I love the use of animals in vernacular — provided they are not insulting to the animals.  “Like a moth to a flame” I simply cannot resist.  I have “parroted” other phrases and have used animal idioms like “as drunk as a skunk”, “ants in your pants”, and “hold your horses”.  British writer Jay Griffiths said:

“Human language is lit with animal life:  we play cats-cradle or have hare-brained ideas; we speak of badgering, or outfoxing someone; to squirrel something away and to ferret it out.”

I have seen a “kangaroo court”, an “elephant in the room”, a “sacred cow”, a “black sheep”, “a fly in the ointment”, “crocodile tears”, and I have learned “a leopard does not change its spots”.  I have tried not to “count my chickens before they hatch”; I have been as “busy as a bee”, a “night owl”, “the early bird [who] catches the worm”, a “fish out of water”, on a “wild goose chase”, “as happy as a clam”, and, once or twice, “top dog”.  Before any more of this animal talk has you going “batty”, I shall end this and employ my favorite phrase, reminding my family not to “wolf down” their dinner.  Afterward I shall curl up in bed “as snug as a bug in a rug”.  😉

Growing up I was surrounded by the wonderful, pervasive scent of wild honeysuckle.  It was everywhere and I adored its constant sweet perfume.  Now I only see it growing unchecked along the creek banks; no one seems to value it, either for its scent or for the bees.  “It takes over” is all I ever hear.  When we first got married we had a housewarming party and had not yet done any landscaping.  But the one thing we did have — covering the entire length of our fence all the way down to the alley — was this beautiful blanket of green ivy.  Oh I was so proud of it!  I thought to myself, at least we have that.  During the party one of my new aunts by marriage came up to me and pulled me discreetly outside.  Looking in either direction she trained her gorgeous blue eyes on me and said, with her subtle Arkansas accent, “Sweetie, I hate to tell you, but THIS is poison IVY!”  I just stood there embarrassed and dumbfounded that the one thing growing so prolifically at our house turned out to be poisonous.  As I looked on in slack-jawed stupor she turned to put a consoling hand on my arm and said, “Well, it’s the FINEST poison ivy I’ve ever seen!”  And then I knew she was not only stunningly beautiful but gracious as well.  Kindness, and forthrightness, I’ve learned is a rarity.  Needless to say we had some man come out a few days later and pull it all up by the roots.  But I digress.  When I got my tax return the next spring I asked my husband if he would mind me spending it on some landscaping for the other side of our house.  It faces a creek and has wrought iron bars.  My sweet husband not only said yes, he gave me his tax return money to put with it.  I told the landscape guy I cared first and foremost about smell.  Color without smell in a garden is meaningless to me, and frankly quite sad.  So he suggested Star Jasmine, saying it was right for our soil, climate, and would not guzzle water since I am always concerned about the environment.  In India jasmine is known as the “Queen of the Night”.  I cannot tell you the immense amount of joy those plants have given me.  We have six vines that have wound their way between our metal fence posts, growing and spreading up and over onto our stone pillars.  Delicately bathing the entire side of our house with a subtle scent, it rises ripe with promise … even more so when the wind blows.  The Irish poet Thomas Moore wrote:

“Plants that wake while others sleep, from timid jasmine buds that keep, their fragrance to themselves all day, but when the sunlight dies away, let the delicious secret out, to every breeze that roams about.”

I love our jasmine during the day … but at night she has stars that bloom.

