until we had had a hive in our backyard, i never once prayed for dandelions to start flowering so there would be some nectar for the poor bees.

gathered in an empty lot on east 7th in saint paul, minnesota

the symbolism almost writes itself. the triumphant swords of the young crocus leaves pierce the heart of winter, in the form of two remnant oak leaves. standing next to them, the earliest spring flower looks skyward and throws its arms wide in celebration. or, you know. something like that.

crocus

saint paul, minnesota

we are just coming out of a three year drought that caused our lake shore to recede by nearly 200 feet, an effect, possibly, of global warming, or of overly active municipal wells, or of an overtaxed aquifer, or of some combination of all of the above. one of the first residents of the newly exposed wetland soil were these giant grasses with stiff stalks and large feathery plumes. a case of beautiful guests who weren’t invited.  i loved the way their ten foot stalks visually screened the view of our neighbors’ docks, creating the impression that we were the only residents on the whole lake. then i decided, after some research, that these grasses were actually invasive phragmites, threatening to colonize our diverse and beloved native cattail bed with a teutonic monoculture of blond-tasseled aryans. subsequent research convinced me that they were not invasive phragmites after all, but were, in fact, native phragmites, threatening only to establish picturesque and scattered stands in peaceful coexistence with our other native species. as of right now, i’m no longer sure of anything, except that the world has gotten too complicated.

phragmites

turtle lake, saint paul, minnesota

i love you! you’re suffocating me! i can’t live without you! i can’t breathe! i need you! you’re killing me!

vine wrapped sapling trunk (probably alder)

turtle lake, saint paul, minnnesota