i’m writing this from a semiconscious perch on my usual desk chair, with a traditional thanksgiving meal in my belly, a load of dishes in the sink, a snubnosed dog in the bed, a healthy family in the other room, and thanks in my heart for all of the above. even the dishes.

found wild turkey primary wing feathers

shoreview, minnesota

i have what i call my specimen table, which moves about the house depending on the season, and which holds the mostly accounted for, but not quite dismissed, sheaves of flora that i have harvested from the local landscape over the prior weeks, or sometimes, to my embarrassment, months. yesterday, just in time for thanksgiving, in need of some usable horizontal surface, i lifted an armful of vegetation from my specimen table, which has most recently resided in my kitchen, and just look at the gorgeous mess that got left behind. it is so much prettier than anything i could have arranged myself that i decided it deserved a thanksgiving day feature. may you all be burdened with love and plenty on this day full of thanks, whether compatriots celebrating thanksgiving day, or simpáticos simply feeling grateful for nature’s mystery and abundance.

specimens table november remnants

my kitchen, saint paul, minnesota

i was never very good at grammar. i don’t know what these exclamation points and commas and hyphens and periods are trying to tell me. i’ve tried stopping, starting, pausing and talking emphatically all evening. my family will be happy when i move on to my next post. i hope it has to do with math.

november stems and wasp paper dots

various shoreview trails, saint paul, minnesota

spent the day thinking about rhythm, for some reason. how we are all being encouraged to try to live our lives in balance, but that balance is a weirdly static and unsustainable goal. how many people do you know who live their lives in perfect balance? i don’t know any. but i know a lot of happy people who live their lives according to the rhythms of the seasons, or the rhythms of the academic year, or the daily rhythm of sunrise and sunset. along those lines, i am as happy to be reacquainted with this straw colored november marsh grass as i will be happy to meet the next generation of new green marsh grass next spring.

marsh grass in snow

on the shore of turtle lake, shoreview, minnesota

the sweeter or juicier the fruit, it seems, the thornier the branch. this bristly, spiky gooseberry cane is ready to defend the tender berries it will grow next year. i still have a mostly guileless, sensitive boy on my hands, despite his recent eleventh birthday. he still worms over onto my shoulder while he reads himself to sleep. He still reaches for my hand when we walk, and he likes to wander dreamily around the back yard. he still kisses us goodnight with unselfconscious, pooch-lipped pecks. there are times when i feel like a gooseberry branch, needing to be a little bit extra fierce to protect my tender fruit from the forces of the world that would pluck him before his time.

american gooseberry cane with peeling bark

grass lake trail, saint paul, minnesota