Misty Milkweed Landscape Hidden Longings for Truth On Wildflower Wednesday

Yesterday morning there was a lovely warmish mist about the gardens. I enjoy the landscape this time of year, as the fields have just been cut again, revealing the sensual lay of the land. Dialogues between trees are poetic. The mist is so thick . . .  that while standing down in the far north field . . .  I can hardly see the giant Rock Maples up by the house. 

The funky Crabapple Orchard is dreaming of spring blossoms and lovely tea parties. I inhale a pleasant fragrance, while strolling under the small orchard and other Apple trees. Most of the fallen apples have been eaten but there is still a sweetness in the air.

This yearling might find a few more fallen apples along the garden floor.

My favorite native Black Cherry solidly stands before the ghostly White Birch . . . barely seen through the veil of mist.

Then further over and down east, Gray Birches and native Blueberries clump together below an old Apple carrying its burden of branches. 

Blueberry tips are a beautiful rosy tone adding a splash of bold to the more muted landscape. 

Shimmering bejeweled spiderwebs are draped between sleeping buds.

Queen Anne's Lace is all closed in on herself holding seeds and captive Milkweed fluff.

A Milkweed seed may have landed on the open flower and became a prisoner as the 'Queen' folded her lace tightly in. 

Empty and emptying seed cases of Milkweed still stand as ornaments in a fall garden.

Mist seen in the landscape appears like a gauzy, gossamer swathe softly enveloping the plants, shrubs and trees. Upon closer observation of Milkweed seed fluff, I find hundreds of tiny drops of clear spheres clinging to the silken threads.

These native wildflower seeds will not be flying today, for they are bedecked with heavy drops of moist gems.

The saturated white silk is akin to that of snow in the subdued autumn gardens. I am thankful for the absence of the other wet stuff thus far.

A dainty Milkweed seed caught by a wild aster is equal in beauty to any crystal chandelier creation. 

Most of the seeds have escaped this Milkweed pod, while precious new tenants have taken up residence.  They will not reside inside for too long, and once dried out . . .  the remaining seeds will fly away in a cool wistful breeze. 

These are my wildflower offerings for the very gracious Gail's Wildflower Wednesday. I hope you will visit her over at Clay and Limestone . . .  to see other wildflower contributions. I am also making this my Blooming Friday post, for there is a bit of white in most every photo. You can visit lovely Katarina's Roses and Stuff to see other touches of white from around the world.

I would like to end this post with a special thanks to all of my readers for your enduring support in my venture here. I am truly so thankful for you all and wish you a safe and Happy Thanksgiving! I know there are many, who do not celebrate this American holiday, but I am wishing you a lovely day as well.

 Each year at this time many gather with loved ones and friends to celebrate Thanksgiving . . . it seems like the perfect time of year to discuss our true native 'wildflowers' . . . the Native Americans and what they had to endure from the Puritans . . . who were far from pure . . .  from where they came . . .  or here . . . where they remained. Our President did sign a Native American Apology Resolution back in December 2009, though I never heard it spoken. I am happy for this beginning in working towards a healing of our tragic and violent beginnings here on this great land. A vast land we call 'our' land . . . this land is 'your' land . . . this land is 'my' land . . .  was, when the settlers arrived . . .  inhabited by Native Americans, who were soon overcome and uprooted by the invasive settlers we call Pilgrims. Our Thanksgiving story is such a myth. The true story deserves to be told and retold. Here is a link you might find helpful. History can be honest and even though there is shame and heartbreak within the seeds of our country, there is always a place for healing and reparations, when we own our true story. A mist can be beautiful in a landscape, but in our history . . .  lies that hide within intentionally woven veils of deception . . .  must be unwoven and hung out into the full light of day and truth, to be understood . . . so that perhaps we will grow and learn not to repeat the same unjust mistakes over and over again. Peace be with you.

Myths and Mourning Thanksgiving

Here lies the harbor of the first landing of the Mayflower. Pilgrim monument stands as the tallest granite structure in this country to commemorate those Mayflower settlers that first came to this land.  While in this sheltered harbor of Provincetown, a child was born aboard the ship. Perhaps at the same moment a few children were birthed by indigenous women, more comfortably situated in their warm wigwams not far from this tip of Cape Cod. As with much of recorded history, "facts" and stories are misleading and especially in the portrayal of the indigenous peoples that had populated this land for 10,000 years or so. The first Thanksgiving is only one of the many myths told to children through history books and performances, in regards to our ancestors coming to this "New World."

