 Since I first began to visit it a year ago in midsummer, my Thoughtful Spot has been a haven, a refuge of permanence and rhythm, a place without chaos, and filled with the marvelous. But even as the seasons have changed in my thoughtful spot, so the seasons of life change.
Another year is upon us and it is time to seek out new challenges, and mine is to find Thoughtful Spots everywhere. I have recently moved from my quite rural nook to the outskirts of a busy downtown, and, though sorely missing my pathless woods and lonely pastures, I am discovering that quiet thoughtful spots, little corners of beauty and wonder, can be found wherever you may be.  Always be on the look out for the presence of wonder. - E. B. White So join me on this new adventure of searching for a little hermitage, surrounded by the beauty of nature, to study and observe and marvel at, every month. Whether it be an old log in the hundred acre wood, a mossy rock beside a waterfall, or path to the grocery store through maples that are just beginning to turn, these thoughtful spots must be sought after and discovered, wondered at and then shared, as they teach us to never take for granted the glorious minutia of daily life, and the overwhelming beauty with which God has filled the world around us. It's a dangerous business, going out your door. You step onto the road and, if you don't keep your feet, there's no telling where you might be swept off to. - J. R. R. Tolkein  
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 It was summer, and the days were perfectly warm and breezy, the sort of days that seem to demand and deserve to be spent wholly out of doors. On the rare occasion when it seemed necessary to be inside for a while, the sunshine peered in through every window, as if searching for company and wondering why everyone wasn't out enjoying its exuberance. It was a summer of discoveries, adventures, and great wonders, of meandering down wooded trails, and stumbling upon breathtaking mountainscapes with little wooden benches perfectly situated to view them. This was the summer of 2019, two months of which I spent in a tiny town nestled in the Swiss Alps where a rather lovely thoughtful spot can be found.  This thoughtful spot was introduced to me by a friend when a few of us set off for a walk on an early summer evening. We turned by a fountain down in the town and started up a road, quite a steep road and as narrow as a sidewalk. We lumbered up this hill, admiring the views of the town gradually sinking below us to the right, and little chalets built against the supporting mountainside to the left, and then we reached the top, to be met by a barrier of trees and scruffy underbrush, which did not seem a terribly exciting vista at all. But then we rounded a corner.  Settled on the edge of a grassy field, surrounded by foreign pink and yellow wildflowers interspersed with familiar lacy yarrow and tiny self-heal blossoms, just off a little footpath shaded by a still-blooming elder, was a bench. It was one of those perfectly shaped wooden benches, the kind you can sit on comfortably for a long while, and you could smell wild mint every once in a while when you sat there, though I never could discover where it grew. In front of this bench, just two steps away, was a very steep slope down to the little town again, and straight out in front of it was a truly majestic view. That evening we wandered further around the tree line to see a tiny sliver of Lake Geneva, far below and away from us, and stayed to watch it turn to a bright red crescent in the sunset. But that first walk was far from the last time I visited this thoughtful spot. For it was a wondrously beautiful place to pray, to read of great ideals, to write letters to the people I love best, to think, and to marvel. It also became the site of a rather painful injury when I discovered a old metal tram rail hidden in the grass by tripping and cutting my knee on it. The yarrow and self-heal were my faithful friends then, and helped turn an ugly gash into a now fading scar. I often wonder who is sitting at that thoughtful spot now, though I have no doubt that it is beloved by someone and its peaceful solitude is enjoyed by many. It's easy, though now two years later, to let my thoughts drift to a sweater discarded in the sun's warmth, cheery wildflowers, resplendent purple and blue mountains, and a little wooden bench from which to enjoy it all. A great many memories can be summed up in a photograph, and so it always makes me smile to see that, though still in Switzerland where I sincerely hope it is the favorite spot of many other thinkers, my beloved thoughtful spot of yesteryear also resides, quite happily, at the top of this page.   The sky is dark and soft, and the air is filled with the scent of a brewing storm. But the grey of the cloudy sky has its magic, for, in the absence of the blinding summer sunlight, I can look straight upward at the sky. Dozens of songbirds and their fledglings are scattered in a crowded, busy silhouette against the grey. I don't know if there are always so many at the edge of the woods when I walk here, but they are remarkable today.