I had the best childhood in the world:  I grew up across from an enormous open field of wildflowers.  They were glorious!  Left to grow as tall as I, they would bend and sway with the wind.  There were Queen Anne’s Lace, Buttercups, Black Eyed Susans, Indian Blankets, Dandelions, Texas Thistles, Sunflowers, and so many more which sadly I cannot name.  I used to run out and pick fresh flowers for the dinner table each night after all Mama’s hard work.  She cooked everything from scratch six days a week and her food was excellent.  Mama knew all the flowers’ names (both scientific and colloquial) and she would tell me of her childhood and the flowers she loved and picked for her mother.  Maris is incredibly lucky that she is growing up with some fields of wildflowers still left, even if those spaces are smaller and more sporadic.  Of course that is provided the city of Dallas doesn’t label them weeds and mow them all down, as they frequently are want to do, in our increasingly sterilized society.  But I seek the wild like a flower lifts its petals to the sun.  Now my little one wants to pick flowers for me for our table, but I have explained that we need to leave them because they are no longer as plentiful.  It is imperative we also leave some open land in order for wildflowers to grow.  It is sustenance for the butterflies and bees, protection for all the other wildlife, and nourishment for our souls.  If you cannot see any flowers, plant them yourself — wherever you may be.  I just cherish this picture.  My husband took it exactly four years ago today; the day before my first Mother’s Day.  Maris was about six months old.  This is right by our house and we were just driving home.  I remarked, as I always do, upon how beautiful the wildflowers were.  Spontaneously, we all got out of the car and he took this photo of us.  It evokes so many memories of my childhood and creates new ones with the precious family of my own I am blessed to have now.  May, mothers, and memories of wildflowers; the cycle continues.  French artist Henri Matisse said, “There are always flowers for those who want to see them.”  Literally and figuratively — I hope you find a field of flowers.

My four year old snapped this picture as I was out back showing her our wisteria.  I believe it was the first thing I ever planted on my own when we got our house and I was so proud because it just took off.  It seemed to thrive and wound its way up and over our fence.  I have always associated it with the South but have never known anything about it so I set out to do a little research.  First, I had no earthly idea it is a member of the pea family.  That includes ten species native to China, Japan, Korea, and the Eastern United States.  Marco Polo brought seeds out of China in the 13th century.  Wisteria climbs by twining its stems around any available support.  Its reach is as high as 65 feet and can spread as much as 32 feet laterally.  And they have been known to live for 250 years.  Like my beloved honeysuckle, I had no idea they could be invasive; here I was thinking I had a green thumb.  Japanese poet Yosa Buson said, “In pale moonlight / the wisteria’s scent / comes from far away.”  The world’s largest known wisteria vine is in Sierra Madre, California, weighing 250 tons and measuring more than an acre!  I’ve never wanted to see the world’s largest ball of yarn or Cadillacs sticking up out of the ground,  but I sure would love to see that!

American PGA golfer Walter Hagen said, “Don’t hurry.  Don’t worry.  You’re only here for a short visit.  So don’t forget to stop and smell the roses.”  What a famous phrase bandied about our vernacular and I’ve never known who said it.  But I think it is so true!  We are all so hurried in our lives and “busy” we do not slow down to enjoy life’s true pleasures God has given us.  I took this picture from our yard because it tickled me that of course St. Francis of Assisi — even in stone — would find a way to stop and smell the roses.  How very fitting for a man who once preached a sermon to the birds and who is rightfully regarded as the patron saint of the environment and animals.  I have written several times about smell.  I believe it is the sense that is taken for granted most out of the five commonly accepted senses humans have.  We actively stop on our daily walks and literally smell whatever has perfume … whether it is a magnolia tree, a rose bush, wisteria, or wild honeysuckle.  I notice the wolfies never fail to stop and smell.  I think we could learn so much more from our four-legged brethren.  That is something I believe St. Francis of Assisi tried to do and Native Americans have done since the beginning of time.  I believe in Spirit Animals and I do not believe it in any way contradicts Christ’s teachings.  It is simply a way to admire and adapt to traits in which one gravitates to in animals.  I was always slightly freaked out that my husband was drawn to ravens.  It’s so deep I believe that deserves a post all on its own.  But suffice to say the raven and the wolf (my spirit animal) go together.  My mother lived a long life and always loved turtles; for my daddy it was the mighty buffalo.  So as you go about your day do not neglect the beauty the Creator has placed before you.  I am reminded of one of my favorite hymns growing up:

For the Beauty of the Earth

For the beauty of the earth,
for the glory of the skies,
for the love which from our birth
over and around us lies;
Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.

