Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers

There Is No Planet B

~ lmachayes ~ 6 Comments

I was asked to give the homily at church this morning and have spent the past month or more reflecting on what to say. Of course, it was to my blog that I turned for inspiration for I knew that parts of the story were tucked within these posts.

Driving home from a recent Trail Snails walk, I spotted this statement on a roadside sign: “There is no Planet B.” And I thought it was an apropos title for what I want to share with you this morning.

On Sunday, March 23, in Forward Day by Day, Tyler Richards, a priest serving St. Anne’s Episcopal Church in De Pere, Wisconsin, responded to Exodus 3:vs 3-4: Then Moses said, “I must turn aside and look at this great sight, and see why the bush is not burned up.” When the Lord saw that he had turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush, “Moses, Moses!” And he said, “Here I am.”

Reverend Richards commented, “I do not have an accurate account of the things that have caused me to stop and look again. Solar eclipses, northern lights, sunrises, and sunsets are a few of these.”

He continued, “God asks us to turn aside and experience wonder. God’s creation is a source of endless contemplation, and, at times, so is human ingenuity. But these great wonders that take our breath away prompt me to ask: What are they for? Are they an end to themselves, or are they there to remind us that God is even more incredible? Indeed, God is so great that God inspires and colors the very creation itself. It might not always be a burning bush that causes us to gasp at God’s greatness.”

In response to that I invite all of you to join me as I share a few of the thin places I have visited, where I see the light more on this side than the other. These are not burning bushes, but they do make me gasp at God’s greatness. The first I call “Emergence.” 

Emergence

Oh dragonfly, oh dragonfly. 
In your infancy,
You laboriously
Climbed upon a slender stem. 
Ever
So
Slowly,
Seams split.
Soft and squishy,
You spilled forth
Into this sunlit world. 
Perched upon your former self, 
Wispy strings recalled 
Aquatic breaths. 
Moments slipped
Into an hour. 
Your body of velvet pulsed
As blood pumped 
Into cloudy wings. 
Standing guard watching you,
I noted preparations 
For first flight. 
Eyes bulging, 
You chose a spot
Of viewpoint advantage. 
Colors changing, 
You gained the markings
Of generations past. 
Wings drying, 
You offered a reflection
Of stained glass. 
Beyond understanding,
You flew,
A dance of darting restlessness. 
Odonata, Odonata, 
You have known both worlds. 
First playing beneath the watery surface. 
Then in a manner so brave, 
Climbing skyward
To ride summer breezes
On gossamer wings. 
Forever in awe
Of your transformation 
From aquatic naiad 
To winged adult,
I can only imagine
The wonder of emergence. 

******

Drawn by the Sapsuckers is next. 
Along a path
Through a cathedral in the pines, 
It seemed apropos 
That I should spy
The works of
An Oak Apple Gall wasp. 
For it is believed
That circa 800AD
Irish monks used such galls
To create the green colorant
Of their artwork 
As displayed
In the Book of Kells. 
My first intention of wander
Upon this special day
Was soon verified when I was
About twenty feet
From a maple tree
For I could hear peeps
From the ever hungry 
Babes within. 

Only two weeks prior
Father Sapsucker entered 
The nest hole every few minutes
To nurture his offspring, but today
Things had changed. 
No sooner did he toss in a meal
When a nestling popped its head out
And begged for more. 
Finally, with the urging 
Of the ever present deer flies,
I moved on
To the neighboring meadow 
And gave thanks when 
A Slaty Blue Skimmer Dragonfly
Snatched a pesky insect
From my head
And settled upon a stem to dine. 
Nearby on a milkweed leaf
I spied something tiny.
By the X-shaped pattern
On its back,
I knew it was
A Spring Peeper.
Sitting two feet 
Above the ground, 
This little frog
Hid from predators
During the day
As it waited for dusk
To crawl down
The plant's stem
And munch a meal
Of its choice. 
Behind the wee frog
A dash of color
Brightened the background.
Bedecked in orange and black,
This being a Fritillary butterfly,
It flew
Down the path
And out of my vision. 
In this same place,
Tiger Swallowtail butterflies
Added their yellow wings
To the tapestry. 
Plentiful in number, 
Skimmer dragonflies, 
Each with a uniqueness 
All its own
From Spangled to 
Dot-tailed and Great Blue
Chased down meals
And hunted for mates. 
Before departing
I checked 
On the nestlings
In the Red Maple trunk, 
While their papa
Did the same
From a tree
Ten feet away. 
Was he teaching them patience? 
Perhaps. 
Sensing our time together
Was waning,
I gave thanks
That it was the Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers
Who drew me to this place. 

