New antlers of buck deer, coated with velvety fur, began to form

Time to set beaver traps before the swamps froze, to make sure of a supply of warm winter furs

Humans have domesticated the planet to such a degree that few untouched spots remain, researchers report in a review article published in the journal Science.

Earth is so tamed that conservationism should shift focus from protecting nature from humans to better understanding and managing a domesticated world, the authors said.

"There is no such thing as nature untainted by people," writes Peter Kareiva, chief scientist at the Nature Conservancy, a US-based non-profit group. "Facing this reality should change the scientific focus of environmental science."

As of 1995, only 17 percent of the world's land area remained truly wild -- with no human populations, crops, road access or night-time light detectable by satellite, the authors reported.

Half of the world's surface area is used for crops or grazing; more than half of all forests have been lost to land conversion; the largest land mammals on several continents have been eliminated; shipping lanes crisscross the oceans, according to the paper.

In Europe, 22,000 kilometers of coastline are paved.

Due to extensive damming, nearly six times as much water is held in artificial storage worldwide as is free-flowing, according to the article.

Beyond the obvious signs of human influence, other, more subtle changes are evident everywhere, Kareiva said.

Natural selection has been supplanted by human selection, meaning that certain species -- such as companion pets -- thrive, while others -- such as river trout -- have been altered specifically for human consumption, often to their detriment.

In the African nation of Namibia, overfishing has allowed large jellyfish to bloom. Prior to 1970, fishermen rarely snared large jellyfish in the Benguela ecosystem off the northern coast of Namibia.

Today, three times more jellyfish are caught than commercial fish in this region, according to the paper.

Altering ecosystems leaves them vulnerable to disturbances and less resilient, Kareiva said.

Carving out parkland hasn't worked either, the authors argue.

Protecting nature through national and state parks has only domesticated these regions. The Nature Conservancy's leading mission is protecting private lands.

The Fuji-Hakone-Izu Park in Japan, among the world's most popular parks, for instance, has more than 100 million visitors a year and includes spas, hotels, golf courses and trams.

Heavy human traffic in the worlds' protected areas has changed them forever, introducing non-native species, air pollution and trash, according to the article.

"In the modern world, wilderness is more commonly a management and regulatory designation than truly a system without a human imprint," Kareiva wrote. This trend will only accelerate with human population growth, he said.

In light of this, conservationists need to look more closely at trade-offs among ecosystem services, such as increased food production leading to overuse of antibiotics in animals, "so that nature and people simultaneously thrive," the authors concluded.

March 26th, 2007 12:35PM  75!  44%H  38I  51dewpoint   bar, steady   1mph   sunny and clear

  windrose shows SSE 

First Quarter Wildcat* Moon   

  Lent 

Indoors reading.  Outside calls.  The spring sirens are in full voice.  They are different from their winter sisters who promise invigoration, purity, softness, and, if you are foolish, death.  The spring sirens seduce with light and new shoots and an outdoor stroll.  In spring even if you are foolish you might get muddy shoes, or ripped clothes.  Not death.  This is the season of life triumphant, the resurrection story with no need for antique settings or winter humans brought back to life by the charms of spring.  Today, in its spring clothing, the holy dances in the guise of tiny green dervishes whirling, whirling, giving each thing they touch a coat of their magical color.  It is an illusion, but this manifestation of the holy seems safe, domesticated, friendly.  The danger is this: imagine if the holy decided not to come today as a whirling dervish, but instead chose a whirling cloud, tornadic ferocity crashing through the green, green grass of home.  Then.  Well...

March 25th, 2007  9:38AM 61 88%H  35I  58dewpoint   bar, steep fall    1mph

  windrose shows SSE 

First Quarter Wildcat* Moon   

  Lent 

Went outside to look at the garden.  40 minutes later I stood there with rake and pitchfork, just finishing removing the last of the oak leaf mulch from the hosta garden and the coral bells.  A gentle sun, daffodils poking up.  A moment for mindfulness.

A breeze.  Blue sky.  Rough wood on the rake handle.  The moist leaves and their under the earth smell.  Greens, some bright, some still dull.  The movement of muscles, a slight catch in breath.  Finished.

