Finding Nature’s Inspiration The Afternoon Prior to my Total Right Knee Replacement

[Note]

I am publishing this photo essay four weeks to the day following my knee replacement surgery. I’m recovering remarkably well. I hope to return to woodland wanderings by mid-October!

The Photo Essay

My scheduled August 20, 2024 total right knee replacement surgery loomed months, then weeks, and then days ahead. Having survived, effortfully rehabilitated, and recovered from my January 2024 left knee replacement surgery, I knew what lay ahead for August 20, and the weeks and months beyond. Knowing that a medical exile from Nature wanderings would extend at least through September, I sauntered two miles (one out; one back) along Madison, Alabama’s Bradford Creek Greenway on the afternoon of August 19. I decided to commemorate my brief traverse with a photo essay highlighting the Nature-Buoyed Aging and Healing elements of this outing.

I’ll begin with this 58-second video near the Heritage School trailhead. I could not have selected a better sky, a more welcoming entrance, and a pleasanter embrace of an old forester seeking fortification for yet another looming major surgery, although not with life and death implications like my June 2023, triple bypass.  Without orchestrating the video sequence (perhaps I should have planned the videos more carefully), two tall, large-crowned loblolly pines trees attracted my attention as I panned the camera. Both trees rose to their main canopy dominance by performance. I am reminded that my recovery, while biologically enabled at the cellular level (physiology), is largely paced by my own willingness to perform guided physical therapy.

 

Nature’s ambience, a simple pleasure, stirred my soul.

 

I focused dozens of my photo essays on our local greenways, which wisely combine sewer line rights-of-way, otherwise undevelopable wetlands, and an insatiable demand for recreational greenspace in the state’s fastest growing metropolitan area. Here’s my 59-second video capturing the idyllic result of thoughtful community planning:

 

I wonder how many greenway travelers (pedestrians and bikers) realize that the occasional manholes and sewer-gas-venting candy canes bely the true nature of these very pleasant travel ways?

 

I seldom allow the sewer reality to distract my appreciation for the beauty, magic, wonder, awe, and inspiration of these arterial natural zones that protect forested flood plains coursing through urban and suburban neighborhoods.

 

You do not need my feeble narrative to highlight the healing Nature of greenspace. Suffice it to say that I gathered symbolic medication for my pending holistic (body, mind, heart, soul, and spirit) healing and ongoing aging. I carried the elixir with me into the next morning’s pre-dawn appointment for preparation, surgery, and post-op.

 

The preparatory salve doesn’t require breaking hospital rules about carrying personal medication into the facility!

 

Nothing in Nature is Static

 

I’ve visited the greenway during active flooding attributable to prolonged winter/spring rains or following summer frog-stranglers. Runoff from the urbanizing basin flashes Bradford Creek more quickly than just a few decades ago. August 19 revealed a dry streambed punctuated by a few persistent pools and an occasional above ground trickle.

 

I recorded this 53-second video of one such reflective pool, the otherwise dry bed, and the adjacent greenway:

 

Madison logs an average of 55 inches of rainfall annually, distributed reliably across the seasons. I’ve measured only 0.29 inches through August 30. The pool below offers hope for eventual rains reviving life in the nearly dormant stream. Averages are the essence of life in any natural system. To prosper over the long haul, any organism must tolerate the extremes, feast and famine…drought and torrent…sauna and freezer. I look ahead to my next saunter on the greenway, when I hope to enjoy cooler temperatures and gurgling waters.

 

The pool occurrence assured me again and again that stream life will persevere. Water tupelo trees prefer wet feet. The large shoreline trees with gnarled surface roots in the water and buttressed lower trunks are tupelo. Along Bradford Creek, I sense that the tupelo embrace a measure of vanity, appreciating their reflection wherever I see them.

 

I have visited the 2.6 mile greenway many dozens of times since 2015. Tree reflections (no, not just tupelo) draw my attention, enticing me to absorb the image, no matter the season. Somehow the beautiful image retains fidelity to the substance of what stands above it…leaves, branches, sky, clouds. I have never observed a reflection that leaves a permanent mark. Reflections may be the most ephemeral facet of Nature.

 

 

I recorded this 50-second video of limited flow at the base of a tupelo:

 

Their propensity to grow along these flash-inclined streams subject tupelos to physical punishment from tree debris hurtling downstream. This mid-stream resident bears the scars of abuse, a tree of character.

 

I’ve admired this American beech near the Heritage School trailhead often. Appearing to stand on stilts, a beech seed germinated 80-90 years ago atop a decaying stump that served as a moist organic-matter-rich nursery soil. The seedling sent roots down the sides of the rotting stump into the welcoming floodplain mineral soil. The old stump has decomposed, leaving only the suggestion of its former shape and purpose in service to the beech seed and seedling at creekside.

 

I’ve observed often that every tree, every stand, and every forest has a compelling tale to tell. The beech, the tupelos, the stream cycles, and the greenway forest whisper their stories across the seasons. I’m grateful that I can sample their revealing volumes on short notice whenever I need a dose of their endless elixir.

