I am on my annual pilgrimage to the Chicago area to visit family over the holidays. The day after I arrived, freezing rain coated everything with ice, creating dangerously slick driving conditions. The following day, more freezing rain was followed by eight inches of snow. Since then, it has snowed almost every day and the temperature has barely climbed above ten degrees. Although I don’t venture out much in this kind of weather, I managed to brave the horrid conditions one rare sunny day to take photos. Frost and ice had coated the naked tree trunks and tall grasses, transforming barren forests into a fairyland. Despite my double-lined winter coat, knit cap, hood, boots and gloves, I just about froze to death. I swear the metal earpieces of my glasses froze to my cheekbones.

Winter fog coats the trees and obscures a country road

Beautiful ice-and frost-coated trees

I was feeling pretty proud of myself for enduring the elements until happening upon these teens jumping around on the rocks at the edge of the Illinois River, wearing only lightweight jackets, and I began to question whether I really was Read the rest of this entry »

The sound of Bok Tower’s carillon bells was so mesmerizing that I did not notice the snake. I stood at the far end of the tower’s reflecting pond, enjoying the ethereal music, until suffocating midday heat drove me to the shaded concrete benches at the edge of the semi-circular clearing. Suddenly, a movement. A black snake lying beneath the bench retreated a few inches as I approached. I stopped dead. Head up, the snake wove back and forth in the air for a few seconds before retreating into the bushes. Did I dare sit? He slithered back out of the bushes and curled around the base of a trash can. Waiting.

Friendly or not, I wasn't about to sit next to this black water snake

What if I had unknowingly sat on that bench? A simple black water snake, harmless, and yet…I don’t like to be startled by them. I am actually quite fascinated by snakes. But oh my God! To be sitting there and have it slither across my feet or wrap around my ankles; I shivered at the thought. His tongue flicked repeatedly from his snout. Brazenly, he inched his sleek black body closer. In the middle of the chipped-wood path he stopped, basking in the sunshine. Perspiration poured down my face and back. I needed to rest in the shade and dry my sweat-soaked pants and T-shirt, but the two-foot long snake barred my way. Again his tongue darted out, testing. Tentatively, I moved a step closer. He bolted into the dense foliage at the edge of the pond. Had he gone into the water? Crouching down, I peered into the vegetation and finally spotted the tip of his pointy tail protruding from the shrubbery. Had I not seen him go in, I would never have known he was there.

Bok Tower reflects into pond in the late afternoon setting sun

All the animals I encountered at Bok Tower Gardens seemed fearless. Rather than running away, squirrels chuckled and scolded. Mockingbirds serenaded from low branches. Gigantic weaver spiders tensed in the center of enormous webs, patiently awaiting prey. Even the resident swans swam right up, hoping to steal fish food pellets meant for giant carp thrashing about in the pond. Somehow, the animals know they are protected here.

Billed as, “A remarkable experience that will elevate your mind and spirit,” these exquisite gardens exist due to the efforts of Edward W. Bok a Dutch immigrant and humanitarian who came to the U.S. at the age of six. In 1889, Bok became the editor of the Ladies Home Journal, a position he would hold for the next 30 years. During visits to his Florida winter home in the 1920′s, Bok witnessed the beauty and dramatic sunsets of Iron Mountain, the highest point in peninsular Florida. Awed by the tranquility of the area, he purchased the land and commissioned renowned landscape architect Frederick Law Olmstead Jr. to create a stunning garden that would become a haven for native birds, plants and wildlife. Bok worked closely with Olmstead through the design process and after giving his final stamp of approval, left to tour Europe. Read the rest of this entry »

Joshua Bell performs incognito in Washington, D.C. Metro station

In a Washington, D.C. Metro station on a cold January morning in 2007, a man with a violin played six Bach pieces. During his performance approximately two thousand people went through the station, most of them on their way to work.

Three minutes after the young man began playing a middle aged man slowed his pace and turned to look at the musician, but kept on walking.

