Can spring be far behind?

Yesterday morning on my trek to work I stopped at a sugar maple tree and snapped off a twig that was about a quarter inch in diameter to see if on my way home in the evening it would be dripping sap—the sure sign of spring in these parts.

And what to my wondering eyes should appear on my way home, but a sap-sickle that was about 14 inches long and an inch and a half wide at the top.  As it turned out, it was a near ideal sap day.  The temperature in the morning was in the mid-teens, but it was a sunny day—causing the temperature to rise above freezing for a while.  When this alternation from subfreezing to above-freezing starts to occur in February and days become warmer and sunnier, the tree starts calling for water in order to swell the buds and get the leaf-making process going for the new year.  The swelling is caused by the pressure of the sap pushing its way to the extremities; so if you snap a twig or tap a hole in the trunk, the pressure is released and gravity pulls the sweet water back toward the ground—or if you’re “sugaring,” into sap buckets.

And you can tell from my photo that those forces were fully operational on Monday.  But since the temperature was above freezing for only a short while, when it dipped below 32, the sap turned to ice—giving me a nice sap-sickle to lick  on the remainder of my way home.  Putting it in a measuring cup, I discovered that three fourths of a cup poured from the broken twig to form the ice-sickle.  It tasted slightly sweet—like about one part sugar to forty parts water.  That’s actually an educated guess because it is known that it takes forty gallons of maple sap to make one gallon of maple syrup.

That important fact was not known by my older brothers when they decided to make their own pancake syrup by tapping the three sugar maples that grew in front of our home (probably around 1950).  They gathered about three gallons of sap in a galvanized bucket and took it out behind our house and placed it on makeshift grill over a wood fire they had built in a trench.  When the boiling off began to consume hours  and no syrup appeared, they gave it up.  As the youngest of three brothers who was kept from the initial process (“because you are too little, that’s why!”), I was left free to do with it what I wanted.  So as a kid who has always loved fires, I kept it stoked for a couple more hours.  When I finally gave up, the three gallons were probably down to about one—and the water was indeed sweeter, but it was not syrup.  The ashes that had fallen into the bucket in the process also discouraged me from continuing the work.

Our childish vision of a quart of maple syrup from three gallons of sap was about all that was truly vaporized.  But we did gain a greater appreciation for the pioneers who actually did make syrup and sugar from maple sap by this simple fire and pot method (as opposed to the modern evaporators).  So in the end, Mom did what she had always done, buy maple syrup from the nearby farmers in Vermontville, so named in part because it was the one place in Michigan that approximated Vermont in its local production of maple syrup.

Anyway, now that the days are getting longer, warmer, and sunnier—and the sap is running—my winter doldrums are beginning to lift.  This is in spite of the fact that we are supposed to get another three inches of snow tonight.  In the next few days, though, I will almost certainly see another creature that loves maples beginning its traditional spring thing: fox squirrels climbing out to the ends of maple tree branches and nibbling off the newly sweetened buds and waiting like the rest of us for the snow to melt for good.

See you outdoors!

Dean

Today’s post is an excerpt from RBC’s Discovery Series booklet “God’s Good Earth,” which can be obtained without cost here. It in turn comes from RBC’s Discovery House Publishers book by Dr. Paul Brand titled God’s Forever Feast.  The story of Paul and Margaret Brand, herself an amazing doctor, is told in a Day of Discovery series that can be viewed online here.

By Dr. Paul Brand

It seems as if all of life is working together to sustain the means of life. It’s not surprising that those who don’t know God often see the earth itself as a living thing, perhaps a god, because they see every aspect working together for good. We know that it is God who created it and who made all things in it to harmonize for good. He left us a self-sustaining system.

Looking south from Seattle, where we live, I can see Mount Rainier floating above the clouds. I know that it must be standing on the ground, but those foundations often are shrouded in mist. The towering 14,000 feet of mountain challenge the climber, and delight the people who commute to work, who tell each other “Look! Rainier is out today!”