Summer Color, 13-Year Cicada Postscript, and Future Promise

 

A lifelong fan of spring wildflowers, a spectacular late summer cardinal flower caught my eye trailside, encouraging me to record this 58-second video, focusing first on the cardinal flower, the greenway forest edge, a lone fallen hickory nut, and another look at the sky and the canopy overarching the greenway:

 

I have a lifelong bias for spring ephemeral wildflowers, a passion fomented where I spent my formative years in the central Appalachians, where the beauties seemed to appear before snow completely melted, and even preceeded the arrival of one or more of what I termed robin snows. I admit that I viewed summer bloomers, which eschewed the dark summer forests where I wandered, as meadow and roadside weeds. Age broadened my appreciation beyond that narrow window between the onset of spring’s early warmth and canopy closure abbreviating forest floor flowering. The cardinal flower grew luxuriately at the forest edge along the greenway. How could I possibly denigrate this exquisite exhibit by declaring it a weed?

 

Nothing in Nature is static. Just five month earlier, this greenway would have displayed chickweed, violet, spring beauty, henbit, and other species. Hickory trees may have been bursting vegetative and flower buds high above within the still open canopy. I’ve time traveled inexorably through spring into late summer, when a mature hickory nut lies on the same shoulder, visually signaling a new season. I wonder, perhaps feeling a little sorry for myself, how far beyond me do news and concern for my knee replacement extend. Immediate family, yes; a few friends and associates, yes; beyond that, no. Does the hickory nut care, no…absolutely not! I’m reminded, therefore, that while the greenway and its environs are my holistic elixir, there is no reciprocity. Hickory nuts have matured, fallen, and faced whatever fate for untold millennia prior to European settlement and even indigenous arrival. And they will do so for as many generations hence.

 

We human residents earlier this summer talked incessantly for weeks about the persistent grating hum of male 13-year cicadas, now long since gone for yet another extened period of subsurface renewal. What did they leave? Some frazzled nerves of people far too easily bothered by an inevitable reality of sharing a few weeks every 1.3 decades with a regional co-inhabitant life form. Thousands…no, millions…of 4-to-10-inch dead oak (not exclusively, but mostly oak) branchlets killed by cicada larvae hatched from eggs oviposited by freshly fertilized female adults. Life cycles are more compex for cicadas than for humans, yet I am sure far less drama is involved. The larvae feed on the twig cambium. The twig dies, leaving the small flagged branchlets. The nymphs (a next life stage) drop unhurt to the ground, dig deep, feed, grow, and emerge via new exit holes (this year’s still evident below in the dry floodplain soils).

 

Near the trailhead, this passion flower, another summer favorite, beckoned me. A weed? No way!

 

My August 19, 2024, journey covered only 90 minutes, far less than the time I’ve enjoyed translating the venture, its 18 photographs, and five brief videos into a semi-cogent photo essay. Although I have completed my tale for now, the Bradford Creek Greenway story is by no means finished. The Madison Greenways and Trails group is partnering with the City of Madison to extend the Greenway another 0ne-half mile north. Here is my 59-second video recorded where the extension will continue northward from where the current paved greenway veers west to the Heritage School parking lot and trailhead:

 

The sewer line right-of-way extends northward from the Heritage trailhead, promising mystery and hidden treasures.

 

Picture the paved extension passing through the deep floodplain forest. I am eager to track progress and to decide on a subsequent visit whether to saunter north or south. Nothing in Nature is static. So, too, should our human connections to Nature be ever-evolving. I applaud and thank those among us who are striving to make some small corner of the Earth better through wisdom, knowledge, and hard work.

Thoughts and Reflections

 

I offer these observations:

• Visiting the Greenway the day before joint surgery afforded symbolic medication for my pending holistic (body, mind, heart, soul, and spirit) healing and ongoing aging.
• I have never observed a water reflection that leaves a permanent mark. Reflections may be the most ephemeral facet of Nature.
• Nothing in Nature, including the flow of our individual fleeting lives, is static.

Inhale and absorb Nature’s elixir. May Nature Inspire, Inform, and Reward you!

If only more of us viewed our precious environment through the filters I employ. If only my mission and vision could be multiplied by untold orders of magnitude:

Mission: Employ writing and speaking to educate, inspire, and enable readers and listeners to understand, appreciate, and enjoy Nature… and accept and practice Earth Stewardship.

Vision:

• People of all ages will pay greater attention to and engage more regularly with Nature… and will accept and practice informed and responsible Earth Stewardship.
• They will see their relationship to our natural world with new eyes… and understand their Earth home more clearly.

Tagline/Motto: Steve (Great Blue Heron) encourages and seeks a better tomorrow through Nature-Inspired Living!

 

Steve’s Four Books

 

I wrote my books Nature Based Leadership (2016), Nature-Inspired Learning and Leading (2017), Weaned Seals and Snowy Summits: Stories of Passion for Place and Everyday Nature (2019; co-authored with Dr. Jennifer Wilhoit), and Dutton Land & Cattle: A Land Legacy Story (2023) to encourage all citizens to recognize and appreciate that every lesson for living, learning, serving, and leading is either written indelibly in or is powerfully inspired by Nature. All four of my books present compilations of personal experiences expressing my deep passion for Nature. All four books offer observations and reflections on my relationship with the natural world… and the broader implications for society. Order any from your local indie bookstore, or find them on IndieBound or other online sources such as Amazon and LifeRich.

I began writing books and Posts for several reasons:

• I love hiking and exploring Nature
• I see images I want to (and do) capture with my trusty iPhone camera
• I enjoy explaining those images — an educator at heart
• I don’t play golf!
• I do love writing — it’s the hobby I never needed when my career consumed me
• Judy suggested my writing is in large measure my legacy to our two kids, our five grandkids, and all the unborn generations beyond
• And finally, perhaps my books and Blogs could reach beyond family and touch a few other lives… sow some seeds for the future