Nature – Page 3 – Nourish-n-Cherish

Halcyon Days: Myths and Realities of Cloudy Moods

☁️The Colors of Cloudy Days 🌫️

Sometimes, I see how much of a spoiled brat I am. What I am about to say falls squarely in that category, and I shall say it anyway. The Californian summers seem to drag on. It feels especially so at the end of August. They are warm, bright, sunny, but not too hot.

📚The school’s summer vacations are over. But the summers aren’t.

🩴The summer clothing is supposed to be winding down, but I can never bear to look at anything other than some flowy cotton with any fondness.

🌷The summer flowers are still blooming on every shrub, plant, tree and pathway.

While I mostly enjoy this halcyon time of the year, I also wouldn’t mind a few days of summer rain. Or even some cloudy skies.

That was probably why I had not the heart to come in this particularly overcast morning. The clouds made an excellent background. The flowers that we see on our walks everyday were still there – but they looked more fresh, more vibrant. The angel’s trumpet flowers that we admire everyday looked more angelic than usual. The chamomiles looked more soothing – their purples against the sombre greys. As your eyes zoomed to the skies, the jacaranda tree’s flowers attracted your eyes to their purples too. Really these color combinations look marvelous against the grey.

Shouldn’t cloudy days be called halcyon days? I mused.

Are Halcyon Days Myths?

I came and idled with ‘halcyon days’ floating in and out of my consciousness. What I stumbled upon made it so.

Halcyon itself referred to a species of bird that nested in the oceans during the winter solstice and were supposed to charm the wind and the waves into a calm.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Halcyon_(genus) the halcyon bird owes its naming to a Greek myth involving the wrath of the Greek Gods, Alcyone & Ceyx.

Somehow Alycone and Ceyx managed to anger the mighty Zeus (apparently, they lovingly called each other Zeus & Hera. Really! It must be exhausting to have such fragile egos and live on forever. An endless cycle of being offended, and recouping from it). So, Zeus , in his rage, cursed them separately turning them into birds – there are many versions of the myths of course. Some say Alcyone became a kingfisher with a mournful cry trying to find peace in the seas. The gods (the other ones) took pity on her and granted her a period of calm as she prepared her nest and gave birth to the young. So, these days during the winter solstice were called the Halycon Days. Alycone’s father, the god of the winds, gave her mild breezes, calm oceans and tried to bring her peace.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alcyone_and_Ceyx

What became of Ceyx? He either became a kingfisher too or a sea tern.

By Bernard DUPONT from FRANCE – Woodland Kingfisher (Halcyon senegalensis), CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=45557095

Of course, kingfishers do not live by the sea – so they could be referring to other birds, and over time came to be associated with these beautiful birds.

After a start to the day in which I was feeling less than inspired – the cloudy days, and the halcyon myths managed to transform it. I have always liked the phrase, ‘halcyon days’. But now? I love it.

Exploring Gardening Philosophy: The Joys of Deadheading

“Huh?! Who knew deadheading flowers was a thing?” I said. I was reading a Miss Read book for the n-th time, and came across the phrase as she took charge of her new garden in the fictional village of Beech Green. I had read the book enough times, but somehow, this time, her thoughts on the flowers in the garden drew my attention. Maybe because I was enjoying the flowers in the gardens myself.

“Do you think I should try that? To get some better blooms in our garden?” I said to the husband. He muttered something which I took to mean yes, and started snoring to avoid further plant-based rants or ramblings. If I didn’t know better, I’d have prodded the man, but I know he literally can sleep, and snore, midway through a sentence that he was speaking.

So, I set about deadheading the little yellow roses off my little shrub that refuses to grow beyond a certain point. After that, I walked around with a pair of scissors and shears, properly and improperly deadheading flowers in and around the garden. Some variety of aster or phlox or daisies did not take kindly to this, and remain sticks pointing out. I think they sometimes give me severe looks when I step out. Roses are more forgiving for all their thorns. The chamomiles are conferring amongst themselves and deciding to see how much of a menace I can be with my garden shears.

I muse about Ray Bradbury’s quote on gardening in the book, Dandelion Wine, as I flit about on my own in the evenings. The long days give me ample time before sunset.

Gardening is the best excuse for being a philosopher. Nobody guesses, nobody accuses, nobody knows, but there you are. Plato in the peonies, Socrates force-growing his own hemlock. A man toting a sack of blood manure across his lawn is akin to Atlas letting the world spin easy on his shoulder.