When I was young I would have found it hard to resist the challenge of a climb to the top of Rainier. Today I am content to view the floating peaks, and climb around the lower slopes. I find the most exciting part of the mountain halfway up, or a little higher. There the great trees around the base give way to the smaller scrubby trees of the timberline, and then to flower meadows, and then a little higher to that final battleground where life struggles to maintain a foothold in little pockets of soil fighting against the winter blizzards and avalanches, against wind-chill temperatures too low for life.

Against all the odds, when the snow line recedes in early summer, there they are! The exquisite alpine flowers, nodding in triumph that they have survived the chilling frost and wind. They have been buried beneath the snow but are ready to delight all who appreciate them, and invite the summer bees to pollinate. The bees who winter on the lower slopes come up and fertilize the seeds that will be scattered. Most of the seeds will die because few will find one of the few islands of soil that remain. At such altitudes the cycle of life moves rapidly. There are not many days of sunshine and warmth for all the business of budding, flowering, fruiting, and seeding that must be completed before the first frosts of winter force the plants to withdraw from the chilling winds. Alpine plants grow on rocks, and the plants that survive do so by clinging to fragments of soil and lichens and by forming anchors that bind the mat of roots to the rough surface of the rock.

So life goes on, the cycle continues. As God’s servants, we have responsibility to assist in the care of His good earth. We can have an active part in making sure that we-and others-don’t interfere with God’s plan for sustaining life.

Dr. Paul Wilson Brand (July 17, 1914 – July 8, 2003) was a pioneer in developing tendon transfer techniques for use in the hands of those with leprosy. He was the first physician to appreciate that leprosy did not just cause the rotting away of tissues, but that it was the loss of the sensation of pain which made sufferers susceptible to injury. Brand contributed extensively to the fields of hand surgery and hand therapy through his publications and lectures, and wrote popular autobiographical books about his childhood, his parents’ missionary work, and his philosophy about the valuable properties of pain. One of his best known books is: Pain: The Gift Nobody Wants (1993).  —Wikipedia

See you outdoors!

Dean

An important question for you:  If you were flying in a bush plane in Alaska, and the plane went down, and you were the sole survivor, and were relatively uninjured, and were three hundred miles from the nearest inhabited place, and it was midsummer, would you be able to survive until help arrived or perhaps trek out to civilization in relatively good health?

Let me tell you, I would make it.  I’m prepared.  I have my survival kit!

In fact, I’ve had a survival kit of some sort for more than two decades.  The knife in it is still sharp, and I have enough cord in it to lay a tracer though half of Mammoth Cave and find my way back.  I do worry about the alcohol prep pads and the ibuprofen, though.  I hear that it might be a good idea to replace those every ten years or so.

So why do I have a survival kit?  I have no plans at all to go to Alaska, let alone be in a bush plane heading for the untrammeled wilderness.  I’ve never taken a survival course, but I do have three of the world’s best survival books, any of which would be great to have in my kit along with a nice tent and air mattress.  I have exactly a dozen knot books; they’re perched on my bookshelf next to my Peterson’s guides to edible and medicinal wild plants.  I even have an Ontario machete-type knife that would let me completely butcher a moose once I killed it with a stone or something.  My kit would actually fit nicely in a firm old Samsonite suitcase. But the biggest bother is the really long extension cord I need to connect my CPAP machine so I could sleep through the night without apnea.

How nuts!  Why in the world do some men (thinking me in particular) just have to have a survival kit? Why do we sometimes spend an hour so before going to sleep fantasizing about all the scenarios that would put us out in the boondocks in need of pocket chainsaw and a couple fishhooks with 30 yards of 15# monofilament line?  Why do we watch “Man vs. Wild” and “Survivorman” and half wish we were out there with Bear and Stroud eating raw snakes or picking apart stumps to find enough termites to make it through the day?