******

Finally, 

"The way to be heard isn't to shout," said the Reverend Sam Wells of St. Martins in the Fields, London. "It's to whisper." 

But, I ask you, who are the whisperers? 

As you go forth this spring . . . 
Listen for the slightest murmur
 Of Beaked Hazelnut 
Sharing its most 
Beautiful, yet minute
Magenta blossoms 
That so many never see. 
Hear also
The soft words
Of Trailing Arbutus
Hiding its delicate flowers
Beneath leathery leaves. 
Be attentive to Hobblebush
No matter how much
It makes you stumble, 
For it always
Has more to offer
Including corrugated leaves unfurling
And a flowerhead silently forming. 
Give audience
To Rhodora's woody seed structure
Of last year
Before her brilliant pink flowers
Soon distract. 
Pay attention 
To the male Hairy Woodpecker
Who speaks 
In hushed pecks
As two females
Squabble for his attention. 
Focus on 
The soft cheers
Of Female Red Maple flowers
waiving their pompom stigmas
in hopes of meeting . . . 
Male pollen 
Blowing in the wind. 
Remember to 
Keep your voice low
As you spy
The first crosiers
Of the most Sensitive Ferns. 
Heed the inner voice
Of Mystery
And Be Present
With your heart and soul. 

I invite you 
To walk in silence 
Throughout the forest and wetlands 
While listening intently 
To all 
Who whisper along the trail. 

******

I’ll end with part of an entry from Creation Justice Ministries’ Seeking Creation: Lent 2025 Devotional.

Referencing Ezekiel 37:21-28, the authors wrote, “God’s goal is not to abandon Creation that God has made. It is to live with us among that Creation. A theology that suggests that God’s good Creation was made solely for us to deplete it and hoard resources from one another ignores the long line of biblical witness that cast a vision of a united humanity where the Creator lives among the creatures, us included.

That God would want to live among Creation should tell us something of Creation’s Worth to God. It is not disposable. It is not replaceable. It is not profane. The dream of a Holy God is to live among Holy people within the holiness of Creation. May it be so.”

And remember: There is no Planet B. This is all we have.

May hushed voices shout from every corner of the Planet AND as those voices uplift your spirits, may you realize God’s greatness and never lose your sense of wonder. ~Amen.

Happy 9th Birthday, wondermyway!

~ lmachayes ~ 16 Comments

Thank you to all who read and comment and share wondermyway.com. Some of you have followed my blog posts since the beginning, February 21, 2015. A few have joined the journey as recently as yesterday. I’m grateful for the presence of all of you in my life.

To mark this occasion, I thought I’d reflect upon those moments when my wonder gave me a glimpse of the “Thin Places” that I’ve experienced either by myself or in the company of others.

To quote my friend, Ev Lennon, “A Thin Place is a spot of beauty, loveliness, space–an example of the wideness and grandeur of Creation.”

I think of them as places that you don’t plan a trip to visit, but rather . . . stumble upon. 