March 24th, 2007  2:41PM 63 42%H  29I  39dewpoint   bar, falls     0mph

  windrose shows easterly    

First Quarter Moon   

  Lent 

Spent about an hour, 45 minutes outside moving mulch to the side.  This is a bit of a risk, but most of what I protected is winter hardy, just planted last fall.  Some iris, some tulips, a few daffodils, a lily or two.  The mulch remains nearby so if we have the forecast for a hard freeze, I can put it back on the more tender newbies.  Some of the oak leaf mulch remains on the hosta and fern garden, but it comes off when its nice enough to work outside some more.

The garden calls, wants me out there, but so does the reading.  A conflict right now and difficult to resolve.  As a result I often feel uncomfortable either place, feeling I'm neglecting the other.

A few daffodils have begun to pierce the surface, chartreuse against dark brown.  Hemerocallis have a few green shoots up, too.  These first peeks of true green are a wonder.  The old, but still brand new cycle turns again.

It is enough.

March 22nd, 2007  10:16PM 41 60%H  24I  28dewpoint   bar, steady     0mph

                                            windrose S winds     

                                           Waxing Crescent Moon   

                                  The Christian liturgical season of  Lent 

About once every 4-6 months my website acts up.  Something eats my borders and I can't get them restored without a bunch of pulling and hauling.  At some point this summer I'm going to have to break down and take a class in HTML or in one of the other website programs like Wordpress.

The smell of spring is in the air.  The very same smell hits you each time you get off the plane in Hawaii, no matter the season back home.  That's one of its charms.  

Last night I saw the crescent moon with Venus hung beneath it, a lone diamond to the Queen of Heaven's crown.  Tonight the crescent moon hung in a foggy sky, clouds covering then exposing it, an occult moon.  Wise Muslims to take this image for their faith.  This compelling beauty happens all over the world, with no cover charge.  The only entrance fee a willing to go outside and look up.

                                            Full Moon of Winds       

                               The Christian liturgical season of  Lent  

Fired up the orange Simplicity, now on its 14th winter and still eager.  At times the snow fell onto the snowblower because the snow through which it passed stood higher than the chute.  This made the engine cough and sputter as melt water found its way into the electrical connections.    

These problems were minor; however, and the snow removal was smooth, though slow.  The snowblower has a tendency to ride up over the snow if run too fast under certain conditions, and one of those is a large volume of snow.  

The path cut to the house along the front sidewalk stood over my thigh.  A few drifts in the driveway were higher than that.  The red and green sign outside the computer room window reads Ready for Winter, just add snow.  Well, today, 19 days from the Spring Equinox, it has its wish.  And mine, too.

post:north

                                  Waxing Gibbous Moon of Winds       

                               The Christian liturgical season of  Lent  

Boy, o, boy.  The shiny Valentine I hung from the bird feeder has a a white middle now.  We are 7/8 inches into a storm that will produce another foot or so according to the weather diviners.  The birds don't seem to know quite what to do.  They fly hither and yon, sometimes taking a few thistles or peanuts, but moving from shelter to shelter.

Most the morning and afternoon the snow has blown in a horizontal lines across the land.  Trees have stripes of snow on their NNE sides reflecting the twirling band of air driven by the remarkable low pressure center now located over Iowa.  The barometer has fallen below 29 down there.  Most barometers only register between 29 and 31.

A great event.  Happy to be here for it.

post:north

                                  First Quarter of the Moon of Winds       

                               The Christian liturgical season of  Lent  

The paper says 13.5 inches fell here in Andover.  Seems like more than I encountered, but I've never understood the way they count inches of snow.  Hardest part was clearing the back deck so the dogs could get out.  I have to do that with a shovel and this snow was heavy.  With the old  back twinges this meant a slower pace than I like.

The Simplicity roared to life and took care of the driveway and sidewalk.  It's fun to cut into the snow and leave a nice, sheared face of snow in the deep stuff.  

Now that I've finished I have to wait until the city comes by and dumps snow in my drive way.   Then, I can go back out, clear that and the space in front of the mail box.  At that point I'm finished.  Until, of course, it snows again.

One more 50 page chunk of Tillich, then at least the beginning of a sermon on the congregation in the liberal faith tradition.  A surfeit of good work.

post:north

                                  First Quarter of the Moon of Winds       

                               The Christian liturgical season of  Lent  

Now the snow has begun to drift.  It has covered the brown and the icy.  

This afternoon I sat at my desk, the small gas stove behind me turning off and on with the temperature changes.  Paul Tillich's thick Systematics sat on my raised editing platform.  As I read about ontological arguments and cosmological arguments and polarities, I could look up and see the snow come in waves, highlighted by the dark oaks, the seven oaks on the hill outside my study.

