Within Reason 2: A Conservative Opinion

Tulips

Tulips (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

New England, and anywhere, where the seasons change, is a place which offers a microcosm of life in general. The lessons learned in this climate, are quite valuable to those who recognize them.

Again, my conservative leaning is influenced by Nature. My own opinion of  liberalism is that it is weighed down by a too generous amount of emotion and ,in their extremes, both liberals and conservatives are inhibited by their own opinions that they somehow know exactly what is correct. Knowing everything definitely puts a hitch in the listening and learning and the solving process, no matter who you are.

When we consider a surgeon for a delicate corrective surgery. We do hope that he/she cares about the patient but I would have a great deal more faith in one who was cautious and analytical than one who was moved to tears at the sight of blood or the anticipation of pain. Some people might translate the surgeon’s calm as evidence that he/she didn’t care but calmness and forethought are necessary for success and the assumption that the finely tuned surgeon doesn’t care has no merit. Also, as much as anyone wants the operation to be over and the healing to begin, no individual wants the surgeon rushing through the procedure.

In New England, we learn how quickly change happens. The New England gardener/ farmer has to plan ahead because they’ve suffered every time they have gotten caught up in one season to the point of not preparing for the next.

Do overs just don’t work as well as preplanned, especially in Nature.

I noticed some lovely outdoor tulip pots at a local supermarket, a few days ago. They contained forced tulips for the gardeners who hoped to have a lovely spring garden but did not plant bulbs the previous Fall. I remember the Fall assortment that was passed by while folks were planning for Halloween. Those who did buy the bulbs are now casually passing by those forced tulips with a confidence that their garden has the better chance of success. The people buying up the potted tulips want a tulip garden, just as much, as the bulb planters but the forced tulips are counting on events beyond anyone’s control for their success. The weather must warm, the plants must adapt and the ground must soften. Timing is critical to the success of this year’s tulip garden for the unprepared. I want everyone to have gardening success and I’ll bet the gardeners with the potted tulips will be unhappy if things don’t work out. Personal responsibility is owned by those bulb planters and cry, as the late gardeners may, many won’t understand that they had had other choices.

Wanting success is everyone’s goal but setting ourselves up for success takes a calm, analytical approach and the firm belief that just wanting something does not outweigh the power of figuring out how best to get it.

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Sweet Ending

I breathe deeply.

It’s been weeks since I’ve inhaled,

and felt alive.

The waning growing season

is less about endings, to me.

Stagnation and swelter

Have lifted.

It is far better to be busy.

Survival is an active process.

The depth of silent winter,

White and cozy,

Hasn’t any power to suppress

my spirit.

As the woolen, suffocating blanket of summer lifts,

I remember to be happy.

Not the same old feelings…

Hosta

Hosta (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Funny how our minds work. Just a photo of a hosta plant in another blog got me thinking. Yikes!

Here goes:

When I was a kid, we were very fortunate to have a family cottage on a lake. Along the side of the cottage was a patch of hosta plants. They grew every year even when mowed down to make a better path. I thought that they were homely, good for nothing, weeds. I’d trip over them while playing twilight games of hide-n-seek. But…there they grew with a tenacity that I could not appreciate in childhood.

I now have my own piece of outdoor heaven in a wooded area. There were barren, shady spots where nothing would grow. I discovered hostas in a new light. Their name even “put me off”. I had already decided, years ago, that I did not like hostas. At the local greenhouse, there was a larger variety of them than I had ever realized.

The happy ending is a lovely, much appreciated shady garden. Hosta does not mean the same to me now, although I can “drum up” a shudder, still, when reminiscing.

If I were to return to life as a plant, I think I would like to be a hosta. Rather plain…shade loving… and tenacious.

NATURE KNOWLEDGE: Quick ID~ Moth or Butterfly

There a few tips that you can keep in mind in order to quickly distinguish a moth from a butterfly. Although they belong to the same larger group of insects, there are some rules (with, of course, some exceptions) to follow. Directly below there is a Luna moth. Notice the “feathery” antennae. Moth feelers lack a club-like tip too.

Butterflies have more narrow Q-tip-shaped antennae . See the Great Spangled Fritillary  butterfly below for example.

Another tip : If you see the insect in the bright sun of daytime, it is most likely a butterfly. Moths prefer the shadows and night.

Moths are usually drab in color while butterflies have bright colors. There are exceptions though.

Butterflies most often have a slender body with moths generally looking stout and furry.

When moths are at rest, they usually lay their wings flat along the surface of their post. Butterflies usually keep their wings upright and perpendicular to their spot. (see photos)

Butterflies have free hanging translucent “containers” spun from their caterpillars called chrysalises. Moth caterpillars spin cocoons of soft silk for their metamorphism.

These fascinating creatures share their ability to turn from a worm-like caterpillar into a graceful flying wonder. Hope this post adds to your pleasure when viewing Nature.

A butterfly chrysalis
photo credit: Wikipedia

a moth cocoon
photo credit: Wikipedia

Random Word Story #6-A Different Drum

Random words generated at Creative Games.net

My rules:

Keep the words given. (no substitutions)

Create a story in one sitting.

applause…wheelbarrow…stain…number…pants

Here’s my story:

Jenna was absolutely sure she would be a famous actress one day. She was the youngest of seven children born to a family of dust mites. They all thought work was the only thing that mattered and she was the only one who knew different.

A number of times, as they toiled in the family garden, she took on a role. This time, while sitting on top of the wheelbarrow, she became Cleopatra being carried along by slaves. She was fanned with huge ostrich feathers as thousands knelt along her path. She imagined her body covered in indigo silk and golden baubles lined her arms to her elbow. Her arms felt heavy as she waved to the applause of her subjects. The pearls of sweat rolling down her cheeks were merely jewels that  dangled from her crown.

“Jenna, get off of there and help your brother.”

How she disliked it when her father’s voice popped the bubble of her illusion. Now, nothing but mud surrounded her. Her emerald embossed slippers were  just rubber boots and her silken gown became a hand-me-down pair of jeans. As she trudged to the tool shed, she found herself  in the jungle. Quicksand grabbed at her as the humidity soaked her to the skin. A shadow over head was a buzzard circling, waiting for death to claim her. She could hear the drum beats. The natives were restless and she needed to cross the river of hippos in order to put them safely behind her!  She dove…her life depended upon it.

“What do you think you’re doing young lady?”

Mom stood above her with her hands on her hips.

Jenna’s face was scraped from forehead to chin. She picked herself up and continued to the shed without saying a word. When she reached it she found that her pants were ripped. There was a huge grass stain on each knee…wait a minute, it was blood! Her leg had been bitten off by a crocodile! As she limped inside the tool shed, she could hear the drum beats getting closer…