-Ray Bradbury

These are summertime joys. California is full of flowers in the summer. Even as the sun beats down on your head, you can’t help enjoying the blooms. The huge angel’s trumpet flowers, the large hibiscus and magnolias, or the smaller chamomiles, and aster, they all attract your attention. There is one garden that boasts of all colors and varieties of hydrangeas. I love them.

So, I bought a beautiful light pink hydrangea after a friend told me they need shade and grow very well. I spent the last few weeks deadheading the hydrangea, and resuscitating the poor plant after it almost died. I did everything the friendly fellow at the store told me to do. Sigh.

It makes me wonder every time I pass by a good garden. Because while I enjoy a good garden, I had thus far strayed from gardening shears and gardening experiments. Now, I have a new respect for Earth magicians. How do they coax the beautiful bounty from the Earth?

“If we could see the miracle of a single flower clearly, our whole life would change.”

– Buddha (apparently!)

If anyone has bright ideas on easy flowers that grow in pots or in tough soil, please let me know in the comments section. I saw a cheeky post on the internet the other day and drew solace from it. “You are enough!” it said, “That plant should have tried harder!”

Also, does anyone if the philosophers mentioned in the post were also good gardeners? I hope not!

The Joys & Jams of Plum Picking

Feeling Plum?

“Go on! Ask me How I am feeling.”

Eye roll.

“Just ask.”

“Fine! How are you feeling?”

“Plum!”

Then I laughed, and the children exchanged concerned glances at each other. Completely lost on them, of course. So, I set about explaining Plum minutiae to a mildly uninterested audience.

I have been thinking of P G Wodehouse during plummy times. (P G Wodehouse was called Plum by his close friends and family)

I have been thinking of little passages from Miss Read’s books as she wrote about making jams and chutneys for bazaars from the excessive plums and marrows during summertime.

How lucky country children are in these natural delights that lie ready to their hand! Every season and every plant offers changing joys. As they meander along the lane that leads to our school all kinds of natural toys present themselves for their diversion.

– Miss Read

I told the children about eating so many berries as children in the countryside in the Nilgiris, it made us slightly sick. But, I also told them about how it was the most fulfilling thing in the world, and they rolled their eyes again.

An Excess of Plums

You see? We are having an excess of plums.

Some days I would gaze up at the branches – grateful for the bounty. Other days, I would step into a mushy one that plopped into my path and spattered and mutter to myself. Plum season is upon us, and nobody is spared. Neighbors, gardeners, cleaners, household helpers, friends, family. Everybody is gifted with plums.

I stood one evening determined to make the best of the plum bounty, and set about making batches of plum pickle, plum jam, plum chutney, and plum juice. I also might’ve eaten a few plums. It was beautiful. The evening light was streaming in through the kitchen bay windows bathing all the world in a luminous glow. The plums were freely squirting their juices into the stovetops, the floors, the kitchen counters, my clothes, and the children stood around helplessly in the melee.

“Amma – you’re going cuckoo! Can’t you just leave the plums?!”

I gasped for dramatic measure and said that prudent folks saved the excess.

“Another 10 have fallen from the tree since you came in ½ an hour ago. Let it go!” said the daughter. Seeing that lunatic obstinate look on my face, she decided that the best thing to do was to leave me alone and took mocking videos of me instead.

I sorely regretted this plummy splash of enthusiasm a few hours later. I had sticky juice everywhere, a jar of jam, a jar of pickle and two bottles of sour juice. But I also had the back-breaking task of cleaning up the kitchen. The mops ran red, the washcloths turned pink, the tissues soaked and cleaned like they had never done before, and yet the kitchen was nowhere close to done.

I tell you.

Black & Blue & Plum

The next day, I plucked and picked more plums and gave them to my friends. “Err…it’s okay! I have some!” they said.

“Oh! Sure – that’s nice. Don’t worry – I’ll walk over and give them to you.” I said smartly, putting the phone down before they could say no, and walked over.

“Would you like some blackberries?” said one of them, and I beamed at her.

“Oooh! That’d be a nice change of pace from plums!” I said, and set about picking the blackberries and popping them in the mouth. The friend peeked into the bag and said, “Plums might make a change from blackberries!”

We looked at each other – lips stained with blackberry and plum juice and started laughing so hard, it was hard to stop.

I’d call that a fruitful week-end, wouldn’t you?