This is, for me, bliss.  

post:north

                                  First Quarter of the Moon of Winds       

                               The Christian liturgical season of  Lent  

Finally.  The snow swirls, angles down out of the north east where the clockwise circulation of the low deposits its load of moisture from the Gulf of Mexico into the polar air.  The storm has an earnest, driven quality now, yet the build of snow is slow.  Much of the old, icy crust and brown remains visible.  If it keeps this up, though, it won't be long before the terrain has new, gentle contours of white.

One of the everyday miracles is the transformation weather can create.  

Finished my 50 pages of Tillich for the day.  Boy, is his stuff dense.  Went to the dictionary for hypostasis and power.  To the philosophical dictionary for phenomenology.  Scratched around in lessons learned in the late 60's in philosophy and in the early 70's in theology, biblical studies, and church history.

The range and depth of knowledge of a guy like Tillich just makes me write Whoa! in the margin sometimes.  He makes profound arguments in three sentences.  Then, he throws in ideas like ontological shock and the courage it takes to live.  All this in reasonably accessible prose.  A tour de force.  Glad I decided to do it.

post:north

                                  First Quarter of the Moon of Winds       

                               The Christian liturgical season of  Lent    

Delighted to see the snow has arrived.  Not much yet, but the weather maps say more is on the way.  (a bit later, around 10:45...snow not quite reaching wonderful.  Still, some is better than none.)

post:north

                                  First Quarter of the Moon of Winds       

                               The Christian liturgical season of  Lent    

We have, I hope, a major storm on the way.  There is a flurry of prognostications.  Now there is wind and a gray eminence covering the north and eastern horizon.  Still, as of right now, no snow.  Since noon the high wind speeds have been in double digits, near 20 mph.  The average wind speeds for each half hour interval are all between 6 and 8 mph.  Something's going on.

post:north

                              First Quarter of the Moon of Winds       

                               The Christian liturgical season of  Lent    

Fireplace surround is underway with the special order tiles from Northern Prairie Tile.

The cloudmancy diviners have continued their prophesy of snow and blowing snow advisories for the weekend.  We rely on them and their ritual tools called "computers."  Wonder what their accuracy percentage is relative to the old ways of reading sheep entrails, watching birds, or cracking animal shoulder blades in the fire?

post:north

          Last Quarter of the Storm Moon   The Christian liturgical season of  Epiphany

The light as the sun heads west is gorgeous.  Cold weather like the recent arctic snap we've had makes the sunlight seem more precious as it creates late afternoon shadows and highlights the limited snow that partially covers our yard.

The cold weather we've had has reaffirmed our Minnesota nature.  When I left the retreat last Saturday at about 9:30 PM, it was -23 in north central Wisconsin.  As I drove south toward Andover, the temperature climbed until it was -13 above.  

Cold weather is a strange phenomenon in some ways.  In itself it is invisible, like the wind.  Like the wind, though, its effects are quite visible.  The windshield on my truck froze up and didn't unthaw for over 30 miles.  That meant I had a very narrow range of vision while traversing a forested area known for its numerous deer.  I saw several out dining even in the severe cold.

Water in automotive exhausts drips on the highway and freezes into a colorless ice.  Care must be taken around curves and when coming to a stop.

The coldest weather usually comes on a clear night, so these dramatic temperatures often include a stunning view of the sky.  As I drove home last Saturday, my old friend Orion hung high in the south, a companion again in a late cold time.  

The most notable experience of the cold is its clarity, its purity.  Extreme cold has a character, a resolve that makes its nature clear.  This kind of clarity and purity calls forth a transparency for thought, a time when essences pop out like a painting's complementary colors.

The Woolly's went on a dogsled trip in the Boundary Waters 7 or 8 years ago.  We camped out beside a frozen stream, far back in the wilderness.  When I got up in the morning, I put on my cold weather gear, and wandered outside both to urinate and get away from the close quarters of the tent.

I was the first one up and the sun had just broken over the horizon.  A light snow had fallen the night before and the temperature was around -20.  My breath rose in frozen plumes, some freezing on my mustache and beard.  The pines, the covered rocks, the stream, even the sleeping sled dogs were all still.  There was no wind.  