Half a minutes later the violinist received his first dollar; a woman threw the money in the hat without stopping.

Not until six minutes into the performance did someone actually stand against a wall and listen.

A three-year old boy tried to stop and listen but his mother tugged him along hurriedly. The kid stopped and looked at the violinist again, but the mother pushed harder and the child continued to walk, turning his head to look at the musician as he walked away. This action was repeated by several other children; parents, without exception, forced their children to move on quickly.

In the forty-three minutes that the violinist played, seven people stopped what they were doing to take in the performance. Twenty-seven gave money – most of them on the run – for a total of $32 and change. The remaining 1,070 people hurried by, oblivious to the music, few even turning to look. As he finished playing, silence took over. No one noticed. No one applauded. He received no recognition.

The violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world. He played some of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days prior, Bell sold out a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100.

This is a true story. Joshua Bell playing incognito in the Metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste, and people’s priorities (Read the full, original Washington Post article here).

In a common place environment at an inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made, how many other things are we missing in life?

Illinois winters are brutal, but summer brings a special kind of beauty to the banks of the Kankakee River:

Wildflowers are everywhere

Sunset on the Kankakee River

Red-Shouldered Hawk in Sarasota, Florida

We had a big blow today. As I pulled into the parking lot at my apartment, tropical storm strength winds were kicking up dust and sending debris flying through the air. I don’t know what made me look up into the tree limbs hanging just beyond my windshield, or how I even spotted him. Sitting in the nook of a tree limb, perfectly camouflaged, was a Red Shouldered Hawk. Other than blinking at me, he sat perfectly still, even when I opened the rear cargo door, gathered up my groceries, and walked to my front door. I can only assume he was disorientd by the high winds. I never expected him to still be there by the time I returned with my camera, but he posed for a half-dozen photos before disappearing in a flutter of feathers. We don’t always need to travel to exotic places to experience nature. Beauty is all around us – if only we are open to seeing it.

Ancient Chinese philosophy teaches that forces seemingly in opposition to one another are inextricably bound together. The Chinese refer to this concept as the Yin and Yang of life, which is represented by the black and white circular graphic shown below.

In simplified terms, Yin and Yang teaches that there is value in opposites. Without having experienced darkness, we would be unable to appreciate the sunshine. Without cold, heat would be less meaningful. Were there no evil in the world, there would be no distinction for goodness. And without sadness or depression, there could be no joy or happiness.

I am intimately familiar with this concept. Whenever I experience a period of extreme happiness in my life, it is inevitably followed by a period of depression. In recent years this has happened less and less often and I suspect that’s because my definition of happiness has changed. I used to believe that I needed to be deliriously, uproariously joyful, that anything less did not qualify as happiness. I was constantly in search of a paradise where life would be perfect.

My views are different these days, or perhaps it is my understanding that has shifted. I now believe that true happiness has more to do with Read the rest of this entry »

Outside it is chilly, the midday temperatures dropping into the 50′s. Inside I am toasty warm, my bare feet stretched toward the yellow flames that dance in the Franklin stove. Every window of the cabin windows looks out on trees that have dressed in their fall finery; rich leaves of red, ocher, and gold mingle with the green hangers-on. Fat squirrels with fatter tails chatter obliviously as they scamper from limb to limb; the leaves they knock to the ground weave a patchwork carpet on the forest floor.

A cloud descends onto the mountaintop, disappearing the forest. Only the nearest trees are visible now, their muted palette of leaves half-seen in the fog. The squirrels hunker down and the birds stop singing. A stillness so deep permeates the forest that I wonder if the world has stopped spinning.

Sometimes I disappear. I descend into despair so deep and fixated that I cannot touch it. The pointlessness of life, the endlessness of it, overwhelms me. I cannot fathom my reason for being. I think perhaps that I have accomplished everything I came here to do and Read the rest of this entry »