Author Archives: Melissa Fischer

Innisfree Garden

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I can’t believe I’ve lived here for twenty-six years and haven’t been to Innisfree Garden until today. It certainly won’t be that long before I go again to enjoy the peaceful grounds, the lily pad bordered lake, the abindant flowers, and the wonderful rock formations. I strolled around the lake with Jonathan, then we each went to whatever spot had caught our eye to spend time thinking, praying, reading, and just being.

I first sat at a picnic table to eat my lunch, then sketched the view looking down the lake.

After that I meandered along the lake until I came to a shady hill with a cool breeze, right by the 60 foot fountain. There were seats on the hilltop, overlooking the lake, where I sat and pondered with pen in hand, thinking about how to add sabbath rest to my week on a regular basis. I think I’ve decided on Wednesdays. I’ll focus on spiritually and physically refreshing activities on those days, and keep internet browsing, email, and phone time to a minimum, in order to help ground myself in the here and now. That will also give me the quiet time for contemplation, prayer, and open-ended musing that I need in order to stay grounded in who God has made me to be.

After writing for a while, I wandered a bit more, until I found myself enveloped in the fragrance of sun-warmed pines on a dry hillside– the perfect place to sit and sketch.

Finally, rested and refreshed in body and soul, I made my way slowly around the lake until I met up with Jonathan. We then explored, as we compared notes about our day. I’m looking forward to going back very soon.

Bullfrog on lily pad

Partially done sketch from above Corncrib Crossing
Swift Long-winged Skimmer Dragonfly on Lotus bud
One of many benches in strategic nooks

Tiger Swallowtail on Joe Pye Weed

Chicken of the woods mushroom

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I hurried through Fahnestock State Park a few weeks ago, bypassing scenery and even ignoring birds in my effort to get back to my car before the cloud of mosquitoes that had appeared drained my lifeblood, or at least my enthusiasm. Out of the corner of my eye I suddenly spotted shelves of bright orange and had to stop for a quick sketch, mosquitoes notwithstanding. I recognized the fungus growing from a rotted log– Chicken of the woods, a mushroom considered to be one of the “Foolproof Four”– four mushroom species which are easy to identify and not easily confused with poisonous species. (See Mushroom Collecting 101: The foolproof four)I did a quick pencil sketch, snapped a couple of photos, then dashed for the car, flapping my hat over my arms to fan away the hungry hordes. I knew the brilliant color and shelf-like growth habit of Chicken of the woods from when I had last seen them.

My father and I had collected some of these from a hardwood tree in his yard (hardwood is important, as a closely related species that grows on conifers is more likely to contain toxins). He cooked them for our lunch, and I can attest that they are indeed delicious. I can also attest to the fact that some people, approximately 10% by some estimates, have an adverse reaction to this mushroom. My father, who ate more of them than I did, was fine, as he had been whenever he had eaten the mushrooms from that tree. I, on the other hand, had barely gotten home before the severe gastrointestinal distress hit.

From now on when eating a new variety of wild mushroom, I will follow the advice to only try a little bit and see how I feel after a while, before enjoying a full portion (See The Long-lived Wild Mushroom Eater’s Golden Rules) I will also content myself with drawing, rather than eating, Chicken of the Woods.

A sketch from earlier on my hike, before the mosquitoes descended on me and drove me from the woods

 

Musings on Freedom

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Loud noise and parties aren’t my thing, so I stayed home when Steve went to a party today, and I’ve had a delightfully quiet, meditative day.

I’ve done laundry and hung it on the line. It came in smelling so fresh and clean.

I picked black raspberries from the canes in our yard and ended up with purple finger stickiness.

I enjoyed the flowers. They make me smile every time I look at them. 🙂

Marigold, red romaine, calendula, green romaine, lemon thyme

variegated Cuban oregano, curry plant, red romaine, marigold, flat parsley

marigold, red romaine, mosqito releling herb?, red romaine, curled basil

lantana, rosemary, red romaine, Cuban oregano

curled parsley, red romaine, celendula, basil, lime thyme

marigold, tomato, red romaine    lime geranium

Bee balm

I also painted a little, did some writing, and read a bit in the book I started a few days ago, all the while musing on the freedoms that have been won for us by those who fought and died many years ago.

