3 Exceedingly Delightful Things

At 6:20 AM, my husband calls me to the window to see something exceedingly delightful (and seldom seen) by humans.

Two Pileated Woodpeckers perform a mating dance in my front yard. I'm not kidding. The male bows to the female, begins to hop a circle around her, and then flaps his wings around the trunk of a tree to show off his powerful wings.

Who knew they do that?

Then, my children discover enormous Queen Anne's Lace in a field to put in colored water (we do it every summer) for bouquets of orange, green, and purple flowers.

Who knew Queen Anne's Lace grew so big?

Then, I notice that the sunflower my daughter grew from seed in a big pot has changed positions. It's following the sun and the sunflower hasn't even bloomed. The whole plant knows to chase the sun, not just the flower.

Who knew?

We have many things to think about today. Exceedingly delightful things!

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Did you observe something exceedingly delightful today?

Create a Little Joy: Grow Peas

We check the garden every day now. We're already harvesting cucumbers, but the tomatoes, beets, and peppers aren't anywhere near ready. 

The sunflower hasn't bloomed; the blackberries aren't black; the raspberries have no blossoms yet.

But the peas are close. Very close.

I'll gather them in a bowl and begin the shucking of peas. The simple work of it makes me happy in ways I never knew I could be.

I'm adding this to my list of things to do to create a little joy:

Grow peas.

Watch their little tendrils vine and stretch.

Watch the white blossoms elongate into pods.

Watch them soften and nearly pop with peas.

Eat them with delight.

A vegetable garden roots me to a sacred experience--a cycle of seed, growth, and harvest--that I love observing.  

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Are you harvesting your own garden this month? 

Keep Your Eye on This

I'm walking in the woods for the last time with my dear neighbor who will move away on Monday. It's evening, and the sun sets as we walk.

She's the one who showed me the Lady Slipper Orchids, the one who taught me how to go owling, and the one who walked me to the secret vernal pond.

She walks in front of me and offers final instructions:

"Keep your eye on this," she says. "It's a thistle. In a few weeks, this will be the most beautiful bloom. It looks terrifying now, but just wait."

"I will," I promise her. 

Keep your eye on that.  Just wait.

I love the kind of friends who show you where to look, who remind you to hope in days to come (even when it looks terrifying now), and who know the importance of walking in the woods to stay enchanted by creation.

I walk behind her, and I notice a tree. Something had a home inside of this hole. I don't have to know what it is. I just have to know it's there. I love the mystery of it. 

I'll keep my eye on it and see what I can learn.  

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What do you keep your eye on when you walk in the woods?