Sunday, June 9, 2013

Courtesy of the Winds

Or Letting Go

The desert olives impress me most.  They have an actual strategy, and a long-term one at that.  The winds have been blowing here, you see—and blowing, and blowing:  the hard, buffeting winds of spring.  They are the real test of adaptation in these parts, and many exotics that fare well in drought and sun receive their last rites from the wind.

My oldest nephew gave me a book on wind a while back (Wind, it's called, by Jan DeBlieu), because he said it was such a leitmotif in my blog.  It does have force of character here in New Mexico, a personality you either learn to live with or—well, you just have to learn to live with it.  All across the world, of course, living things have learned in remarkable ways to cope with the wind.  Trees change shape to reduce the drag of it in their crowns, to keep the force of it from breaking them apart or knocking them down.  DeBlieu writes of different species rolling their leaves into tight cylinders or folding them in half, or even clumping together in masses:  all ways to reduce the force of wind in those top-heavy crowns.

Desert olives (Forestiera neomexicana)
The desert olives just let their leaves go.  They leaf out heavily in early spring, each twig and branch thick with apple green leaves on fragile stems.  While the days are lengthening, and the sun is still cool and pleasant, they photosynthesize like mad.  But as the seasonal winds rip through them, whole stems of delicate new growth get sheared away; the garden is littered with leaflets.  The dense shade beneath the trees begins to dapple.  By mid-June perhaps a third of the leaves are gone—mid-June, when the sun is reaching its strongest, and desert plants are ready for relief.  The olives will have harvested enough energy in spring to thrive, and in summer, thanks to the wind, they will have fewer tender surfaces that lose moisture, fewer that require it.  They use the spring winds to help them survive the summer sun.

Treating the wind as an asset, rather than something to be endured—other species have different tactics:  conifers and cottonwoods, maples and elms.  They all count on the wind to cast pollen, seed, and samara far and wide; the wind helps their kind survive.  Whole ecosystems rely on the wind.  DeBlieu writes of aeolian biomes in the extreme heights of the Himalayas, beyond the range of growing things.  Insects live there by scavenging pollens and seeds or bits of insect wing that have blown in on the wind.  I look at the ants hunting and gathering in the garden with renewed interest.  What exotic treats do they enjoy—or even depend on—courtesy of the winds?  Saguaro pollen from Tucson, perhaps, or microscopic mineral crystals from the great Salt Lake; a taste of the tropics from the Gulf of Mexico.  In the utter bareness of the Himalayas, the wind is the sole provider.  In the relative plenty of the high desert, it's harder to tell what needs might be met by the wind.  Perhaps none.  Perhaps many.

I've been thinking about aeolian biomes and windborne nutrients as the third anniversary of Microcosm has approached.  I am more astonished every year at what the winds of cyberspace bring us, and how they cast our words far and wide, scattering bits of our personalities around where they may take root or be enjoyed by others.  I'm especially astonished at the friendships and community those winds have blown into my life.  They have brought me beauty and kindness; they have made it possible to adapt to illness and thrive.  Now, though, as the winds of a New Mexico spring are fanning the fires of summer, I find that other aspects of my life are calling for attention.  I think it is time to let Microcosm go. 



I'm drafting this out on the patio, while the silky threadgrass ripples on the breeze.  The wind has been growing for a while now.  A gust almost knocks over the empty iced tea glass perched on the arm of the Adirondack chair.  It's strong enough to chase me inside, and from there I watch the desert olives twisting and bending.  A few leaflets blow onto the patio.  It seems a good moment to close—and to thank you for the gifts you've given so generously:  your readership and comments, your time and ideas, and most of all your friendship and caring.  You all mean the world to me.  May the winds of the world bring you many good things to savor.

And may you always discover the gifts they bring you.

30 comments:

  1. I will miss this blog! It is unlike anything else I've read in the blogosphere. Succinct, honest, true. Reading it, I am back in New Mexico with you, feeling the breeze, fingering the delicate olive leaves in early spring. I hope the spring breezes bring new things into your life.