 Here at my thoughtful spot the dark sky is hidden by the engulfing, dancing shades of green and growing things. Not a flower bloom is to be seen - the jewelweed is late this year - everything is all rich, deep, multi-hued green. Even the oddly handsome little fellow who has decided to sit next to my mossy rock blends almost invisibly into the green around us. He looks like some sort of Katydid, but I can't seem to identify him concretely. The earth has donned her mantle of brightest green; |
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There are candy-pink mimosa blooms, and the red and yellow honeysuckle, and the lacy cream blossoms of the elder tree just around the corner, over the hill, and beyond the little bend in the creek. But in this little hollow of moss and tumbling water that I have come to love so well, there seems to be no need for such ornaments, lovely though they be. It is perfect today in its unique, subdued sort of monochrome. How different it looks from midsummer a year ago, when iridescent dancing damselflies and sparkling orange jewelweed blooms met me for the first time at this thoughtful spot. How pleasant it has been to return to it often, and to glimpse the ever changing yet ever present beauty of this little place. How quickly this year in my Thoughtful Spot has passed by.
And so... with the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow fast in movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.
- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
The air has cooled in an instant, a rumble of thunder is overhead. Old childhood words dance through my thoughts, as they always do in this particular sort of weather. Wind's in the east, mist's blowing in/Like something is brewing, about to begin...
Over a thousand years ago, in the forests of Germany, a wandering king stumbled across a rose bush. He believed this rose symbolized hope and health and built a cathedral around it, a city soon sprang up around the cathedral and the wildflower grew, undeterred by the passing centuries, until the cathedral was bombed during World War II. The ancient rose, too, was thought to have been destroyed, but the next spring saw it valiantly blooming once again among the ruins. This Hildesheim Rose still flowers every spring and is believed to be the oldest living rose bush in the world, yet throughout its history it has been celebrated for more than just its legendary age, for it, like most roses, also possesses many medicinal benefits. As spring is upon us and wild roses are bursting into bloom in our own back yards, the perfect time has arrived to learn about the medicinal uses for this fragrant herb, and to preserve its healthful properties to be enjoyed throughout the year.
Roses have always held a prized place in the herbalist’s materia medica. Rose petals have strong anti-inflammatory, analgesic, and astringent properties and are very high in antioxidants and vitamin C. They are a valuable first aid herb and can be used topically to soothe and ease inflammation caused poison ivy or similar skin irritations, and the petals have been used for centuries to aid in wound healing, as they relieve pain, prevent infection, and reduce inflammation. An infusion of the petals has been shown to relieve headaches, help lower a fever, and support the immune system, and, of course, the marvelous scent of roses has also gained this herb lasting fame. The essential oil has long been valued for its ability to lift the spirits, and both historical herbalism and recent studies agree that the fragrance of roses can aid in relieving anxiety and stress.
Wild roses, a general phrase for a multitude of unique species, grow throughout most of the United States. Commonly found varieties that are excellent for medicinal use include Rosa mulitflora, Rosa palustris, and Rosa carolina, all of which are thorny shrubs that produce strongly scented, five petaled flowers in the spring, and bright red hips in the late autumn. Many cultivated roses also contain medicinal benefits, particularly older varieties with a strong fragrance, however, roses that do not have a scent or have been sprayed with pesticides should be avoided.
Once you have selected a rose bush, the petals can be harvested by holding the flower over a basket and gently tapping the base of the flower head so that the petals fall. With this method, just the petals are removed, leaving the rose hips on the plant to ripen and be harvested in the autumn. It is best to gather rose petals just after the dew has dried but before mid-day to capture the maximum essential oil content. The harvested petals can be spread out on a rack to allow any insects that might have been hiding in the flowers to make their way out.