Marine Magic

We had that hopeful gleam the moment one of us thought of it. Monterey Bay Aquarium. The one place we can all agree upon for a day trip in Summer. It has seaside charm, magical beings in a world so different from ours, and yet still ours, and somehow, manages to wrap you around its world every time.

There are a few new exhibits every time: new inhabitants, new shows, new facts to learn, and the ethereal magic that stretches through time, space and water.

The poetry is in the little moments.

When one gazes fondly as moon jellies bonk each other while drifting up and down,

Or in watching the beautiful fractals in a porcupine jelly.

The way the otters flips themselves in the water as they preen and play,

Or the way the flat ray cruises and slices through the waters.

The assured and sturdy movements of the giant turtles,

Even as hammerhead sharks and leopard sharks dart about.

The way the corals grow – miniscule and exquisite like little pieces of jewellery on the ocean’s floors,

Or the way the kelp forests sway like cathedrals catching and swirling the light from above.

This is life.

This is magic.

Every time, there is the feeling of immense fullness of the soul, and of the visual. The summer is brimming with young explorers of the deep all wanting to touch and feel and gasp and squeal at the enchanted occupants of the oceans.

As always, we walked around trying to take in all the sensory inputs around – the quotations of the tides and the seas on the walls, the dynamics of the schools of fish, the eerie feeling of an unblinking fish eye.

One wall fascinated us all equally. The one that shows all the different careers one could have while studying and mapping the vast oceans of our beautiful Earth. The oceans may be the last frontiers left to explore, and the allure of the oceans is a yearning of the soul.

Lessons from Nature: Embracing Our Unique Struggles

Burdened Biologies

I took the son to the pediatrician for a wellness check: Something that was simply not there in our childhood. You only went to the doctor if you had a problem, not to be assured that you didn’t, or find that you may have one. I quite like the strides in preventive medical care.

The pediatrician asked the son his age, and prepped for his talk on teenage anxieties and stresses. He told him about how sometimes / oftentimes, one feels that whatever they do, it is never enough. They are never good enough. Society is always expecting more from you. This is not good enough, that person is better, their clothes are better, their smile is better and on and on.

I listened with rapt attention. Did this man have superpowers? The ability to time-travel, or apparate across cultures, places, geographies? Did he overhear what was being said in social circles? Or was this another thing that simply unifies the human experience the world over? Our burdened biologies.

Something about the way the doctor said it made me pause and listen. Was he aware that he wasn’t just talking to the teenager in the room, but to the parent as well?

“Before you say anything – it isn’t anything specific to your son, it is something we like to educate all our teenagers about. These are things that add to toxic stress, and that can create other problems as well you know.” he said, kindly.

Hearing the pediatrician talk about these things with the teenage son made me feel – well, I don’t know how exactly it made me feel, for it was one of those moments when I felt the opposites war in the old fishbowl. For one, I was happy that they were making children aware of this. But on the other hand, I was also disappointed that this was something that was ever acknowledged as a problem in our childhood. No doctors, teachers gave voice to this feeling all these years, decades even.

Atelophobia and Allodoxaphobia

There is a word for this:

Atelophobia. The fear of never being good enough.

Many of us went through our childhood (and adulthood in many cases) completely oblivious to this.

There is a strange comfort in knowing that one is never alone in one’s struggles, isn’t there?

Those of us who grew up in India, were also given liberal doses of Allodoxaphobia.

Allodoxaphobia: fear of what other people think of you.

Nature Shows the Way

That evening, the son and I sat under one of our favorite trees – wizened, misshapen, and marvelous. We admired the tree: It’s every bulge was a statement, every misplaced twig a surge of hope, every lump in its trunk a bold curve, every branch a home for birds, every leaf a fine producer of food, every ray of sun that passes through it a filter to enhance its beauty.

Nature shows us with every tree and every flower that we are enough. As we are. No two trees are shaped the same way, but nobody questions their enormous usefulness to life. Every plant’s purpose is different, and somehow, together, they created the conditions for life to thrive on Earth.

Yet – in spite of all these simple lessons from nature, humanity cannot stop burdening our biologies with unnecessary stress. What can we say?

20 Years of Blogging: Cherishing Ordinary Lives and Moments

Two Decades of Writing

Some gifts are marvelous in how they keep giving. Writing is one such gift: a gift that enables us to find light and joy in our lives. Just like that, this month marks two decades of my blogging journey. 20 years or 1040 weeks in which I wrote 1-2 posts a week, every week. (#syzygy)

Nilgiris: Nature’s Abundance on an Early Drive

“We need to leave by 4:30 a.m. if we are to beat the traffic!” the brother said.

