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Health, Wellness, & Nature

Wishing you and your family a safe, peaceful and happy Thanksgiving.

We are almost through November and I still have flowers blooming and tomatoes on the vine. It makes me wonder what type of winter, if any, we will have this year. I’ve checked the weather authority’s forecast – the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Association – (better known as NOAA) and learned that the outlook for the Midwest is “equal chances of below-, near-, or above average seasonal mean temperatures and  seasonal total precipitation.”  According to NOAA,  La Nina is the cause of the uncertainty.

I overestimated the number of spring-blooming bulbs I could plant this year. (Well, to be totally honest how many bulbs my husband could plant for me.) We planted what we could, gave away some and put the rest in a box to “deal with later.” Stumbling across them yesterday, I decided that this was the perfect opportunity to learn how to successfully force bulbs into bloom so that I can enjoy bursts of color and fragrance in the dead of winter. 

The great cicada Armageddon is about to unfold here in mid Missouri. The recent showers we’ve had have begun to loosen the dry, crusty surface soil, allowing the entombed critters to wiggle free and begin their upward climb from their burrows where, as nymphs, they have been sucking sap from tree roots for as long as 17 years. Within days they will begin what can be thought of as their relentless assault on the quiet life as we know it. 

In a normal year, if there even is such a thing anymore, I would wait until the end of April to begin preparing for the return of my hummingbirds. After checking this year’s interactive migration map (https://www.hummingbirdcentral.com/hummingbird-migration-spring-2024-map.htm)  however, it appears that I don’t have time to wait. Ruby throated hummingbirds, our regional species, have already been spotted across the entire state of Missouri, including a spotting right here on the Katy Trail. 

Driving along Highway 70 today, I saw swaths of daffodils and tulips in bloom, groves of pear trees budding out and a warm breeze gave off that soft, earthy smell that signals spring has arrived. I should have been elated that winter was on the way out, but I wasn’t. March 4th is at least two weeks too early for springtime in our part of the Midwest. 

As I was leaving the grocery store last Monday, the cashier merrily called out, “Enjoy this glorious weather!” While I appreciated the heartfelt send off, I have to admit I cringed inside. 72 degrees in February in mid-Missouri isn’t glorious; it’s dangerous, at least by phenological standards. 

I was leafing through a magazine Sunday afternoon when I ran across an article about Mindful Gardening. My immediate reaction was a snarky comment about mindful being the latest empty pop culture buzz word.  My daughter immediately took issue with my remark, accusing me of not knowing what the word really meant. Having lived through the 60s, I assured her that I did indeed know the meaning – had in fact known it for 20 years before she was even born. But just to be on the safe side, I snuck a peak at today’s meaning and, of course, learned a few things.