There are many ways to preserve medicinal herbs, and one of the simplest methods of preserving rose petals is to simply air dry them on a mesh rack, or in a low dehydrator. They can then be stored in a glass jar with a tightly fitting lid and used for blending teas or making infused oils and vinegars. However, my personal favorite way to preserve fresh rose petals is to steep them in honey. Honey preservation has a long and fascinating history, and as honey is recognized as one of the few foods that has an indefinite shelf life, it is the perfect method to both preserve and enhance the medicinal properties of fresh, low-moisture herbs. It is always best to use raw honey, preferably from a local source, when making herbal preparations.
There are many ways to preserve medicinal herbs, and one of the simplest methods of preserving rose petals is to simply air dry them on a mesh rack, or in a low dehydrator. They can then be stored in a glass jar with a tightly fitting lid and used for blending teas or making infused oils and vinegars. However, my personal favorite way to preserve fresh rose petals is to steep them in honey. Honey preservation has a long and fascinating history, and as honey is recognized as one of the few foods that has an indefinite shelf life, it is the perfect method to both preserve and enhance the medicinal properties of fresh, low-moisture herbs. It is always best to use raw honey, preferably from a local source, when making herbal preparations.
To make rose petal infused honey, fill a jar with the freshly harvested rose petals and cover them with raw honey. Stir gently to remove any air pockets, cover the jar and allow the honey to steep for at least several days before using. The rose petals will break down slightly and the honey will become infused with their flavor. The resulting herbal preparation has a very long shelf life, and can be used in a variety of ways. Rose honey can be stirred into tea or spread on toast to support the immune system and as a daily dose of vitamin C; the combination of roses and raw local honey has also been shown to be a very effective remedy for seasonal allergy symptoms, especially when taken preventatively; and, as both honey and rose petals possess legendary beautifying qualities, rose-infused honey can be used as a moisturizing face mask, either on its own or combined with white or red clay.
These beautiful flowers have delighted gardeners, poets, and herbalists alike for centuries, and the healthful benefits of this herb can be easily infused into daily life. So next time you pass a rambling bramble bush, stop, and smell the roses, and then gather their petals and enjoy the beautiful medicinal properties of this wildflower.
Rose Petal Honey
These beautiful flowers have delighted gardeners, poets, and herbalists alike for centuries, and the healthful benefits of this herb can be easily infused into daily life. So next time you pass a rambling bramble bush, stop, and smell the roses, and then gather their petals and enjoy the beautiful medicinal properties of this wildflower.
Rose Petal Honey
- Fresh rose petals (enough to fill a jar)
- Raw honey
It's a cloudy and chilly day in the midst of a cloudy and chilly spring. The sun has been bashful, the flowers have been reluctant to make the grand entrance we would wish of them, and my little thoughtful spot has remained wrapped in a protective quilt of clouds and downy gray. It's been a peaceful spring, filled with the promise, if not always the actuality, of the season's change. It's this predictable changeableness of the seasons, each time as surprising as the appearance of the first crocus in January and as reassuring as the sunrise, the rhythm of this glorious creation that never ceases to amaze me. What an enchanting, marvelous mingling of the familiar and the new.
Spring is a lovely reminder of how beautiful change can be.
- Anonymous
In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.
- Albert Camus
Within the clouds and raindrops of this late spring, early summer is showing it's face. It's in the brilliant color of a tiny wild strawberry (Fragaria vesca) that is hiding beneath a clump of violets. It's in the first red clover blooms (Trifolium pratens), which always seem to appear earlier and disappear later than I expect, their lengthy blooming season providing plenty of opportunity to harvest and dry them for a tea to support the lymphatic system.
Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished.
- Lao Tzu
The new season is in the may-apples (podophyllum peltatum), with their tiny yellow fruits forming under the swaying villages of their umbrella leaves. And it's in the massive and delicate fiddlehead fern that almost blocks my view of the waterfall as I sit here, its lacy fragility dances in the slightest wind, yet it is secured so resolutely to the corner of rock on this little ledge.
Our Lord has written the promise of resurrection...
in every leaf of springtime.
- Martin Luther
It is spring again. The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart.