It was a moment out of time, out of the ordinary world I inhabited, just what I wanted from this trip.  The cold made it sharp, memorable.  The sun lit up the snow on the tree branches, my breath.  

This experience came while people played on beaches in Hawai'i, Florida, and finished a day in the tropical sun at Angkor and Bangkok and Singapore.  

This was a contemplative moment evoked not by ancient texts or advanced meditation, but by the extraordinary powers of mother earth.

post:north 

Snow in the forecast, at last.  We have passed, tonight, the record for longest time period in the year without .5" of snow.  The snow fall on Thursday night and Friday may not amount to much, I don't know, but I'm glad it's coming.

Thursday Chance Rain/Snow Hi 36°F

Thursday Night Chance Snow Lo 28°F

Friday Snow Hi 34°F

Friday Night Snow Lo 26°F

It looks as if the snow may begin at or near the time the sun passes the equator at 6:22PM tomorrow.  That's bringing in winter and its element with almost operatic timing. To have Winter Solstice evening with snow coming down. What this guy needs anyhow.

On the other hand, under the heading of too much of a good thing, here is the NOAA forecast for Breckenridge and surrounding areas: 

THE COLORADO AVALANCHE INFORMATION CENTER IS ISSUING AN AVALANCHE WARNING FOR THE SAN JUAN AND SANGRE DE CRISTO MOUNTAINS OF COLORADO. THE BACKCOUNTRY AVALANCHE DANGER IS HIGH. NATURAL AND HUMAN TRIGGERED AVALANCHES ARE LIKELY. SEVERAL LARGE NATURAL AVALANCHES HAVE OCCURRED. ACCUMULATIONS OF 20 TO 30 INCHES OF SNOW...WITH ADDITIONAL SNOW THIS AFTERNOON AND TONIGHT...HAVE DANGEROUSLY LOADED THE SNOWPACK. WINDS HAVE LOADED WEST THROUGH NORTH THROUGH EAST FACING SLOPES. THE COLORADO AVALANCHE INFORMATION CENTER IS ISSUING AN AVALANCHE WARNING FOR THE PIKES PEAK AREA AND HIGH ELEVATION AREAS OF THE FRONT RANGE MOUNTAINS OF COLORADO. THE BACKCOUNTRY AVALANCHE DANGER IS HIGH. NATURAL AND HUMAN TRIGGERED AVALANCHES ARE LIKELY. ACCUMULATIONS IN EXCESS OF 12 INCHES OF SNOW HAVE FALLEN AND WE EXPECT AN ADDITIONAL 1 TO 2 FEET...THIS WILL ALONG WITH HIGH WINDS HAVE DANGEROUSLY LOADED THE SNOWPACK.

Santa may get stuck in the Rockies.

    Here's a lot of stuff I didn't know or had forgotten about our nocturnal visitor.  Most interesting is its pouch and its ancient heritage.  It was around during the age of the dinosaurs and eohippus.  Cute little fellers. 

Among Minnesota's wild mammals, the opossum is probably the most unusual. a marsupial, it is a distant relative of the kangaroo and other animals which carry their young in a pouch.

The opossum is about the size of a house cat. It weighs from four to 12 pounds and measures nearly three feet from its long pink nose to its long naked tail. The opossum wraps its prehensile tail around tree limbs as an aid when climbing.

At night the opossum forages for small rodents, fruits, nuts, birds, insects, carrion, and other foods. After eating, it squats on its hind legs and washes, much like a cat.

What's truly unique about the 'possum' is how it comes into the world. The young, usually eight to 12, are not fully developed at birth. Their tiny front feet, however, do have minute claws which the babies use to climb up the mother's belly and into her pouch. Once inside, they attach themselves to a teat. There they remain for 60 to 70 days. For another month after that, the young opossums climb in and out of the pouch, never straying far. Finally, when mouse-size, they climb aboard the mother's back where they spend much of their time until becoming more independent.

The opossum lives primarily in southern Minnesota woodlands, but occasionally ranges into north-central counties. The opossum's naked ears, nose, and tail are very susceptible to freezing temperatures, which explains why the species is not found farther north.

Kate came home from work.  We paused in our evening and lit the 1st Hanukah candle.  Kate read the prayers.  We exchanged gifts; she got the Kiddush cup I bought only this morning.  She loved it.  We spoke of her renewal in her faith and of the linkage underscored by a Jewish daughter-in-law and a granddaughter, named Ruth.

