The first Christmas card every year arrives just after Thanksgiving. My sister-in-law, Lynne, who lives near Des Moines, is responsible for that first greeting every year. She writes the best Christmas letters I’ve ever received – filled with family news, timely observations, encouragement and loving remarks. There are pictures of her children, grandchildren and pets accompanied, each year, by a beautiful card that reflects her devout and joyous celebration of the holiday season.
I’m not very good at getting Christmas cards and other timely greetings such as birthday cards, in the mail on time. I do write fairly often to friends and family members who are willing to write real letters, since I’m not into texting and don’t have e-mail. That, and the annual newsletter I send to classmates and other friends pretty much cover any Christmas card list I’d have – if I had one, so my conscience is relatively clear. I do wish, though, that I could share some of the delightful winter pictures provided by Mother Nature out here in my own little corner of Johnson County.
In late October, when the trees have turned colorful and the sky is that incredible intense blue we get at no other time of year, I want to paint pictures and write poems about what I see from my windows and view from my deck. I’d like to capture the regal excitement of a flock of crows festooning the row of walnut trees along my driveway. They seem to be seriously working out strategies for the coming migration. Businesslike in their black traveling suits, they will leave, as a group, in response to some prearranged signal which eludes me.
In November, harvesting is underway and, along with farm machinery and grain trucks, I see deer streaking through the bare fields, this year’s youngsters all legs and energy, half panicked, half playful, chasing each other or looking for a safe place to flee. I’m not sure which; possibly both at once. Great honking geese and other water birds stop over at my pond for a needed rest and breakfast before continuing their long journey. In years past, we hosted more exotic cranes, herons and pelicans, but they’ve not been so evident these past few years. I worry about them. Some mornings, a skin of ice has formed on the pond and it’s not unusual to see oak leaves skimming over the smooth surface like sailboats in a brisk autumn breeze. One winter, an early snowstorm heaped clouds of fluffy white over the trees, bushes and fallen logs surrounding the pond. Against the white frosting, the pond looked as dark as chocolate and my daughter and I, armed with cameras, went out in our rowboat, taking snapshots of the amazing transformations brought about by Jack Frost in his playfulness. Several of those photos were the inspiration for paintings later that winter.
My woods are not entirely brown and drab in winter. There are vines that turn scarlet and hold onto their leaves until nearly spring. And there are always several red cedar trees to supply spots of dark green or glow brightly on sunny days. Those stubborn little cedars that you see growing everywhere along fence rows, in ditches and in untended fields are known as a climax plant in Iowa. That means that, if left alone for many years, nearly all other plants would eventually succumb, and Iowa would be more or less populated with red cedar trees.
There is a row of cedar trees along the drive-in front of my house. They are now twice the size they were when we built this house fifty years ago and, though I considered them to be less than beautiful at that time, they have developed into impressive landscaping assets over the years. There has been occasional breakage due to winter snows and summer storms, but the trees have survived and offer morning shade and some shelter from winds, but their biggest contribution is the fact that they bear tiny purple berries that birds love – especially the cardinals. There has never been a Christmas card to equal the one that I often see from my front windows. Dark green cedar branches tufted with sparkling white snow and decorated with dozens of bright red cardinals and their rosy-tan wives.
A former volunteer and substitute teacher in the Solon schools, Milli is an artist and poet who lives near Morse where she also creates unique greeting cards and handmade books.