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    1. Mitchie, thank you! I'm so glad you've found good things in Microcosm and that you've found a pleasant return to New Mexico in it from time to time.

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  2. Oh, I wanted to welcome you back, and now I find that I must say goodbye instead. I will miss you, and your blog. You have a beautiful style of writing, and you always made me think. I know we never met, never emailed, never communicated other than comments, but I always considered you a friend. I wish you well and hope only the best for you and your garden. And if those creative juices just have to be set free, I hope you will once again enlighten us with your thoughts and words. Until then, take care.

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    1. Holley, the very hardest thing about writing this post was knowing that without a blog it will be harder to keep in touch with friends such as yourself. Before I started Microcosm I would have been skeptical about how strong "virtual" friendships could be, but no more. They're every bit as real as "real life" friendships. You take care as well, and if you ever take another vacation in Albuquerque, I will be glad to have a pitcher of iced tea waiting for you.

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  3. Hard to believe. You are such a superb writer, Stacy! While it saddens me, I am sure that making the space and time for other important goals in your life will help to fulfill one or more of your dreams. Best of luck, Stacy, many hugs, and chapeau for such an achievement! Three years of beauty and joy ...and I will keep going back to your blog get some inspiration for writing (and beauty and sheer joy). Your posts will never date, because your writing is true art. -Ronit

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    1. Ronit, I've always been so glad you enjoyed Microcosm! You were its first reader and supporter, back when I was hesitant to let anyone know I was even writing. Thank you. And many, many hugs to you, too!

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  4. I was climbing up a snow covered mountain a couple of months ago and came across a couple of beetles scurrying across the ice. I wondered then what they could possibly be feeding on. Insect wings perhaps? Thank you so much for Microcosm, Stacy. You've made me laugh and ponder and, on occasion, feel sad or wistful - and I've had to look up lots of your words! I'm sad that my favourite blog has come to an end but happy that you are moving on to new things. Just ensure you continue to write; it would be a great loss were you not to. Dave

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    1. The whole aeolian biome thing completely blew me away, Dave. Who knew that the wilds of the northern UK had their very own version of it? Thanks for your kind words. And thank *you* for words like marcescent (which I still have not been able to work casually into a sentence) and corruscate (ditto). Some day. Some day.

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  5. Stacy,

    Like HolleyGarden I was so pleased to find a new post from you and much saddened to read that it would be your last. This has been one of my favourite blogs, always beautifully written and thought-provoking. May the aspects of your life that are calling you prove as rewarding for you as Microcosm has for its many readers.

    Jill

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    1. Jill, thank you for those lovely good wishes. Writing Microcosm has certainly been incredibly rewarding to me--I'm glad to know it has been for my readers as well.
      Stacy

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  6. oh, say it ain't so ... I do hope that you have active plans to send your writing to an even wider audience!

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    1. Diana, thank you--no active plans of any kind, just some vague thoughts simmering in the background. I am going to try to coax them forward over the summer. And I will come visit you (virtually) in your wintry garden!

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    2. Oooh so there's hope, light at the end of our tunnel?

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  7. Stacy, you're such an incredibly talented writer, it makes me sad that Microcosm is being let go as it's such a unique blog with a unique take on life - a roller-coaster ride of thought and reflection At the same time I am happy that you're looking after yourself and paying attention to what *you* need. As you move on to other areas, I still hope you find time to occasionally visit me in my tiny plot, crammed with flowers.

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    1. Sunil, thank you so much for affirming both sides of this equation. I will miss writing Microcosm, but also feel like I have said what I had to say here. I do indeed intend to visit you in your plentiful garden (may it never grow emptier) from time to time, as I would miss chatting with you over the virtual garden fence.

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  8. Stacy, I've either been missing the last few posts or there just haven't been any I was so excited to see a new piece for you - until I realized that this was your goodbye.

