i have sat here for half an hour and decided there is nothing interesting to say about clover. everything likes to eat it. it makes a clear and beautiful honey.  if you find the one in a million, it might give you good luck. if you’re lost in the wilderness, it might save your life. farmers have used it for centuries to replenish the soil. it is what my husband looks for in the fall when he’s grouse hunting. it grows flower heads like white and violet torches. and when you plunge your nose into a bouquet of clover, it smells like lilacs. i rest my case. there is nothing interesting to say about clover.

bouquet of clover blossoms

vadnais lake, saint paul, minnesota

here’s a newborn white oak parading around in his birthday suit with his bouncing little acorn. he was conceived when one of the endless cascades of acorns last fall bounced off of our roof and landed in the back yard. he managed to survive deer, squirrels, wood ducks, and a polar vortex, before i pulled him up and posted this embarrassing baby photo that will probably get shown at his graduation party.

sprouted white oak with acorn and tap root

backyard, saint paul, minnesota

a vintage neighborhood restaurant recently had the land sold out from under it, and had to go searching for a new spot. the abandoned building has undergone a sort of slow-motion demolition ever since, and it hasn’t taken long for the new neighbors to move in. we were told they would be a community of 55+ seniors. but they turned out to be a mama mallard and her clutch of eight eggs, well camouflaged under the formerly neatly pruned arbor vitae hedge along the restaurant terrace. we’ve got no complaints. mallards make for excellent neighbors.

mallard nest

saint paul, minnesota

i once read that, due to our evolutionary predilictions, humans are most soothed by a view from a height, looking out over grassland, toward a body of water in the distance. both before and after reading that statement, i have been drawn to edges where water meets land. and in the american upper midwest, that means spending a lot of time in the company of cottonwoods, and their expressive bark.

cottonwood tree bark

sucker creek, regional park, saint paul, minnesota

when we bought our house eight years ago, we inherited a small restored prairie. one of my favorite tenants has come to be these golden alexanders–eager, celebratory, always interesting. everything you would want in a friend.

golden alexanders (golden zizia)

my backyard, saint paul, minnesota