View from a Prairie Home

By Hege Herfindahl, Columnis

It is summer! Finally! I must admit I hoped spring would stay longer. Spring. With its awakenings. Nature emerging. First, my crocuses sprung forth. Timid at first, but then blooming with courage in the face of the raging, cold spring winds. Then, my bulb gardens exploded. And because spring this year was so cold, my tulips that will wither in hot weather, lasted for weeks. And the trees! The buds came out, my mother used to call them tiny mouse ears. And in a few days it seemed, they were fully out, even the ash tree leaves which fall first and leaf out last. My mother-in-law used to say that for that reason, ash trees were perfect for the south side of the house. Therefore, our south lawn has many huge ash trees; now somewhat dangerous due to their age and their many dead branches. But we will deal with this when Justin, our friendly tree-remover who is now busy cleaning up after the storm three weeks ago, is free. 

Both the grass and the trees are now a bright green, the green of spring. The green of new growth. A green so bright, it awakens the dormant, jubilant spirit within me. Even though mowing is not my thing, I embrace the job, knowing I like short grass in the front of the house, and feeling I am doing my part for the no-mow May movement by keeping the grass of the grove long, now starting to be full of wildflowers, nectar for both insects and birds.

And speaking of birds. They are now back from their winter homes, full of vigor and busy starting families in the many trees in our grove. I didn’t feed them for a while, not wanting to spread the bird flu, but I yielded to temptation the other day, missing the sight of them on my many birdfeeders. Apparently, I am not the only one. A very strange phenomenon has occurred in the many local grocery stores. The lack of grape jelly. The favorite food of orioles. I now have finally learned that not all orioles are bright orange, but that some varieties that I observe are more black. I have a bird book lovingly given to me by my daughter-in-law, Carrie. But I don’t always check it; feeling content just to enjoy watching the birds while my mind drifts and I feel relaxed and happy. 

Birdwatching. While I was busy working and raising kids, I never knew how relaxing contemplative birdwatching was. But now, in my glorious retirement, I watch birds from both the east and the west side of my house every day. Just like most people I enjoy colorful birds the most. And I have made an amazing discovery about goldfinches! A discovery I am sure most people already know, but in such a relaxed and laid-back state of mind, it never occurred to me before it hit me in the face a few springs ago. The Herfindahl goldfinches like both black sunflower seeds and thistle seeds, but they prefer the latter.  And so I noticed that some of them eating thistle seeds were changing color. And then, one day it seemed, they were bright yellow. So, my goldfinch friends, which I thought were canaries when I first came to this country, had been with me all winter. They were not only summer friends, but showed the quality of really true friends. Keeping me relaxed and happy even in the depth of winter.

And this was supposed to be the gist of my story. The cheerfulness and optimism of birds. How they sing in the midst of the most dire winter day. How they don’t seem to worry about tomorrow, but root happily for worms as the sky grows dark, the thunder rumbles in the distance and the winds begin to howl. How the geese in early spring will find a little open water in a slough or pond and then swim there together to keep the water from freezing. How the robins work so hard to build a nest only to have it torn apart by a storm. And then, the very next day, they are busy building a new nest. How birds work, but still have time to sit on a branch and sing. 

Amidst worry about the next storm and what that will do. About cancer and death. About creeping frailty of both body and mind. Amidst missing and worrying about family far away. The grief over the recent death in Norway of my dear aunt Else. Amidst it all, there is joy.