Pay Attention: Be Astonished

The first sunrise of 2023 - 7:34 AM, January 1, 2023

Instructions for living a life: 

Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it.

Poet Mary Oliver

 

Mary Oliver likely didn't have a lot in common with me. During her life, she won a Pulitzer Prize for poetry. I sometimes write in verse for my granddaughters, but I'm well aware I won't be collecting prestigious awards for those rhyming verses - or for anything else I write, for that matter. No National Book Award for me either.

Even though she died at the age of 83 in 2019, her poems and observations about life keep getting shared in memes and other social media posts. She grew up in a suburb of Cleveland, Ohio, not on the plains of Kansas. 

But as we begin the new year, I am still drawn to her observations about life and how to live it. The city girl loved nature like this country girl. Her "Instructions for living a life" came up on Facebook as we turned the calendar page from 2022 to 2023.

For several years, I've taken photos of the last sunset of a year and then the first sunrise of the new year.  Sometimes, the skies are spectacular. Sometimes, they are not. This year was a little bit of both. 

December 31st's sunrise had pretty colors, but not a lot of drama. Because of the sun's position in the winter sky, I decided to use the Zenith branch of the Kanza Co-op for my farewell to 2022 sunset shot. It's as much a part of my "commuting" life as the Brooklyn Bridge is to New Yorkers.

At first, my "chauffeur" drove down the co-op's driveway, trying to get me in a position that the sun was setting between our version of city skyscrapers. That didn't work, so I settled for it landing underneath an auger.

Then we went back to the Zenith Road for a wider angle.

I've taken more dynamic and dramatic photos of the Zenith elevator through the years. But there's a simple beauty in the quiet colors of the setting sun, too. As the sun set on 2022, the co-op seemed a fitting place to say goodbye to a year when we retired from active farming. 

On the way home, we stopped for a snapshot of one of the many deer we have to avoid at dusk and dawn on our Zenith Road journeys.

The next morning, we drove down to my sunrise tree, just a half mile south of our house. With a little more cloud cover, 2023 dawned with a little more drama than the exit of 2022.

With the road illumined by our headlights as we first arrived.

I don't think I'd ever tried a panorama of the view from my sunrise tree. I'm sure it won't be the last time.

In other writings, Mary Oliver said that “Attention is the beginning of devotion.” In her essay "Teach The Children," she reminded us that contemplation of nature’s small wonders and life's simplest things have the power to change us in the deepest ways. In paying attention to our surroundings, we can invite joy to our lives and avoid letting our negative thoughts spiral. She reminds us we have a choice: We can let the world delight us, rather than let it beat us down.

It's a good reminder for me as a new year begins. It may not seem likely to combine quotes from a Pulitzer Prize winning poet with a zany actor. But I also liked a quote from comedian Jim Carrey that ended up in the email in box earlier this week.

I feel that we're all lighthouses, and my job is to shine my light as brightly as I can in the darkness.

Jim Carrey

 

Do you ever feel like God is trying to get your attention? My email devotional from The Upper Room continued the theme:

  

A Time to Think

I believe God embedded the miraculous in the ordinary, and it is our task to discover it and celebrate it.

Kent Nerburn

That's a good goal for 2023, don't you think?

***

On New Year's Eve, we also discovered this message on our dirt road from an unknown correspondent. I posted it to Facebook. So far, no one has claimed authorship, though everyone I've asked wished it had been their idea.

 

 

May it be true for you, too!

 

 

The Song That Nature Sings

On Palm Sunday, a foreign exchange student who's attending school at Stafford High School sang a song at a community worship service. Even though I accompanied soloists at the middle school for many years, it wasn't a song I'd heard before. But I loved it and have listened to several versions on YouTube since that night. Here is "The Song That Nature Sings," with photos I've taken this spring around The County Line.

"The Song That Nature Sings"

Words and music by Ruth Elaine Schram

Copyright 1997 BriLee Music Publishing Co.

In everything there is beauty

A hint of love

A form of grace

Though it may be hard to see

Even harder to believe

Everything in nature has its place.

And in everything, there is wonder

A mystery to be undone

New discoveries to find

Simple pleasures redesigned

All things old and new beneath the sun.

 

Have you ever chased the wind

Can you tell where it will go or where it's been?

 

If you could see the earth through its eyes

Do you think that it would come as a surprise

That in everything there is music

A melody, a bit of song

Though it may not meet your ear

If you tune your heart to hear

You will recognize and sing along

The song that nature sings.

The song that nature sings.

Here's one version of the song. There are others on YouTube.

Backdoor Guests

"Backdoor guests are best."

I've seen the country-style wooden plaques in gift shops that say that. However, I grew up in a rural Kansas farm home. My mom wanted guests to come to the front door. And I'd have to say I agree with her.

At the front door, guests aren't forced to weave their way through the cheat-filled socks and dusty shoes we've shed at the backdoor. They don't see the recycling bins filled with empty cans or the pile of newspapers. They aren't walking past the broom and dustpan that are stashed beside the extra freezer.

If they come to the front door, they can be welcomed into the living room, where there's at least a better chance that things will be picked up and in some semblance of order.

We've had a couple of backdoor guests the past few weeks. As I wrote earlier, Randy and I both tried knocking down a barn swallow nest from our small back porch. 

 

May 2017 - You can see some of the nest-building materials on the bird's beak!

In the end, I guess the birds were more persistent than we were. (Next year, I will definitely try some of the suggestions offered by my Facebook friends, like hanging plastic bags to discourage a new bird suburb development, a move that Shirley called "redneck but effective.")

The pair of barn swallows tolerated us, and we tolerated them. They were often sitting on their nest, but they'd fly away as we approached. As they got used to us, though, they were less likely to hurriedly leave their eggs behind. They usually did swoop quickly out of the way when the back door opened.

The robin's nest - May 8, 2017

The swallow's nest was built so close to the porch ceiling that we couldn't see into the nest, unlike the robin's nest that was constructed on our 4-wheeler racks earlier this spring and which I moved for plenty of "photo ops."

 

Construction of the mud-based nest didn't allow for moving the nest, so we watched and waited. Randy was tall enough he could stick his hand into the nest, and he knew there were eggs there. Then last week, we had a population boom in the neighborhood. 

If we're honest, we've kind of enjoyed our backdoor guests. Well ... except for the bird poo on the steps. Yes, next year, we'll try to do a better job of discouraging the building of a new "house" in the neighborhood. And these guests won't be welcome at the front door either. They give a whole new meaning to the phrase "noisy neighbors."

We thought there were three babies. On Saturday, I discovered there were four, but this was the best I could do with a photo.