Ironically, the book I happen to be reading is Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup– a true story of freedom lost, when Solomon, a free black man in New York,
was kidnapped in 1841 and sold into slavery in Louisiana. I haven’t
finished the book, but I know that twelve years later he somehow
regained his freedom.

Reading this is making me mull on how precious freedom is, and how deeply disheartening it is to be in bondage. I don’t know whether slavery was worse for Solomon, who had known freedom and so was fully aware of how unfree he was, or for those who had lived in slavery all their lives and, although well-aware of their enslavement, didn’t have any experiential knowledge of freedom. Both are horrifying to read about and imagine.

That train of thought then leads me to muse on the ways I have become free in my own life– from destructive thoughts and habits, from brokenness, from fears, from the tyranny of sin– and also to wonder in what ways I might still be living in bondage to some of those things without even know what I am missing.

In Galatians 5:1, the apostle Paul states, “It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.” Solomon Northup didn’t have a choice; he was forcibly kidnapped, but I do have a choice to stand firm in the freedom that Christ has won for me by his death and resurrection. This evening, as I listen to nearby fireworks celebrating our freedom as a nation, I am also joyfully (but comparatively quietly) giving thanks for the freedom I have received as a gift from Christ and praying that I live as fully in it as he enables me to.

Mid-Hudson Bridge July 2009

Kisses from Katie– Book Review

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I don’t think
it’s possible to read Kisses from Katie
and remain unmoved and unchanged. Nor is it easy to put the book down once
you start reading it. Katie’s engaging writing draws you into her life
with the thirteen delightful children she’s in the process of adopting and takes you along as she visits and ministers to all sorts of people. People who are struggling with situations most of us couldn’t even imagine, but who have the same kinds of fears, hopes, and dreams we all have.
Written by
Katie Davis, who went to Uganda at age eighteen for a one-year mission trip and
has lived there since, this book opened my eyes to some of the most
economically destitute, but often spiritually rich, people there are in this
world. I’ve heard all my life of people starving in Africa, but I have never
been introduced to them as individuals with faith, fears, and longings I could
relate to. Katie puts her arms around them and shows them God’s love with food,
medicine, tears, gentle care, and the constant message of Christ’s love for
them. She listens to their stories and helps each one experience the dignity of
being a valuable person created in God’s image, precious to the Lord and to
her. She also learns from them, as she sees their gratitude, faith, and joy,
despite the losses and hardships they have experienced.
Young though
she is, Katie lives more selflessly and wholeheartedly for Christ than most of
us would think possible, and she also experiences deeper communion with Christ
and more joy in him than most of us know. Throughout the book, she is honest
about her own struggles and doesn’t put herself on a pedestal or even think
that what she is doing is extraordinary. She shows by her life how one person,
relying on God’s strength and following his leading, can do an extraordinary
job of bringing Christ’s love to those who are often least valued in the world. 
I finished reading
this book last week, but it is still in my thoughts every day, as reading it
has challenged me to rethink my priorities and examine the depth of my faith
and how I live it out. I am pondering how to follow Katie’s example in my own life.
It is unlikely that I will go to Uganda or possibly anywhere overseas to do
missions work, but I know I could live more closely with Jesus, more selflessly
following him and loving the people he brings into my life.

17-year Cicadas

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I settled into my hammock a couple of weeks ago, ready to enjoy a glass of iced tea (with chocolate mint from my garden), a good book, and some peace and quiet. Until I heard a pulsing hum in the distance. With a sigh I tried to ignore what I assumed was some sort of motor noise from a distant neighbor’s yard. The pulsing wasn’t loud, but it was continual and somewhat irritating, since too often I feel inundated by various types of engine noise that drown out the quieter sounds of nature and eliminate silence from my world. It occurred to me that it might be some sort of insect sound, but it seemed so regular in its pulsing that we figured it must be an engine.

The next afternoon the motor noise was louder, and I began to think it might be the 17-year cicadas I had been reading about, but I wondered why I hadn’t seen any in our yard. When I went for a walk around some neighboring roads, though, the humming was much louder in some areas and almost nonexistent in other areas, even along a two-mile loop. And, I began to see a few red-eyed cicadas. It turns out that these periodical cicadas can be very localized and may emerge with great density in some areas and be completely absent in immediately adjoining areas.