For the beauty of each hour
of the day and of the night,
hill and vale, and tree and flower,
sun and moon, and stars of light;
Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.

For the joy of ear and eye,
for the heart and mind’s delight,
for the mystic harmony,
linking sense to sound and sight;
Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.

For the joy of human love,
brother, sister, parent, child,
friends on earth and friends above,
for all gentle thoughts and mild;
Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.

For thy church, that evermore
lifteth holy hands above,
offering up on every shore
her pure sacrifice of love;
Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.

For thyself, best Gift Divine,
to the world so freely given,
for that great, great love of thine,
peace on earth, and joy in heaven:
Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.

Achukma hoke.

It just so happens that after my recent “lily” post I have discovered our water lilies are in bloom.  We have a small koi pond which brings me an immense amount of pleasure on a daily basis.  Along with half a dozen different colored butterfly koi we have three different varieties of water lilies.  Pictured here is the Colorado and it is our most prolific bloomer.  We also have the Pink Beauty and the more elusive white Arc-en-Ciel; even when not in bloom I love its darker bluish lily pads.  In addition to their beauty they also serve an important purpose, mainly in aiding the pond’s ecosystem.  They spread across the water‘s surface, keeping the creatures in it safe.  We also have baby toads every year and they depend upon the lily pads once they lose their tails.  The lilies’ leaves provide shade to keep the water temperature down during the hot summer months.  By blocking out much of the sunlight, it helps to keep down algae growth.  In addition, the lily pads serve as shelter for our koi from predators like owls and raccoons that may be nearby.  Our water lilies remain in the pond year round.  They die off in the winter and produce new leaves and flowers in the spring.  Generally they bloom from April through October here.  The flowers open in the early morning and close in the late afternoon.  My little one and I love to feed the fish and watch them lazily swirl in between the lilies and their leaves.  Our water garden is by far my favorite respite.  It holds a beauty in every season.  For me it is an endless source of joy.  The water lilies exude serenity and encourage reflection.

“I’d like to be a water-lily sleeping on the river,
Where solemn rushes whisper, and funny ripples quiver.
All day I’d watch the blue sky—all night I’d watch the black,
Floating in the soft waves, dreaming on my back,
And when I’d tired of dreaming, I’d call a passing fish,
“I want to find the sea!”  I’d shout, “Come! You can grant my wish!”

He’d bite me from my moorings, and softly I would slip
To the center of the river like an ocean-going ship.
The waves would laugh upon me.  The wind would blow me fast,
And oh, what shores and wonders would greet me as I passed!
Yes, if I were a water-lily, I’d sail to sea in state—
A green frog for my captain—and a dragon-fly for my mate!  ~  American writer John Chipman Farrar 

I have been interested in Himalayan salt lamps for quite some time.  For years I’ve seen them in client’s homes and knew they were supposed to be beneficial but I always viewed them as sort of hippyish.  It is my understanding one must have a salt rock actually from the Himalayas as opposed to just any old hunk of salt.  Millions of years ago, the present day subcontinents of India and Eurasia collided, elevating the ocean beds high into the air, creating the Himalayan Mountains.  Salt crystal from the ocean beds remained trapped deep into the cavernous depths of the Himalayan Mountains for centuries.  The salt comes from a time when the earth was pristine.  Himalayan salt is said to be pure, chemical-free, and contains no impurities from environmental pollution.  Known in the Himalayan region as “white gold”, this form of salt has been maturing for over 250 million years under extreme tectonic pressure.  It is said Himalayan pink salt contains 84 valuable minerals and trace elements considered essential for the body.  Salt is hygroscopic, meaning it naturally absorbs moisture particles from the surrounding environment.  Some of the benefits are believed to be that Himalayan salt releases negative ions which help to purify the air around you and kill bacteria.  It is also supposed to relieve stress, fatigue, anxiety, and may even help you breathe better.  But what sold it for me is a company came up with the coolest thing ever:  color changing LED lights complete with remote!  I have different colors in different rooms although I have not had them long enough to tell whether or not they have made a difference.  We DO all seem to be sleeping better though and frankly the colors make me happy.  We have my favorite blue (pictured here) in our den, our little one’s beloved pink in her playroom (very cool since the rock itself is already pink), a red one in our dining room underneath our Eiffel Tower, stimulating yellow in my office and soothing orange in our loft.  If nothing else, they have given me pause.  The famous Roman poet Ovid once said:

“What is harder than rock, or softer than water?  Yet soft water hollows out hard rock.  Persevere.”