There were enthusiastic nods. I kept the alarm for 3:30 a.m, confident in our abilities to get going that early in the morning. After all, there is nothing as pleasant as a drive up to the Nilgiris from Bangalore.

The route passes through two beautiful national forest reserve areas – Bandipur and Mudhumalai. The hills are usually green and welcoming at this time of year. Early summer in the Nilgiris is a joy – there are flowers blooming everywhere, the rivers and streams are flowing with healthy levels of water, and all of life seems like it should be: Full of beauty and abundance.

I had quite forgotten the true splendor of a gulmohar tree in full bloom, but oh! What a joy to see these resplendent looking trees!

You can spend all day gazing up at the branches – all the different ways in which the light dances and trickles through the very orange blossoms, all the different shapes the branches have spread themselves – no two trees the same, yet distinctive enough that they cannot be misunderstood for another tree.

The brother who is always in his element when he is driving anywhere other than city roads, shook his head as he saw me bouncing in my seat. He pulled over by a side road, and if you were to ask me the previous evening to imagine this road, I would not have been able to do it justice. I grew up in the Nilgiris, and have visited many times in the past two decades, but every time the hills surprise me (mostly good ways, but the increasing population and traffic snarls contribute to the bad ways)

I tumbled out of the car, my heart bursting with song. Luckily it was just my heart that was singing, for who wants to frighten a bunch of elephants taking a calm dip in the Moyar River?

The peacocks cooing in the distance provided a musical backdrop.

As we headed back to the winding road of 36 hairpin bends, all of the forest seemed to have risen. There were peacocks, sambar deer and spotted deer, iguana-like creatures, monkeys, langurs, and elephants. I cannot think of another experience where the soul feels as nourished or sated.

By the time we had passed through the forests, we had been filled with the beautiful imagery of flora and fauna of the Nilgiri Hills. It is always so humbling to call this marvelous place home along with the thousands of creatures who live more unobtrusively in these parts.

The cheeky road signs only added to the allure of the morning forest scenes.

“Watch for deer crossing the road, remember the road is crossing their home!”

“Attention: Crocodiles in the River – do not swim. Survivors will be prosecuted.”

Spring Adventures: Watching Nature Unfold

We had plans for a lovely bike ride by the bays and knolls near our home, a hike in the verdant hillsides, or even a walk by the stream/river by our home where all our fellow creatures are preparing for the year ahead. Soon, the ducklings and goslings will hatch. Everywhere you see, there are signs of nest building and it is endlessly fascinating to sit and watch the frenetic spring cleaning happening, even if it isn’t happening in our own home. I empathized with Mole in the Wind in the Willows : Who wants to wallow inside the home, dusting old furniture and mopping dusty floors when the world outside is so full of beauty and promise?

The son and I had our spring hopes dashed for us with a bout of flu. That feeling of enormous promise that accompanies spring was dampened somewhat by the high fevers, and we moped about the house.

Watching Spring

When the fever subsided, we pulled ourselves to sit outside and watch spring at least. The crows and wrens stopped flying and did a double take mid-air seeing our watch-fest. If AI interpreted their language, I am sure we’d have some semblance of this:

“These two restless souls – what are they doing sitting and watching?”

“I know – been seeing them for the past few minutes. Nothing? Are they really doing Nothing?”

“Strange!”

But this Nothing gave rise to something marvelous. We noticed the fresh green leaves sprouting in the ginkgo and maple trees. Some of the cherry trees had blossomed out of their flowery cloaks into their leafy ones, while others were still in their efflorescent robes of pink and white.

“See this leaf? “ said the son. “It is shaped so that it can fly very fast and the seeds within can spread when it falls!”

I peered into the leaves he was showing me, and it was true. I remember learning to make a paper airplane in a pattern like that once, and watched mesmerized as it floated down and away every time we launched it. What a brilliant inspiration?

Right enough, we searched for the tree in question, and it is called the Hot Wings Tartarium Tree. The Hot Wings maple tree is a low maintenance beauty whose seeds are called Samaras.

Nature is astounding – every leaf, seed, flower, tree, shrub, plant, trunk, twig is a marvel in itself and sometimes sitting and watching is the best reward.

We came back inside flush with the knowledge of having seen a new wonder, and felt better.

Poems & Trees:

I think I shall never see

A poem as lovely as a tree

– Joyce Kilmer

The poem finishes on these wise lines:

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

Only Nature can do accomplish this fest without fanfare.