I had
the track of 
a bobcat to thank, 
for it showed me the way
to a special friend.
It was without expectation 
that we met
and spent at least
an hour together. 
And then I realized
though its sight is not great,
it was aware of my presence
and I hightailed it home,
but I will always 
celebrate time spent
with the Prickly Porcupine. 
Something quite small
scurrying across the snow
captured my attention
and suddenly 
there was a second
and a third
and then hundreds
of Winter Stoneflies.
All headed west from the brook
toward mature tree trunks
to beat their drum-like structures
against the bark
and announce their intentions to canoodle.
Though I could not hear
their percussion instruments,
I am grateful
to learn
with those who
march to the beat of a different drummer. 
Standing beside quiet water,
I was honored 
on more than one occasion
to have my boot and pant legs
considered the right substrate
upon which to transform
from aquatic predator
to teneral land prey
before becoming
a terrestrial flying predator.
It takes hours
for the dragonfly to emerge
and I can't think of a better way
to spend a spring day
than to stand witness
as the mystery unfolds
and I begin to 
develop my dragonfly eyes 
once again. 
It took me a second 
to realize that I was
staring into the eyes
of a moose, 
and another second
to silently alert My Guy
while grabbing my camera. 
She tip-toed off
as we relished our time
spent in her presence
and at the end of the day
had this Final Count
on a Moosed-up Mondate: 
Painted Trillium  59
Red Trillium  3
Cow Moose   1
One was certainly enough!
Some of the best hours
I spend outdoors
include scanning
Great Blue Heron rookeries
to count adults and chicks
and get lost in the
sights and sounds 
of rich and diverse wetlands. 
Fluffy little balls
pop up occasionally
in the nests and the
let their presence be known 
as they squawk 
feverishly for food.
And in the mix of it all
Nature Distraction 
causes a diversion of attention
when one swimming by 
is first mistaken for a Beaver
but reveals its tail
and morphs into a Muskrat. 
I give thanks to the Herons for these moments. 
What began as a "Wruck, Wruck" love affair
continued 
for longer than usual
and due to 
a rainy spring and summer
I was treated to a surprise
in the form of developing frog legs. 
In the midst of my visits
one day I heard
the insistent peeps 
of Yellow-bellied Sapsucker chicks
demanding a meal on wings,
which their parents
repeatedly provided. 
Walking home 
from the pool
another day, 
I was honored 
to spend about ten minutes
with a fawn, 
each of us curious 
about the other
until it occurred to me
that its mother
was probably nearby
waiting for me to move on,
so reluctantly I did,
but first gave thanks
that something is always happening
right outside my backdoor. 
While admiring shrubs
that love wet feet, 
I counted over 
one hundred branches
coated with white fluffy, 
yet waxy ribbons.
Theirs is a communal yet complex life
as the Woolly Alder Aphids
suck sap from Speckled Alders.
Communal in that 
so many clump together
in a great mass.
Complex because
one generation reproduces asexually
and the next sexually, 
thus adding diversity
to the gene pool. 
Along with the discovery 
of coyote scat, 
and Beech Aphid Poop Eater, 
a fungus that consumes 
the frass of the Aphids,
it was an omnivore, herbivore, insectivore kind of day. 
Awakening early, 
a certain glow
in the sky
pulled me from bed
and I raced downstairs
to open the door
and receive the quiet
that snowflakes create.
The snow eventually
turned to rain,
which equally mesmerized me
as I watched 
droplets elongate
and quickly free fall,
landing on bark below
in such a manner
that caused them
to mix with sap salts and acids.
The result was
White Pines foaming
in the form of 
Pine Soap
with its hexagonal shapes: 
worth a natural engineering wonder
and I gave thanks for being present. 
Occasionally, 
it's the action
outside the backdoor window
that keeps me standing sill
for hours on end, 
as a variety of birds fly
in and out
of the feeding station, 
such as these Purple Finches,
the males exhibiting
bad hair days. 
Bird seed is not 
just for birds
as the squirrels prove daily.
And White-tailed Deer 
often make that 
statement at night. 
But this day was different
and they came
in the morning
using their tongues
to vacuum the seeds all up. 
At the end of the day,
my favorite visitors 
were the Bluebirds
for it was such a treat
to see them. 
But it was the mammals 
who made me realize
not every bird has feathers.  
These are samples 
of the Thin Places 
I've stumbled upon
this past year. 

They are a
cause for celebration,
participation,
and possibility. 
My mind slows down
and time seems infinite
as I become enveloped 
in the mystery.