It has to be elemental—perhaps even the Neanderthal gene that somehow never got eliminated from our bloodline.  Regardless, I do know that one of my rites of spring is pulling out the old kit to see if it needs just a few more essentials for that inevitable time in my life when I know I am going to need it—all the while keeping in mind that my being 66, that time will have to come fairly soon.

Anyone want to join me on a wilderness trek?  Just bring your wonder.  I have the kit and am prepared for all the worst-case scenarios!

See you outdoors!

Dean

Pardon the common grammar, but there’s a joy to the coming of spring that defies city-wise learnin’ and wants to make you rejoice like country tillers throughout time at the turning of the seasons.  Here we’ve had an early thaw and a few days of warmish weather that I know are mere teasers  But when you see the crows out celebrating the reappearance of grass and soil and ready to pick a fight with any raptor that might threaten its young in the nesting season soon to come, you can’t help that rush of expectancy.

Walking home last night, I could smell the soil for the first time since Thanksgiving, and I took my initial post-snow walk up through the old orchard with its flattened weeds punctuated with vole and mouse trails that just last week kept them safely under the snow and away from predatory eyes.  The hawks are perching low now, ready to take quick dives for meals that have been eluding them since the beginning of December.  One small flock of mallards was about—scouting for open water on lakes and ponds that had been sealed with ice thicker than it has been for years.  Even during the big chill a few weeks back, the migrating bufflehead ducks were already massing in the open water on or near Lake Michigan

Halfway home I broke a twig from a maple tree and found that indeed the sap is running.  Warming and lengthening days with more sunshine and cold nights combine to call the maple roots to action, bringing up the sugary water that will soon be dripping from spile to sap bucket all over the North Country.  Mid-February to mid-March is sugarbush time here—providing the rest of the country with “genuine maple syrup.”  After the cold comes roaring back in tonight, the end of the snapped twig may soon provide me with a sap-sickle for a mildly sweet lick or two for my homeward trudge.

In the orchard the over-wintering crabapples and haws (fruit of the hawthorn) are ready to provide nourishment for the migrating robin flocks that follow the thaw northward assuming that the snow is done and they can get on with worm collecting.  When they’re surprised by the late snow storms, they go for the fruit.  As the weather gets warmer, these fruits will soon ferment and drop in preparation for the new blossoms.  What is humorous is to see is cedar waxwings gorging on the fruit at the fermenting stage and flying drunk.  Unfortunately, they do at times fly into windows or fall off the trees in stupor, often bringing about their demise.

If you go here you can get a glimpse of the old orchard on Google Maps in the satellite view.  The first big white roof you see directly west of our condo is the RBC building.  The orchard, in between the condo and RBC, is indicated by the patchwork “dots” that mark the rows of apple trees that are quickly dying off from aging and lack of husbandry.

Remembering where we have lived, I know that in the South there will be camellia festivals and shows galore.  In Southern California, the hummingbirds will be returning and starting their feeder ownership battles.  And in coastal Northern California the winter rains will have put the rolling hills into their green phase—only to turn “gold” again in late May.  When we Michiganders lived in Marin County, we soon realized what good PR it was for the state to call their hills “golden.”  Because the grass and weeds in the east are green all summer long, we sort of chuckled when we realized that “golden” was a euphemism for “dead” grass and weeds caused by the annual cessation of rain by mid May.

Why don’t you register and/or log in and tell the rest of us what you look forward to when spring comes “where you’re at”?

See you outdoors!

Dean

Many of the photos on this site are from Creative Commons at Flickr.com and from Wikipedia.  If you right click with your mouse on these photos, you can see them in their full size.  My own pictures will come up in full size if you left click on them—like the zebras on February 8.  After you have looked at the photos, click the back arrow to get back to the site.