    I always look forward to your carefully considered lessons from Nature and the garden. I feel as though I have walked your little garden many times with you and learned so much.

    I wish you well and send a long distance hug. X

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    1. Karen, I have so much enjoyed your companionship here. Walking your own garden with you has been a lovely experience--even though yours requires (mental) rainboots from time to time! A warm hug to you in return, and know that I am cheering you on in the never-ending fight against those pesky deer!

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  9. Stacy, It has been such a pleasure these three years to read your wonderfully evocative writing and to learn from you to see the big life lessons in small things. Microcosm will be missed. A very fond adieu and best of luck in your next adventures. -Jean

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    1. Jean, thank you--you were kind enough to choose Microcosm as one of your Blogs of the Month long ago. I have always appreciated (and admired!) your generous support of others' work. Best wishes to you as your retirement edges closer and your Maine garden becomes HOME.

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  10. Hi Stacy, what a lovely post to end with, that adaptation to apparently unsurmountable prevailing conditions perfectly captures the challenge of living with CFS. I will really miss your writing - will miss you - but wish you all the best in your ongoing adventures, learning to adapt to New Mexico and CFS and thrive despite it all.

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    1. Janet, thank you for those very kind wishes. I have so much appreciated all of your warm-hearted comments! They have extra meaning coming from someone else who Knows what CFS is all about--especially since you are so wonderfully yourself despite it. I hope your Welsh garden keeps being a source of joy and discovery. Enjoy that amazing view for me!

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  11. Stacy - Sometimes I feel like us bloggers get to know each other better than our nearest and dearest. (I've never opened up and told someone in conversation how I truly feel about plants.) I've always been amazed at how people with illness can have such a zest of life with unselfish priorities. They are amongst the nicest people I know, and you with your gentle soul. Hopefully, au revoir.

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    1. b-a-g, bloggers really are a community of kindred spirits, I think. Who else knows which tree is our favorite (not to mention why that matters so much)? I will stop by to see your foxgloves and nicotiana and cherry tree in bloom (but not all at once) and to curse at the foxes on your behalf.

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  12. Oh Stacy I am delighted for you as you move down a new path and sad for us. I save your posts so I can savor the words and reread them. So special and meaningful. I will miss this blog and you. I wish you well and hope you will visit from time to time. Maybe bigger audiences do await you my friend and we can continue to read your beautiful words.

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    1. Donna, thank you--that's very sweet. I'm so glad you've found Microcosm so enjoyable. I do plan to keep reading and visiting blogs, if not as regularly as before, so I hope to keep up with you and your lovely garden and your exciting plans for the future. If you find yourself in New Mexico at any point once you have more leisure to travel, please give me a shout.

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    2. I will definitely do that Stacy. I hope to make plans soon for the fall if everything works the way I am hoping.

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  13. Stacy, I, too, was excited to see that you had written another post and saddened when I read that you're saying goodbye to blogging. I felt a kinship with you - it seems many others feel that way too, with your wonderful sensitivity and ability to describe the life in the smallest things and evoke a sense of place. But I understand that the time comes to move on from blogging. I do hope that you will continue your creative work and writing. You have such a gift.

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    1. Sheila, I beg your pardon for the (incredibly) late response! Somehow I missed this comment. Thank you for those lovely words--the most wonderful thing about blogging for me really has been "meeting" so many kindred spirits who are moved to wonder by the beauty around them. If you're ever out this way let me know, and we will wander the bosque and ooh and aah together.

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  14. Oh, I hadn't seen this post so I didn't know you had stopped writing, thank you for taking the time to comment on my post - guess it means you are still visiting though? I will miss your posts, hope you have moved on to just as interesting things :-)

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    1. Helene, I am definitely still making the rounds to all my friends' gardens, though perhaps in a more leisurely way than usual. I do have a new project in the works and am really enjoying the challenge, though I keep looking at things in the garden and thinking, "Oh, that would make a good blog post!"

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