Perhaps that is what draws people to these rocks — their perseverance, natural beauty and strength.  I aspire to acquire more of all three.

I saw you tonight … there in the darkness of the trees.  You didn’t think I knew but I could feel your presence.  You were so calm, your tail so thick, and you were so big I wondered if you had some of brother wolf in you as well.  I called to you so you would know and not be afraid.  It made my heart glad to see you did not run.  I know you were surprised I turned my back on you.  But we are the same, you and I.  I have not forgotten, my brother.  I know my skin is red from my father and I could feel the blood pulsing in my cheekbones as I ran.  I watched you dart in between the three huge trees.  And you were so powerful you could not be concealed.  I know you came to me for a reason.  I heard you move farther into the brush on the creek and I was sad you did not stay closer longer.  I have not forgotten.  I still honor the old ways my father knew.  And I will teach those to my daughter.  We are alike you and I … survivors.  Thank you for coming to see me.  I will wait until you decide to visit again.  I am trying to learn what you came to tell me.  In the meantime, stay safe Nashoba Holba Muskogee.  And God bless you.  Achukma hoke.

“Whenever the pressure of our complex city life thins my blood and numbs my brain, I seek relief in the trail; and when I hear the coyote wailing to the yellow dawn, my cares fall from me – I am happy.  American novelist Hamlin Garland

I guess spiders are owed the credit for being the first ones on the net.  (Couldn’t resist.)  And thanks to the internet I believe this gal is a green Lynx spider.  Just look at her beautiful web she spun by one of our fountains!  Spider silk provides a combination of lightness, strength and elasticity that is superior to that of synthetic materials.  I was explaining to my little one that many people malign and fear spiders much as they do wolves … so quick to kill without realizing how beneficial they are.  I went back to try and get a better picture and her web was already gone.  I was so sad until I noticed one of her babies had taken up residence!  God bless the resilience of nature.  And God bless all our species that are vital to our environment.  There is famous speech attributed to the great Chief Seattle (Suquamish) which says:

“The President in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land.  But how can you buy or sell the sky?  the land?  The idea is strange to us.  If we do not own the freshness of the air and the sparkle of the water, how can you buy them?

Every part of the earth is sacred to my people.  Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every meadow, every humming insect.  All are holy in the memory and experience of my people.

We know the sap which courses through the trees as we know the blood that courses through our veins.  We are part of the earth and it is part of us.  The perfumed flowers are our sisters.  The bear, the deer, the great eagle, these are our brothers.  The rocky crests, the dew in the meadow, the body heat of the pony, and man all belong to the same family.

The shining water that moves in the streams and rivers is not just water, but the blood of our ancestors.  If we sell you our land, you must remember that it is sacred.  Each glossy reflection in the clear waters of the lakes tells of events and memories in the life of my people.  The water’s murmur is the voice of my father’s father.

The rivers are our brothers.  They quench our thirst.  They carry our canoes and feed our children.  So you must give the rivers the kindness that you would give any brother.

If we sell you our land, remember that the air is precious to us, that the air shares its spirit with all the life that it supports.  The wind that gave our grandfather his first breath also received his last sigh.  The wind also gives our children the spirit of life.  So if we sell our land, you must keep it apart and sacred, as a place where man can go to taste the wind that is sweetened by the meadow flowers.

Will you teach your children what we have taught our children?  That the earth is our mother?  What befalls the earth befalls all the sons of the earth.

This we know: the earth does not belong to man, man belongs to the earth.  All things are connected like the blood that unites us all.  Man did not weave the web of life, he is merely a strand in it.  Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.