Some may not know that the highlighted words in post are also links.  If you left click on these words, you will be taken to a site that should define the terms or give you further information about them.  Again, to get back to the WOC site, click on the back arrow.  —DO

This is the final of three posts in which I seek provide a biblical foundation for our celebrating the wonder of God’s great creation handiwork.  In the first post I highlight the fact that “God made it and owns it.” In the second we saw that “God loves it and cares for it.” Finally we understand this from His Word:

GOD REVEALS HIMSELF THROUGH IT

Chaos at the heart of Orion NASA

The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament shows His handiwork. Day unto day utters speech, and night unto night reveals knowledge. There is no speech nor language where their voice is not heard (Ps. 19:1-3).

In Psalm 19, David reminds us that God speaks to us through two books. One book is the written Word of God (vv.7- 11). The other revelation is the masterpiece of creation, which eloquently reveals God to every person every day. All people in all times from the very beginning have been created by God with such an awareness. Those who do not hear God speaking through the natural world have deceived themselves. The apostle Paul spelled this out clearly in his letter to the Christians in Rome:

The wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who suppress the truth in unrighteousness, because what may be known of God is manifest in them, for God has shown it to them. For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even His eternal power and Godhead, so that they are without excuse (Rom. 1:18-20).

A fascinating precedent for Paul’s argument that God reveals Himself through the natural world is found in the ancient tragedy and poetry of Job. As the drama of Job unfolds, we find him writhing in pain, misunderstood by his friends, and confused by his own inability to explain his plight. Job was hurt. He felt abandoned and betrayed by the God he had tried to serve. He was angry because he thought God was unfairly tormenting him and allowing his friends to think he was suffering for some terrible secret sin. Finally, after lengthy, frustrated, and angry conversations between Job and his friends, God Himself spoke. From out of a violent whirlwind, the Creator captured Job’s attention and challenged him to take another look at the natural world. The Lord asked Job to consider ecology, the animals, and the patterns of weather and seasons He had made.

God humbled and then comforted Job with a series of piercing questions that begin with: Who is this who darkens counsel by words without knowledge? Now prepare yourself like a man; I will question you, and you shall answer Me. Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth? Tell Me, if you have understanding (Job 38:2-4). In the middle of the questioning, God allowed Job to speak, but the devastated patriarch could only mutter, “Behold, I am vile; what shall I answer You? I lay my hand over my mouth” (40:4).

The purpose of the Creator’s interrogation was for Job to understand from the world around Him that a God who is wise and powerful enough to have created the natural world is certainly great enough to know what He is doing in allowing Job’s suffering. Humbled by what God had said through the natural world, Job confessed, “I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me, which I did not know” (42:3).

Even when God is not speaking verbally, the study of the creation speaks with an eloquence that compels us to stand in silent wonder before the Creator:

Astronomical Arches NASA

Elements of basic matter that behave in ways unimagined, and clumps of galaxies so vast in number and expanse that even broad human categories like “light years” or “billions and billions” become almost meaningless. As man seeks to measure, smallness gets ever smaller, and bigness gets ever bigger. The attempt to bring it all into the scope of human understanding has done what it has always done: We either see God and worship Him in great awe and humility, or we “suppress the truth” (Rom. 1:18) and wander in self-imposed blindness.

The view that creation is God’s “other book” is supported by classical theology, which includes the creation as the major component of what is called “general revelation.” It is the revelation that has been given to all people, in all times, and in all places. This refers to the natural world and its processes, or natural law-what Paul calls “the law written in their hearts” and revealed by the conscience (Rom. 2:15). It also includes human history—the record of God’s continuous sovereign will demonstrated in the affairs of people. Truth is revealed to us not only in special revelation (the Bible) but also in general revelation (the creation). Christian educator Frank Gaebelein understood this well when in The Pattern of God’s Truth, he said, “All truth is God’s truth.”

How can we celebrate the wonder of God in creation? By observing the creation carefully and reverently to discover the countless ways it reveals God and His attributes to us.

See you outdoors!

Dean