Interestingly, once I knew the noise I was hearing was a cicada chorus and not a motor running loudly in the distance, it no longer seemed irritating. Now I wanted to hear it more closely and see more of these red-eyed singers, more fully experiencing this brief and fascinating visitation of long-lived insects.

By yesterday the chorus was dying down and I began seeing dead and dying cicadas on my morning walk, so I brought a few dead insects home to sketch. I also looked them up and found out that there are both 13 and 17 year cicadas, with three species of 17-year cicadas and 4 species of 13-year cicadas. One fact I found particularly fascinating is that all these species have life cycle lengths that are based on prime numbers (13 years and 17 years). I just love the way math shows up in nature cycles and systems and structures!

I am sorry to say good-bye to the cicadas and their song, and I look forward to seeing and hearing their offspring in 2030.

Click image to enlarge

Interesting links with more information:
www.magicicada.org
http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/06/03/ask-about-the-17-year-cicada/?_r=0

Melissa’s Nature Notes– New Blog

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I have started a new blog, Melissa’s Nature Notes, which will be dedicated to nature observations, sketches, and photos. The idea came to me a couple of weeks ago, when Stephen and I were walking on the Dutchess County Rail Trail. We had stopped to look for a bird we were hearing and couldn’t identify by its song alone, when several boys zipped by on skateboards, then stopped and asked what we were doing. We told them, and they thought that was pretty cool and stood and listened quietly for a minute, then went on their way, at least slightly more aware of the fascinating abundance of nature all around them. Shortly after they rolled along, a woman walked by, ears plugged with headphones, listening to some electronic device, oblivious to the variety of song surrounding her. And then a group of loud men came by, drowning out the bird song long before they reached us and for some time after they passed by.

As we continued our walk, stopping to look at a snapping turtle beside the trail and to enjoy the vibrant pattern of a male White Tail Dragonfly (and thank him for eating mosquitoes), I thought I’d like to help even a few people walk with more awareness and enjoyment of God’s beautiful creation, the natural world that exists beside and around us, but which we so often ignore.

I still muse and doodle on a broad range of topics, so my artwork, random writings, and other musings and doodlings will be on this blog. Some nature posts will probably show up here, too, as well as on my Nature Notes.

Here is the link to my new blog, Melissa’s Nature Notes. Please join me in walking with eyes and ears open to see and experience the wonder and beauty of the world around us.

Male White Tail Dragonfly

Nature and Wonder

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I remember hiking in Vermont years ago and suddenly being surrounded by a magical sound– liquid notes of gold, silver, and many other hues, flowing through the spruce trees all around me. I searched and searched until finally I spotted a tiny brown bird perched way atop the tallest spruce. As I watched, my neck nearly bent in two, he raised his little head, opened his beak, and poured forth his glorious tune.

I had no idea at the time what kind of bird I was observing, but I did some research and found out it was Winter Wren, one of my favorite woodland mistrels to this day. I heard one again a few weeks ago, this time as I painted at the Pawling Great Swamp, and was one again transfixed by this little creature’s melody.

My purpose in starting this new blog, Melissa’s Nature Notes, is to attempt to capture in words and pictures the wonder of nature as I experience it, in order to help others also experience it. Sometimes a sense of awe and wonder comes with something small but dramatic, like the song of the Winter Wren. Other times it is a new view or understanding of some fairly ordinary aspect of nature that is easily overlooked. And other times it might come with some unusual or less common situation, such as the 17-year cicadas that are humming and whirring until, in some places, their roar is loud enough to drown out most bird song.

I hope that readers of all ages find their sense of wonder growing as they share in my delight in the world around us, and I look forward to reading of your experiences with nature. Please feel free to comment and tell me what has awakened wonder in you today.

Happy 10th Birthday, Rowan!

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Funny, brilliant, silly, sweet, watchful, and so much more. In some ways it’s hard to believe my furry boy is ten years old. In other ways, it’s hard to believe he hasn’t always been with me. Rowan takes his job seriously– to watch over me and remind me to take care of myself. If I am late for a meal, he comes to me, snorting loudly, to tell me I need to attend to something. If I don’t figure out what he’s talking about (or I ignore him), he’ll bark to let me know it’s important. As soon as I “get it” and walk into the kitchen, he lies down and goes to sleep, knowing that he’s done his job and communicated successfully with me.