- Rainer Maria Rilke
And then there is the garden, the clearest sign of summer's closeness. It is filled with lettuces and radishes that would make Peter rather hungry and Mr. McGregor proud, and a spring bounty of asparagus in beautiful green and purple spears. Isn't it amazing to see how differently plants grow? There's the asparagus, tall and sentry-like straight out of the ground, then the radishes, hiding beneath the soil, yet colored a pinker pink than any crayon box could offer.
Here comes the sun, little darling...
It's been a pleasant spring, in it's dreary quietude. Sometimes it's the hush, the grayness, and the extended season of waiting that makes that expected, surprising change even more beautiful. And there's a whisper, a promise here in my Thoughtful Spot this afternoon, louder than the rippling bubbles of the waterfall, than the birdsongs and the squabbling of squirrels overhead, than the distant rumble of a lawnmower, Courage, Dearheart, life has seasons too.
Sometimes it seems like spring creeps up on me. The crocus and daffodils bloom and are joyously welcomed while the world around them is still brown and frosty, the grass slowly begins to don a hint of green, a pale and subtle cloud of pink or bright lemon-green buds appears around some of the trees. Then one day I look around and realize, all at once, that the sleeping world has wakened, and winter has burst into spring.
Now crystal clear are the falling waters, /And bonnie blue are the sunny skies.
- Robert Burns, The Smiling Spring
My thoughtful spot is cacophonous with the sound of gleeful songbirds. Today, to my utter delight, it is just barely warm enough to walk barefoot in the creek, and so my walk here was through the shallow, sparking water. A very small copperhead startled me along the way, sunning himself on a large rock that wasn't quite underwater. His presence made me reconsider my intentions to clear away the jumble of branches and leaves that was diverting the creek, as it looked like the perfect haven for any of his cousins that might be living nearby, and I didn't particularly like the idea of disturbing them.
Through the woods, along the creek bank, and surrounding this little moss covered seat, all around me, at my feet and clambering up the the slopes above me and down the rocks to the creek below is a tiny, wondrous world of wildflowers.
Through the woods, along the creek bank, and surrounding this little moss covered seat, all around me, at my feet and clambering up the the slopes above me and down the rocks to the creek below is a tiny, wondrous world of wildflowers.
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A violet by a mossy stone, half hidden from the eye
As fair as a star, when only one is shining in the sky.
- William Wordsworth, The Violet
A study of wildflowers could consume a lifetime I think, and a very pleasant lifetime it would be. No two are alike, their miniature faces droop demurely in the shade or toss joyfully heavenward to bask in the sun. Some are five simple petals, like the flowers we first drew as children, some intricate orchids with bright yellow throats. The chickweed blooms (Stellaria media) in starry white clusters beside the pale pink petals of spring beauty (Claytonia virginica) and the fragile but valiant bluets (Houstonia caerulea). And the violets! There are Common Blue violets, (Viola sororia) most denying their name with deep purple shades or pure white blooms; there are the minuscule bearded dwarf violets, so detailed they almost need to be examined with a magnifying glass to be fully appreciated; and yellow violets, their sunny color warning that, unlike their companions, they are inedible.
| Some days are fair, / And some are raw. The timid earth / Decides to thaw. Shy budlets peep / From twigs on trees, And robins join / The chickadees. Pale crocuses / Poke through the ground Like noses come / To sniff around. - John Updike, March |  |
Though its beginnings might be so subtle they slip by if we're not paying close attention, there always comes a moment when spring undeniably, irrepressibly, gloriously takes over the quiet contemplation of the winter season and replaces it with an explosion of joyful celebration. In this little Thoughtful Spot, that moment has just arrived.
I woke this morning and the world was white. From the pale, luminous opacity of the cloudy sky to the soft, glowing blanket on the earth, it's as though the world has become a de-saturated photograph, a vintage world of black and white.
White is not a mere absence of color; it is a shining and affirmative thing, as fierce as red, as definite as black. God paints in many colors; but He never paints so gorgeously, I had almost said so gaudily, as when He paints in white.