One thing we know: our God is also your God.  The earth is precious to him and to harm the earth is to heap contempt on its creator.

Your destiny is a mystery to us.  What will happen when the buffalo are all slaughtered?  The wild horses tamed?  What will happen when the secret corners of the forest are heavy with the scent of many men and the view of the ripe hills is blotted with talking wires?  Where will the thicket be?  Gone!  Where will the eagle be? Gone!  And what is to say goodbye to the swift pony and then hunt?  The end of living and the beginning of survival.

When the last red man has vanished with this wilderness, and his memory is only the shadow of a cloud moving across the prairie, will these shores and forests still be here?  Will there be any of the spirit of my people left?

We love this earth as a newborn loves its mother’s heartbeat.  So, if we sell you our land, love it as we have loved it.  Care for it, as we have cared for it.  Hold in your mind the memory of the land as it is when you receive it.  Preserve the land for all children, and love it, as God loves us.

As we are part of the land, you too are part of the land.  This earth is precious to us.  It is also precious to you.

One thing we know – there is only one God.  No man, be he Red man or White man, can be apart.  We ARE all brothers after all.”

The English playwright William Shakespeare once famously said, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”  Sadly, his usually timeless words no longer always hold true.  Growers have bred the smell out of roses in their attempts to create the longer-lasting Frankenrose.  To me it is absolutely criminal.  The colors are beautiful but the joy of flowers for me is in their delicate, fragrant scent emanating from their velvet petals.  From the earliest times people from around the world have held the rose close to their heart.  The first known roses to have flourished were around 35 million years ago.  Hips have been found in Europe and petrified rose wreaths have been unearthed from ancient Egyptian tombs.  The Romans surpassed the Greeks when Nero, the infamous unspeakably cruel and hedonistic emperor in the first century A.D., dumped dumped tons of rose petals on his dinner guests.  Cleopartra had her living quarters filled with the petals of roses so that when Marc Antony met her he would long remember her for such opulence.  We find references to roses in Christian literature as well as in ancient Confucian and Buddhist religious documents.  In the Medieval Period the first known paintings of roses are on frescoes.  The earliest example was discovered in Crete around 1600 B.C.  The apothecary rose was first recorded in the 13th century near Provins, France.  It was believed to cure a variety of illnesses and was turned into jellies, powders and oils.  For me at least, I always associate the much maligned Marie-Antionette with the rose.  The era of modern roses was established with the introduction of the first hybrid tea rose, “La France”, by the French breeder Guillot in 1867.  My favorite color is dark blue, and I have planted “Blue Girl” roses in our yard which are actually lilac.  It is my understanding that the blue color is the last of the roses to be hybridized.  The symbolism of rose colors is steeped in tradition.  Red can represent love, beauty, courage, and respect.  White can represent innocence, purity, and reverence.  Pink can mean appreciation and gratitude.  Yellow can mean joy, gladness, and friendship.  (The state flower of Texas is the yellow rose; the “Friendship State.”)  Lavender can mean love at first sight, while orange can represent desire, fascination, or enthusiasm.  I have read stories about the legends of the blue rose — they represent true love and prosperity.  In some cultures blue roses are traditionally associated with “blue”, or royal, blood.  Thus the blue rose can also denote regal majesty and splendor.  Due to the absence of blue roses in nature they have come to symbolize mystery and the longing to attain the impossible.  I am fascinated with cross-breeding as long as it is natural — no dyes (as pictured above), no GMOs; nothing artificial.  My favorite color dark blue still has not been able to be naturally bred.  And the longing for it gives me something to desire.  Without the true roses’ sweet smell however the achievement will have fallen short.  My Grandmother Maris used to wear Rose Milk and I have never forgotten her scent.  I shall remain ever hopeful for my beloved rose to one day reveal herself:  with a smell sweeter than any lily and a color richer than the darkest blue in sky or sea.  Mystery and longing; something well worth the wait.  And how sweet it will be.