She has several gifts for me.  Tonight I got scented candles.  I have an interest in aroma therapy, essential oils, incense, candles.  I have a few unwrapped gifts I'll wrap tomorrow.

I set down to write this, though, because, before going to bed, I checked to see if our neighbor, the opossum, is a creature of habit.  Sure enough.  Last night I checked if I could turn my desk light on and shine it out the window for a clearer look.  Didn't even break stride.  She kept eating, picking uneaten thistle seeds from below the thistle feeder.

Spent a bit of time watching her eat.  Very delicate.  Paw to mouth. Twitch nose.  Sniff. 

All animals I have taken time to observe at all closely reveal their individuality in a matter of moments.  This sensitivity has, I know, come from living with so many dogs over so many years.  This individuality does help me recall that this is not a problem creature, a squirrel is not a tree rat.  Our neighbor, the 'possum, does not live here to make life difficult in any way for me.  She lives here for the same reason I do.  This is home.  

I know it seems trivial, but this shared love of this land makes us, well, neighbors.  It pleases me to see my neighbors the Blue Jay, the Cardinal, the squirrel, the 'possum, even the field mice and those rascal gophers eating here.  I read tonight that Shabbat creates the garden of Eden in our home, in the garden the humans and the animals shared life together, a reverence for each other.  So might it be here.

Dark in here.  My one nod to the Holidays a white light deer illuminates the area outside my drawing desk window.  Out there I have a bowl for water; it has a heater.  There are also several bird feeders.  Started out for bed tonight, looked out the window, and saw an opossum.  The long white face and extended tail mark either end of a large rat-like torso.  She fed around several of the bird feeders, moving slow, not afraid at all.  

It was strange to be inside and to see her so clearly, an animal, among several, who live here, but whom we never see unless they end up as road kill or dog food.  Sortia, our predator Wolfhound, brought in an opossum, a raccoon, and several ground hogs.  This was in addition to the more common rabbits.  Seeing this 'possum reminded me that we are just one animal among many on our property.  But, we do have the biggest house.

Woolly's at the Black Forest.  Told the story of the Texas land and got a good laugh.  Everybody was there except Charlie H.  and Jimmy J.  

The days have turned cold, bitter cold at times with the winds.  As I drove in to the city tonight, I realized how happy I was to see the exhaust curling up from the cars on the road.  Glad to have my winter layers on and a scarf around my neck.  To those used to warmer climates this must sound like lunatic ravings, but there is a comfort, a cold comfort, yes, but comfort nonetheless, when our state delivers on its continental climate.  The weather braces, but, more important, it seems as it should be, and when it comes to a matter as profound as the seasons I prefer them usual.

I chose the Oak Moon name for the December full moon because the seven oaks on the rise outside my window keep me company in winter and summer.   

Today it is cold.  The temperature dropped Wednesday, the day after we got back from Denver and has continued to drop today.  November shades into December with a touch of Arctic air.  Here we have no atabatic cooling, ours comes from decreased sun intensity and cold air slumping toward us from the North Pole.

The slowed down, molasses inner drive continues.   

Just back inside from another round of walking the perimeter, our chain link fence that encloses over an acre and a  half of woods.  From time to time the dogs find a place to dig out, wriggle under and they escape.  When they do, they come running to the front door or the patio door with an expression of satisfaction.  We live close to a busy highway, Round Lake Blvd.  Bad if they got on it, so when they escape I go around the fence line to see where they escaped.  

A while back I carved out a six foot wide trail all along the fence so I could do this chore without machete and chain saw.  At that time I also put down logs or 10' long 2x4s where the bottom of the chain link didn't reach all the way to the ground.  That works until an outside animal digs in or one of the dogs digs out, under the barrier.  

The hole today was the latter, a spot where I had the barrier already in place. 

November sunrise and sunset light comes through the trees with liquid, golden power.  It enhances everything in its path.  It would not surprise me to see angels skate boarding down from heaven or the folk of faery dancing in it.  

This clarity has a Romantic Classical feel.  It brings order, making each thing it touches stand out and look its best; yet, it also creates a larger than life, better than life feeling, as if, for a moment, the world here and there have become one, both wonderful.

It is, too, a calm before the winter snows and bitter wind chills sweep down from the North pole, transforming us into a white land with little resemblance, save in topography to the one seen outside the window now.  

Ready for winter.  Just. Bring. Snow.