- G. K. Chesterton
Now it's nearing evening, the white sky has turned a dappled blue, and the slanting light has turned the snow on the pasture above me to the gentlest blush of pink. But my Thoughtful Spot remains, in its shadowed little hollow, a magical world of dark and light. There is so much life in this little corner of the world that I never would have noticed without this snowfall. Among the drooping frozen grasses miniature songbird footprints scamper about in happy disarray, I envy their light-footedness, as they leave the tiniest of impressions in the snow, and I trudge through, digging my boots through a layer of ice beneath the snow to keep from slipping. Wild turkeys have passed by this way too, a straight and plodding trail of three-toed tracks that seem giant beside the dainty prints of cardinals and sparrows and juncos. There are the delicate tracks of a fox, the hand prints of a racoon, and a crowd of coyote tracks are just around the corner.
I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, 'Go to sleep darlings, till the summer comes again.'
- Lewis Carroll
As long shadows grow and the sun begins to set on this downy white world, a splash of color fills the sky. Azalea red, daffodil yellow, and bright peony pink. It's spring in a sunset, bidding farewell to this peaceful, sleepy winter of a day.
Sometimes adventures carry us far away from the familiar, contemplative places that we call home, but, in every faraway place, a Thoughtful Spot is waiting. On an delightfully unexpected journey, I traveled to my birthplace, a little town on a big island in southeast Alaska, and, among a vast array of magnificently beautiful places, I stumbled upon a quiet rocky beach that became, for the last two weeks of the first month of this new year, my Faraway Thoughtful Spot.
It’s the great, big, broad land ’way up yonder,
It’s the forests where silence has lease;
It’s the beauty that thrills me with wonder,
It’s the stillness that fills me with peace.
- The Spell of the Yukon, Robert Service
This beach is home to seagulls, to a content and ever-present paddling of ducks, and to a remarkably chatty herd of sea lions, whose curiously bobbing heads and gregarious barks keep me faithful company. When the tide is low, purple and orange starfish cling to the rocks just below the water's surface, their bright colors bringing a vibrancy to the deep, soft grayness all around me.
The view from this beach is often shrouded in solid mist, an almost tangible wall between the shore and the great unknown of the ocean beyond. But on clear days a majestic mountainscape appears across the narrows, and then the intensity of the light and the breathtaking grandeur of these surroundings is indescribably humbling. This evening, the mist is heavy and the water still, a delicate snow is falling, and there is great peace on this lonely beach.
The waves have a story to tell me, /As I lie on the lonely beach;
Chanting aloft in the pine-tops, / The wind has a lesson to teach;
- The Three Voices, Robert Service
Familiar herbs are few and far between in this wintry temperate rain forest. No plantain, or chickweed, or dandelions appear among the moss and rock and seaweed, but one familiar friend is everywhere - the evergreens. While many evergreen trees have medicinal properties, my favorite will always be the pines. The sweet, crisp scent of a pine forest is at once peaceful and invigorating, they are one of the oldest living things on earth, some of them surviving thousands of years, and there are one hundred and twenty-six known species. They provide a glorious glimpse of green throughout the winter and, in perfect design, these winter greens provide an excellent source of vitamin C that can be freshly harvested to support the immune system through the cold and flu season.
... a lush carpet of pine needles...
is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug.
-Helen Keller
Soon I'll return to my familiar Thoughtful Spot, nestled in the pastoral woods of home. One adventure will have drawn to a close, and the next day might bring another, but the splendor of this faraway thoughtful spot in a place that once was my home will linger with me always.
Hovering here between two years, between two cold months of winter, is a joyous shout of spring. After a torrential rain last night, today has dawned bright and warm and breezy, the birds are singing farewells to the old year and welcomes to the new, and the scent of moss and green and growing things is in the air. Here at my thoughtful spot the little waterfall's peaceful splashing has been turned into a roaring cascade of white that seems to slice through the dark, leaf strewn rock. Even the determined mass of roots that normally diverts the water's path is wholly swallowed by these thunderous little falls.
If winter comes, can spring be far behind?