The Joys of Walking: National Walking Day Reflections

Happy National Walking Day

I was pleasantly surprised to know that today (the first Wednesday of April) is National Walking Day sponsored by the American Heart Association.

Regular readers, friends and family know the walking fetish I have.

There are a number of things I am teased for in the household, but nature walking has to take the cake. “You do realize that you can achieve a lot more if you just walked less and talked less too, right?” is a common refrain.

I have to agree, but I seem to think that without walking, there is just time at home in which a myriad different things show up as tasks to be done. I mean review this:

The kitchen needs scrubbing, the snacks need eating, the clothes need folding, the food needs cooking, the cook-grill needs cleaning, and the dust needs dusting.

Out in Nature Though

Whereas out on a walk, the geese don’t need prodding to squawk, the mallard ducks don’t need encouragement to fly and land with a splash in the waters, the suns rays don’t need reminding to spatter and scatter a myriad different colors into the perfectly placed clouds in the horizon as it sets, the lavender and eucalyptus don’t need reminding to waft their aromas into the atmosphere. It is all there for the taking.

It is the sacred act of you and yourself out walking. Just the mind taking some time to rejuvenate with fresh air, slowly dissipating the tensions of the day into the evening air, letting nature do its work, and the body healing and strengthening itself.

Once my newsfeed told me about today being National Walking Day, the old soul yearned for the outdoors. So, after the day’s meetings were done, I swished outside. Everything was as perfect as ever. The perfectly positioned clouds, the sun’s rays just right – not too feeble nor too sharp, the flowers of spring all gloriously waving their blooms to the mild breeze, and the rain-washed Earth looking clean, welcoming and habitable.

I was walking by the waterside, and the calm strength of the waters nourished me. Ducks, geese and a pelican or two gracefully glided on the waters. I have often wondered about the sentience of our fellow beings. Do they stop to admire a sunset like some of us do? They are definitely more attuned to nature around us than we are. An unkindness of ravens (or was it a murder of crows?) were loudly cawing overhead.

Shinrin Yoku or Forest Bathing

The Japanese have a practice built around spending time outdoors – specifically longer periods amidst trees and forests – it is called Shinrin Roku – or Forest Bathing. What a marvelous concept?

“Look deep into nature and you will understand everything better!” – Albert Einstein

Happy Walking Day to all of you. Please step outside and enjoy the beautiful Earth even if only for a few minutes today.

Musical March

March is one of the most beautiful months in the Bay Area. Poets have tried over the years to capture some of the rapture of the month. But even poets such as Emily Dickinson (Dear March—Come in), Or William Wordsworth ( Written in March) seem to do the month justice.

Maybe they lived in colder climes, and the month did not yet burst forth in glory the way it does in California. You see? This is the month of rainbows, clouds and sunsets, golden california poppies, fields of yellow flowers, green grass knolls, sunshine and rain, oranges, cherry blossoms…I could literally go on and on.

The time change happens in the first week of March, and suddenly, cold and bleak evenings seem to shed their winter cloaks and don resplendent spring robes billowing in the wildflower scented breeze. The squirrels are chippier, the birds chirpier, and the breezes gentler.

A run along the river/stream by our home is a joy to endure. There are many places in the trail where the heart bursts with joy. All around you are gentle green hills adorned with wildflowers, the rivers are flowing, the birds are nest-building, and all of nature seems to be in one harmonious, vibrant orchestra.

It is so fitting that the month hosts lesser known festivals for the two things that appeal to the nourish-n-cherish household: whimsical & geeky. St. Patrick’s Day in the Jungle & Pi Day

St. Patrick’s Day in the Jungle

The son & I listened to Irish music on the way to school this morning. The music had us humming along even though we were sleepy. I came home and opened one of the favorite books of mine, St. Patrick’s Day in the Jungle. My friend, Krishna Srinivasan , worked on the musical track for the book St. Patrick’s Day in the Jungle. It has the same vibrant quality to it.

This is the sort of music that makes you peer out to see if a rainbow is there, and if the birds and animals are playing hide-n-seek too. Not to mention the sweet voice of the daughter, who has lost the childish intones in that beautiful book now. So, please do give a listen to the books, and enjoy the music, narration, and pictures for this story – even if you are having a stern day full of important things to do.

Also, any recommendations for Irish music, March poetry, and the general splendidness of Spring is welcome.

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Burdened Biologies

Atelophobia and Allodoxaphobia

Nature Shows the Way

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