I know Rowan can’t read, but one time I came into the room to find him lying with this pillow leaning up against him. It had been on the chair when I left the room, and no one else was home at the time. I don’t know how he knew I needed that message that day, but he made sure I couldn’t miss it.

Rowan also watches over the other animals in our home and runs to check them if they yelp or start throwing up or suddenly start to limp, and often has then run to me and led me to the animal who needs my attention. When I was visiting a friend a few months ago, he alerted her to her blood sugar being too high. I call him my EMT dog– he’s a first responder here in our family.

Life isn’t serious all the time, though. Rowan loves to play, whether with a toy or a an empty flower pot. When I’m gardening he hovers, waiting for me to get the plant out of the pot, then he grabs the flower pot and runs, cavorting like a puppy, sometimes with the flower pot covering his whole face.

Happy Birthday, Rowan, my wonderful boy, and may you have many more! I am blessed to have you in my life.

 

PJ– July 2001 to May 28, 2013

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PJ was my friend Sarah’s dog, and I got to know her well while I was pet-sitting when Sarah would travel. Later on PJ spent a fair amount of time with me and always fit in as a sweet, happy member of our family.

It was a kind of grace to be
PJ’s friend. She came to Sarah as an unsocialized, semi-feral puppy, and Sarah slowly, patiently taught her to trust. Over time PJ became more and more social and ended up loving people, but when I first met her as a two-year-old, she was still quite
reserved. I immediately felt an affinity for this shy, camouflaged
sprite, who so loved being quietly outside by herself, and I always felt
it was a gift and a privilege to have her trust. Sarah often said that PJ had the same personality as I, but in a dog’s body. Maybe that is why PJ and I connected right away; I felt as though we understood each other without words.

PJ was an observer. She spent much of her days watching and waiting in eager expectation. Hour by hour contentedly watching a tree in which she knew a squirrel sometimes foraged. Waiting patiently for a woodchuck to come out of its hole. Watching and waiting while a squirrel walked within a few yards of her on the deck. Weather rarely deterred PJ, and she would frequently ask to stay outside when the other dogs came in.
Watching the Horse Chestnut tree on a rainy day

Watching the world with her, whether slowly
meandering through the woods on leash, investigating every interesting
scent, or roaming fields searching for something moving subtly under the
grass, or sitting on the deck with her watching her watch a tree for hours, opened my eyes to much
that I may otherwise have missed. During times when I might otherwise have been stressed, PJ often helped cultivate a peaceful spirit in me, attentive to easily-overlooked but fascinating aspects of the natural world around my home.
My shadow and PJ, enjoying a winter woods walk

 I miss the gentle tap on my elbow or soft poke behind my knee that were
her quiet ways of saying, “Hi, I’m here with you.” I would turn to see
those bright eyes, that sweet expression or happy grin, and her wagging tail. I miss the
thump, thump, thump of her tail on the floor whenever I’d look in her
direction. I miss her uniquely beautiful ears that would twitch slightly in my direction to greet me, when she was “watching.”


PJ, beloved scruffy girl, I miss
your gentle spirit and quiet zest for life. I will watch and wait and remember all you taught me.

A young PJ, in pencil
watercolor sketch done in the field
How to Appreciate a Tree, by PJ

Sketching and Birding at Olana

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Today the
New York Plein Air Painters (NYPAP) had a paint out at Olana, the 19th century home, studio and designed
landscape of Hudson River School artist Frederic Edwin Church, in memory
of NYPAP founder, Ted Beardsley, so there were artists painting
everywhere on the grounds.  I saw several artists I already knew and met several more whose names were familiar to me, but whom I had never met, and then others who were entirely new to me. Such an enjoyable and inspiring day!
This was my first, but definitely not my last, visit to Olana. There are paintable vistas in every direction. I decided to do a series of sketches, rather than a finished painting, since it was all new to me and I wanted to experience a variety of vistas. There were interesting birds at each spot where I sketched, so I kept my binoculars on and my eyes open.
 Here is my day is pictures (click on images to see larger image and read what birds I saw at each location):

Periodical Cicada– the first I’ve seen this year; I know there will soon be many more
A big thank you to all those who organized this day’s paint out. It was a wonderful day!