- Percy Bysshe Shelley, "Ode to the West Wind"
Drooping ferns and violas, still chilled from a week of frosts, are lifting up their heads to enjoy the unexpected warmth and sunshine. I feel like doing the same - uncurling and thawing out and rejoicing in this extraordinary day. At my feet a lush clump of chickweed seems to have sprung up overnight. This cooling, fresh springtime potherb will be growing prolifically in the wild in a few months. Its leaves are nutrient dense and make a wonderful, mild flavored addition to salads and pesto, and are so high in vitamin C that it is said sailors prized chickweed vinegar to prevent scurvy. When used topically, this tender but hardy little herb is soothing to burns and poison ivy rashes, and healing to minor cuts and scrapes.
...every day is the best day in the year.
- Ralph Waldo Emerson
It is decidedly winter still, and the trees above me are skeleton bare though the skies I see through them are summer's blue. Yet on this brief, beautiful day, here at the close of one year and the opening of a new, my thoughtful spot is alive with the sounds and smells and sights of spring. It seems to me a marvelous gift of a day, filled with hope, joy, and new beginnings.
The light shines in the darkness,
and the darkness has not overcome it.
- John 1:3
November is departing the year with a grand flourish: it is snowing. Though very beautiful, most of this November has more or less fit the description Emily Dickinson once gave it, “A few prosaic days/A little this side of the snow/And that side of the haze.” Then this day arrives, a day of gentle flurries and white-frosted pastures, of the unexpected and the extraordinary. I can think of no more perfect day on which to bid farewell to autumn and usher in the beautiful season of Advent than this crystalline, frosty, very far from prosaic day.
It sifts from leaden sieves,/It powders all the wood,
It fills with alabaster wool/The wrinkles of the road.
- Emily Dickinson, The Snow
Here at my thoughtful spot the snow has softened the fallen leaves and branches and made the evergreen moss seem brighter. Along the extremities of the waterfall's ledge, a little distance from the fall itself, hangs a row of dazzling, sparkling icicles. If you get close to them, you can see the reflection of the all trees and rocks and branches in this little hollow become warped and wobbled into impressionistic blurs of green and brown and white in the uneven surface of the ice. My favorite winter phenomenon returned this morning - the frost flowers. I've read that the weather conditions must be just right for them to form, they require freezing air temperature but unfrozen, damp soil, so when they do appear in early winter they must be welcomed with great wonderment. They look odd from far away, just uneven little clumps of white dotted through the woods, clinging to the base of tall grasses and plants, but upon closer examination these delicate little clusters of satin-like frost are marvelous. They look something like a paper wasp nest made of ice, or tumbled folds of transparent fabric frozen in movement, or layers of melted sugar as it is being pulled and stretched into candy ribbons.
| | The ground is hard, | And yet the world, | |
- John Updike, November
The tall brown stalks of ironweed and brown-eyed susans (Rudbeckia triloba) are all topped with lovely, prickly seed heads this time of year, and while walking this morning I began to gather a few. Then I stumbled upon a cluster of wild hydrangeas (Hydrangea arborescens) still covered in tiny dried, four-petaled flowers. Soon the beautiful colors of November's "certain loveliness" seemed to appear everywhere in the woods, as the evergreen of ceder branches, the red of rose hips, and the bright blushing pink of beautyberries (Callicarpa americana) joined the brown seed and flower heads. The wild privet (Ligustrum vulgare), whose white flowers fill one short stretch of my walking path with fragrance in the Spring, is now covered in waxy blue berries, poisonous to humans, but delectable to winter songbirds, and they, along with the glossy black berries of the edible greenbriar vine (Smilax rotundifolia), complete a picturesque wintry bouquet. A glorious autumn has ended in this thoughtful spot, and a peaceful winter has begun.
November comes
And November goes,
With the last red berries
And the first white snows.
With night coming early
And dawn coming late,
And ice in the bucket
And frost by the gate.
The fires burn
And the kettles sing,
And earth sinks to rest
Until next spring.
- Clyde Watson
And November goes,
With the last red berries
And the first white snows.
With night coming early
And dawn coming late,
And ice in the bucket
And frost by the gate.
The fires burn
And the kettles sing,
And earth sinks to rest
Until next spring.
- Clyde Watson