This moon, a pale yellow against a deep blue twilight.  Large.  The only object in the heavens.  It is at moments like these when the ancient belief in lunar influence, even lunacy comes wheeling down the millennia, or, better, comes up from within the millennia deep layers of  our common mind.  The sky is clear.  The air calm and filled with the smell of leaves and burning wood.  And the lesser light hangs there, weightless yet massive.  A wonder.  Of our time and so long ago.

A while back the sand began to drift down from the third tier along the house, at first in small amounts, then, more recently by shovelful when it rained.  A couple of weeks ago I dug out the area behind the rocks through which the water came and found it had no landscape cloth to hold back the sand.  I added some.  It hasn't drifted down in the last few rainstorms, so I spent this morning sweeping and shoveling the debris off our brick patio.  

As I worked, my thoughts kept returning to a Chinese painting of monk who receives enlightenment sweeping leaves.  This led me back to my idea for an illustrated theology, one using, say, the Taoist works of Song dynasty landscape painters and the craft works involved in creating Shinto sanctuaries.  

Cut a dying trunk off our magnolia tree in the back.  Trimmed back hemerocallis, ferns, cicimfuga, some Siberian Iris, geraniums, and other miscellaneous plants.  Then went up in the fenced in back yard and cut back trees along the old compost pile and began trimming back the young trees growing along the east fence of the park.  

Hilo ran and ran and ran.  She flattens out, springs forward, then careens around until she finishes whatever circuit exists in  her doggy mind.  Her spirit when outside the fence is freed.  A true joy.

The garden cleanup this year has accelerated due to the December weather this week; it will be 25 tonight.  After that it warms up, but the days will rain and snow so garden work will have to wait.  Still, we're ahead of the pace of year's past. That's partly due to the weather, but also to advanced understanding of the gardens needs.

December weather.  Ran the sprinklers through the night to protect the delicate machinery from freezing.  The result is frozen grass, frozen tree limbs, icicles dangling from the lilac bush, and an iced over sidewalk.  So, on October 12th I got out the deicer, a bit of sand and protected our guests from slip slidin' away. 

Snow spitting outside, the weather monitor shows snow.  We could get an inch Paul Douglas said.  This is the end for the garden.  Even the mums may not make it through this although they don't look dead.  Told Kate she'd have to use a Zamboni if she wanted to mow the yard today.  Glad the indoor plants have a snug warm space right here in the computer/drawing room.

Putting the garden to bed, bringing indoor plants back inside after a growing season outside.  Preparing the house for the roofers and siders.   The instinct to arrange the den and pull the leaves in over myself is strong at this time of year.  It is as if these chores make the relative ease from outside work over winter make it all ok.

The moon stands high to the east of our house.  With my east window blinds up the moon shines on my newly installed drafting table.  Outside the air is cool but not cold.  A wind makes the poplars sway back and forth at the very top, a dance of wind and limb, graceful.

This moon has a power I don't always feel, but the October moon:  the harvest moon, the blood moon, the hunters moon has magic in its lambent light.  Werewolves might well walk even our woods.  Faeries may dance in mushroom rings.  Demons may glide across its face, leathery wings lifting them on their rounds.  Samhain comes at the end of this month, the time of the thin veil between the worlds, when the dead and those of faery can cross back into this world from the Otherworld.  This moon seems to suggest all of that and more.

It is a poet's moon.  A moon with a moon viewing stand.  Our property could have a moon viewing stand since we have such a good view of the east.  Maybe someday.

The last of the new bulbs went in the ground this evening.  20 pastel lilium for the lily bed.  Tucked in under 7" or so of crumbly organic rich soil, a bit of root stimulator poured on, then the covers placed over the small living engines of beauty.  The air is crisp, not cold.  The trees have become golden.  The sky provides a blue backdrop for fall's splashy final curtain.  

Having visited Southeast Asia I can imagine a world with no fall, but it's not a world for me.  These seasonal rhythms have drilled themselves into the deepest parts of my soul.  

While I worked in the lily bed, I could hear in the background the Andover High School marching band.  This is an example.  These literally golden days have a football association, first high school in Alexandria, then Wabash College.  My days of interest in football at either the high school or college level have long ago waned, but those drums and trumpets sounded on a crisp fall late afternoon washed over me in the same way the eucharist comforts a Catholic.  A sacrament of the seasons.  It lets me know I belong here, that this is my place, a place to which I was born and in which I hope to die.