I give thanks
that each moment 
is a gift
and I have witnessed
miracles unfolding
that did not 
seek my attention,
but certainly captured it. 

And I thank you again
for being
one of the many
to wander and wonder my way.

Drawn by the Sapsuckers

~ lmachayes

This morning’s tramp found me checking on a couple of bird nests. The first, which belonged to a Phoebe family, was empty.

And so I wandered along a path through a cathedral in the pines.

It seemed apropos that I should spy the works of an Oak Apple Gall wasp in such a place for it is believed that circa 800 A.D., monks from a Columban monastery created the Book of Kells and used such galls for their green colorant. The wasp uses it as a place for a larva to pupate.

I knew I’d reached the second nest I wanted to check on because from about twenty feet away I could hear the peeps of the babes within. Their father tossed in a meal, much differently than how he was feeding them only a week or two ago when he entered the nest hole every few minutes.

Today, no sooner did he leave when a nestling popped out and begged for more. I watched for a bit and then gravity pulled me in a different direction.

And so I trespassed onto a neighboring property. Well, I don’t think of it as actually trespassing since it’s not posted and I know the owners who have invited me to visit on numerous occasions. They just didn’t know today would be one of those; nor did I until it was. The deer flies buzzed all about my head, but thankfully some old friends in the form of dragonflies (uh oh, here I go again) snatched the pesky insects and then dined.

It took a few minutes, but eventually Slaty Blue gobbled every bit of the fly. One down; a gazillion to go.

While the lupines had been in full bloom the last time I visited, today’s flowers of joy were the Milkweeds. Even the ants agreed.

On a leaf below one flowerhead, I noticed something tiny and by the pattern on its back, knew who I was spying.

About the size of a nickel, it was a Spring Peeper. Located about two feet above ground, this little frog could hide from predators all day, waiting to munch on insects and spiders at night. Do you see the X on its back? Its scientific name–Pseudacris crucifer–breaks down to Pseudo (false), acris (locust) and crucifer (cross bearer).

While I continued to admire him, a dash of color brightened the background and then flew down onto the path.

Bedecked in orange and black, it was a Fritillary butterfly. There were actually two today and where the colors of the lupines had passed, the butterflies contributed greatly with their hues.

The Fritillaries weren’t the only adding a dash of color for Eastern Tiger Swallowtails also pollinated the meadow flowers.

Canada Tiger Swallowtails also fly in this part of Maine and so I’m forever trying to remember how to tell the two apart besides size, which doesn’t help when you only see one. The trick, however, is to look at the yellow line on the underside of the forewing. If it isn’t one continuous line as this one wasn’t, then it is the Eastern variety.

I’ve probably completely confused you, but the next will be easy:

A pop quiz: 1. Who is this? You tell me. (Hint: Emerald family)

2. Who is this? (Hint: Clubtail family)

3. Who is this? (Hint: Skimmer family)

4. Who is this? (Hint: Skimmer family)

Extra credit if you can identify this lady. (Hint: Skimmer family)

The skimmers are many and each has something unique and lovely to offer. But my greatest thrill today was to encounter this delightful specimen just before I was about to depart the meadow. For those who joined me yesterday as I hunted for the Common Whitetail Skimmer, you may have noted the zigzag pattern on her abdomen. Take a look at the pattern along the abdomen of this beauty. The side spots form a smooth stripe. Her honey, whom I have yet to see, has not only the black patches on the wings, but also white. Who might this be? A Twelve-spotted Skimmer.

Before departing, I checked back on the sapsucker nestlings. Papa was doing the same from a tree about ten feet away. I got the sense he wanted to tell them to be patient and stop begging.

But how can you resist such a baby face? I know I couldn’t.

I gave great thanks to the Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers for drawing me into this place and to Linda and Heinrich Wurm for allowing me to trespass and spy their meadow once again and all that it has to offer.

P.S. Quiz answers: 1. Racket-tailed Emerald; 2. Ashy Clubtail; 3. Spangled Skimmer; 4. Dot-tailed Whiteface; Bonus: female Great Blue Skimmer (a first for me) How did you do?