Most children were never told of the thousands of Native Americans called Wampanoags that inhabited Cape Cod and inland through the southeastern parts of Massachusetts, when the "first settlers" set anchor in Provincetown and soon after in another harbor later named Plymouth. This map shows not only the Wampanoags location but other tribes as well within an area later named New England but to the native peoples it was called Dawnland or 'Land of the First Light'. I am not certain of the accuracy of this map but it shows a land heavily populated. These gentle wise peoples depicted as "savages" by settlers and history books, lived simple, perhaps difficult but rich lives within the rhythms of nature. In the spring and summer months the Wampanoags would set up their villages near the ocean and harvest its many bounties including oysters, clams, lobsters, eels and a variety of fish and fowl. They would swim and bathe in the oceans, rivers and ponds, make large clambakes that could feed the entire village and had many celebrations around their fruitful harvests. Nothing was wasted. Their clothing and shoes were created from the skin of animals they killed for food. They made jewelry from the shells of quahog clams and feathers from birds. In early spring before leaving their inland winter sites, they had planted corn, beans and squash. As cold winds reclaimed their coastal paradise, they retreated from the harshness of winter by the open ocean to their more protected interior landscape and fall harvests, along with age old rituals of feasting and preparing for the severity of the months to come.

Wampanoag children were raised and taught by their elders how to live and survive through an understanding of nature's cycles and gifts. A very spiritual peoples . . .  they also nurtured within the hearts and minds of their children a deep sense of reverence towards nature. These aspects and so much more are left out of the pictures painted about some of our ancestors' arrival in this world, that was already home to many people. Though the structure of their villages were not meant to be as permanent as the clapboard cape houses that are now clustered and dotted along the shore, they had a governing body and treaties with other tribes regarding issues of territories and respect for each tribes rights. These pacts were also drawn up by the leading Elders to encourage peace between all the nations. Though like all of mankind they did not live always in peace. Without the help of these very native peoples the 'Pilgrims' would not have survived. The separatist settlers had left England to flee religious persecution and then, when they were secure in their new environment, in large part due to the help of the Wampanoags, they attempted and succeeded in many cases, to impose their religion onto the Native Americans, insisting they abandon their own customs, language and dress. How soon we forget.

There is no myth to true thanksgiving. I cherish the many gifts from Nature, family and friends that fill my life. I am truly thankful for the freedom I have, to explore my world and dreams, but I do not believe that the wars of Vietnam, Iraq or Afghanistan have in any way protected or enhanced that freedom. I believe quite the reverse. These wars too are full of myths and lies and have tragically taken the precious lives of our brave soldiers and those of the countries we overrun. It is not only the death or mutilation of soldiers in these distant lands we wage war against, but civilians and their land also suffer unbearably from bombs and biological weapons used against them. The cost also has been in wasted resources that might have helped build a better world for all our citizens... better health care and better education. Sadly we do not even take care of our returning wounded soldiers, in body, mind or spirit, who put their trust in our leaders. We began this country we call the United States of America by invading another peoples' world and we continued to invade other countries and claim their land as our own... such as Hawaii and Puerto Rico (seized from Spain) just to name two. This is part of our history and that of most every country in the world . . . exploiting, invading and conquering others who would be weaker in 'might' alone . . . than that of the conquerors.

So why do I write all this on a day of celebration and thanksgiving. I write this to perhaps touch one or two, who might read this and hopefully not hate the writer, but who might agree our holidays deserve truth within the festivities. I write for Native Americans still protesting this holiday that depicts their ancestors in an unkind and biased light. Today there is a group of Native Americans gathering in Plymouth to protest not so much our celebrating Thanksgiving . . .  nor do they wish to take it away from us. They are calling today a 'Day of Mourning'. They stand to demand truth and justice and should be offered our thanks and reparation. I stand here on this land I love . . . in solidarity for truth, with the threads from a fabric of my soul trailing from the distance past, to my paternal great grandmother Sophronie of the Choctaw nation. I wish Peace and bountiful harvests to all peoples the world over.