying crew so that you would’ve won the “Raptor ID Pie” for that week.

Even more, I wish you were still here with your easy smile and enormous heart. I wish we could have more conversation about birds and nature and dogs and streams, just a sampling of the many things that brought you joy, but I’m grateful for the time we did share and I hold those memories close.

My heart is shattered. I hope you knew how much you meant to me.

Rest in peace, Dillon.

Wordful Wednesday: Geese & Gaza

/ Tracy Abell

Isn’t this a serene image? Five geese winging their way through blue, blue skies? Aren’t you glad you can view this in the safety and comfort of your home?

Monte Vista National Wildlife Refuge. March 11, 2024

On February 1, I wrote about the Biden administration callously suspending funding for UNRWA (United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees) because of unfounded allegations against some of the workers. In the time since, Israel has offered zero evidence of those lies and one million people are facing starvation and the spread of preventable diseases. Per Jewish Voice for Peace: Today, one-third of children under the age of two in Gaza’s north are suffering from acute malnutrition, more than double the number from a month ago. 

PLEASE take two minutes to email your Representative and two Senators, asking them to pressure the Biden administration to resume funding of UNRWA. That link contains a letter template you can personalize. I know we’ve already emailed them with this same demand, but we cannot stop pressuring them to do the right thing until they actually do the right thing.

As way of thanks, here’s another gooseful photo:

Monte Vista National Wildlife Refuge. March 12, 2024

Solidarity!

Sunday Confessional: crane overwhelm

/ Tracy Abell / 16 Comments

As I posted last Wednesday, we recently had the privilege of witnessing a layover during the migration of Sandhill Cranes. This trip was fifteen years in the making as we’d planned to go to Monte Vista in March of 2009, but had to cancel for health-related reasons. And somehow, we never got our acts together until this year. All this to say, last week’s experience was a very big deal for a variety of reasons, and it didn’t disappoint. In fact, I literally have hundreds of high quality images from the two days we spent watching the cranes. For the last couple days I’ve been trying to rally my decision-making skills so that I can share photos (although not all that time was spent agonizing over photo selection as some hours were spent shoveling the 27 inches of snow we got in the storm that started Wednesday evening and finally ended Friday morning).

Decisions! This is where the overwhelm comes in: how can I possibly choose from all my wonderful photos? How can I convey the whole experience with just a sampling of pics?

Should I begin with the very first photo I took on Monday evening? (click all to enlarge)

Do I include the yoga-pose photo?

Do I share the majesty of cranes flying against the backdrop of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains?

Should I include an image showing how the camera sometimes struggled to focus on the closest crane when SO MANY OTHER CRANES were headed our way?

Or the very first crane dance I had the honor of witnessing? (According to BirdNote, Sandhill Cranes mate for life and they do this dance each spring to reaffirm their bond.)

And I should probably include an image that shows how close all of us were to these magnificent birds, right?

Maybe include an image showing another field we visited right as the sun went down (even though the photo doesn’t convey the sound of THOUSANDS of cranes), where many stood facing west?

Along with a photo showing how the cranes just kept coming?

And what about the next day’s photos–should I begin with this crane running before lift-off?

No doubt I should include this crane ‘s dance that began with a leap, right?

But then which of the other dance moves should I include . . .maybe this?

And which of the many photos I took at the other field when approximately three thousand cranes lifted off as one (leaving behind just three cranes who remained in the field for another hour) should I share?

Unfortunately (or not), I don’t have a photo of me overcome with emotion in this moment, tears running down my face. I can only say that being in the presence of all those cranes in motion/in community was one of the most profound experiences of my life. Minutes later, I stood in the silence they’d left behind, incredibly grateful for the gift of their presence and the peace of that moment, wishing that same kind of peace for everyone around the world.

I have an entire afternoon and evening worth of photos that I haven’t delved into here, but I’ll stop so as to not overwhelm anyone else. No worries, though! I’m absolutely positive I’ll be posting more in the near future. 🙂