Blossoms in the Cold

It has gotten cold lately. Shivery, goose-bumpy cold requiring, if not heating yet, at least blankets and warm jackets. But the more intrepid among us continue with business as usual. Bow, for one, is still going outside and staying out for long periods without complaint.

My new tenants moved into Orchard House last night. Their presence there will relieve me of the burden of having to heat the other house during the cold winter months. But I was surprised to see a pink rose still blooming on the front yard at Orchard House the day before, despite the bitter cold.

Of course, inside the blossom there was also an insect taking advantage. Where there are flowers, there  also are bugs.

In my pasture yesterday, I spotted a ladybug inside a thistle bloom. But the ladybug was green, as if with envy. Or maybe it was green from the cold, instead of being blue.

There was also a very busy bumblebee, seemingly covered with pollen, plying its trade despite the changing weather.

After all, if there are still flowers, why shouldn't the insects keep up with their usual business?

But surely all the flowers will fade soon, like these older thistle blooms that have gone to seed, and then what will the insects do?

Except that it's not really all that simple. Today, walking in the cold, cutting wind, wearing a jacket, I spotted brand new blossoms on a bare service berry tree.

Why would the tree choose to blossom at just such a time as this?

Isn't it a terrible waste of resources? Surely, there is not time enough before the first big freeze to grow any berries! I figured this must be an isolated fluke, until I saw the blossoms on the bare limbs of the first cherry tree in my orchard.

Just like the service berry, the first cherry tree has decided to bloom.

The branches are bare, the sky is grey, there is no sunlight or warmth, but still there are blossoms. And the first cherry tree is not alone in its error. The second cherry tree has sprouted a single open pink-centered blossom.

What is the world coming to?

Will we be picking cherries in November?

Even the lawn is sprouting new flowers that were not there a few days ago. And the honeysuckle seems ready with new buds just as the mature flowers are fading.

Everywhere I look, there are new flowers blooming, despite all the dying leaves.

With so much confusion about whether it is autumn or spring, it is not wonder that all the insects are still so active.

As I was taking my walk this afternoon, this spider was walking down the path, right ahead of me.

Sometimes nature gives us such mixed signals, assuring us of the hope of spring, when winter is right around the corner. Do not be deceived!

Stages in the Life Cycle: How old is that turtle?

Sometimes just recognizing a stage in the life cycle of an individual is hard. When I was a young woman, many mistook me for a child. Bow is at that awkward adolescent stage, but if you didn't know him, you might suppose him to be much younger or much older, depending on how he is behaving.

At times he looks like a sage. Then later he gives you an impish look that reveals he is much younger.

How old would you  estimate this turtle is, that I met yesterday on my walk?

Would you have guessed over fifty years old? That's what my friend Pam says, and she is an expert. How does she know? Late Stage 3 shell growth. So this male three-toed box turtle is at least fifty years old, and could be a bit older.

Considering his age, the turtle is in good health, has a fairly undamaged shell and can move pretty fast -- for a turtle, that is.

I don't always appreciate how far along in the lifespan each individual I meet is, and how far it is from the end. Take my miniature rose bush. I planted it here about eight years ago. Last year it was thriving, blooming right along with the wild primroses. This year, when the wild roses bloomed, the miniature rose bush looked dead. There were no leaves, much less flowers. Now that the primroses have finished blooming, a small living survivor or descendant of the miniature rose is blooming. It sports a single open  rose and a single bud.

What exactly happened here? Are the wild roses choking out the cultivated one? Or was that bush so old that it died? Is the newcomer bursting forth a descendant? Or is the remaining ghostly presence of the now nearly dead old bush?

Is this the hope of the future that I see, or the last glorious bloom of a dying rose?

After looking at the rose this morning, I went to see if yesterday's turtle was still in the driveway in back of the house. He wasn't, but he had been replaced by a rabbit.

How old was that rabbit? How long does it yet have to live?

I like to listen the birds chirping as I admire the wildflowers in the unmown pasture. But how old are the voices that I hear? How many young? How many elders? I can hear, but cannot see them.

The old oak in my front yard is dying. It is infested with bugs, and it has been pecked at repeatedly by woodpeckers. It still has green leaves, but the tips of its limbs are bare. There is no more growth, though it seems to be holding its own in maintaining its current size. In contrast, what used to be the smaller oak to the left of it is still growing.

Do we start to die on the inside the moment we stop growing? Or is the sign of maturity the end of outward growth and the deepening of the roots?  What makes an individual an adult? What keeps us healthy, even when we have stopped getting taller? How can we avoid dying on the inside, little by little, while we are yet green on the outside?

Those are my questions for today. If you want to see a "pirate" grow old gracefully, you might consider my new book, Theodosia and the Pirates: The War Against Spain. 

Cover Illustration by Colleen Dick
http://www.amazon.com/Theodosia-Pirates-War-Against-Spain/dp/1618790099/