The first spring rain produced about an inch of rainfall.   An inch is a good beginning.  With another day of gentle rain, we will be off the starting-line of growing season.  It sounds strange to say “we.”  By habit we think of homo sapiens as distinct, abstract, essentially different from nature.  That is a mistake.

Cultivating flowers or vegetables is trial and error.  Timing is crucial, — enough rainfall

at the right time, add light and heat.  Or put another way, luck and effort.  One learns as one goes.  What works.  What “goes” in a particular spot, from a certain angle of view?  Aesthetics, the components of meaning and beauty are related I am certain.  To be aware and to care.  It’s the same.  Do plants care?  Maybe in their own way.

Late in the day yesterday I walked into Braeburn Marsh.  I planned to notice what the

recent thaw and the rainfall revealed.  Initially I walked the portion of the marsh that borders the back yards of houses.  Recently the park district has mowed clear that portion of the marsh.  Cat tails and saplings covered the ground prior to the arrival of the mowing machine,…  For what purpose the ground was cleared of protective vegetation, I cannot imagine.  I came upon the body of a wood chuck lying in the middle of the mowed pathway.  Was the magnificent furry animal a victim of the machine? Or maybe it was poisoned by

a suburban homeowner possessed with the idea that wood chucks are evil?  I felt sad for a moment for the dead mammal.  I imagined planting a miniature wooden cross where the animal lay, a memorial to it’s life and death.  Then I recognized how incongruous a Christian cross, a current symbol of human civilization, would be in memory of a wild animal.

   I took some pictures as I walked on.

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As for a tune to hold onto, this one seems fitting.  The Last Resort by The Eagles.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QUkwdUbl8fg

The Last Resort

By The Eagles

She came from Providence
One in Rhode Island
Where the old world shadows hang
Heavy in the air
She packed her hopes and dreams
Like a refugee
Just as her father came
Across the sea

She heard about a place
People were smilin’
They spoke about the red man’s way
How they loved the land
They came from everywhere
To the Great Divide
Seeking a place to stand
Or a place to hide

Down in the crowded bars
Out for a good time
Can’t wait to tell you all
What it’s like up there
They called it paradise
I don’t know why
Somebody laid the mountains low
While the town got high

Then the chilly winds blew down
Across the desert
Through the canyons of the coast
To the Malibu
Where the pretty people play
Hungry for power
To light their neon way
Give them things to do

Some rich men came and raped the land
Nobody caught ’em
Put up a bunch of ugly boxes
And Jesus people bought ’em
They called it paradise
The place to be
They watched the hazy sun
Sinking in the sea

We can leave it all behind and sail to Lahaina
Just like the missionaries did so many years ago
They even brought a neon sign said, “Jesus is coming.”
Brought the white man’s burden down
Brought the white man’s reign

Who will provide the grand design?
What is yours and what is mine?
‘Cause there is no more new frontier
We have got to make it here

We satisfy our endless needs
And justify our bloody deeds
In the name of destiny
And in the name of God

And you can see them there
On Sunday morning
They stand up and sing about
What it’s like up there
They call it paradise
I don’t know why
You call someplace paradise
Kiss it goodbye

Lyrics by Don Henley, Glenn Frey