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During my lifetime I have been privileged to attend performances by numerous orchestras. These have been in different states and of varying levels of professionalism, but one thing has always been the same: they have had a conductor. That person has stood before the assembly of instruments and their musicians and gotten their attention by raising his baton. At that point all background noise ceased. Bows were raised to violins, violas, cellos and basses, hands were placed in ready positions to blow into brass and reeds, plus percussion instruments stood at the ready to begin their parts. In accordance with the music before him, the orchestra conductor signaled the beginning notes of the composition. Every player had his part and responded in accordance with it. There was no room for extraneous music; everything had to follow the instructions in the music.
In life here at Tangled Oaks I have noticed this sort of order, as if events have been directed by a power beyond us. For example the mystery trees that grow near the end of our driveway remain a darkened green shade until the middle of November. Then suddenly, as if by magic, their leaves begin to show a bright red. When this happens the trees are suddenly filled with flocks of birds swarming the branches and plucking off the reddish berries that the tree has been preparing all year long. The birds are ravenously hungry and hop vigorously from branch to branch. This activity goes on for days until the berries are all gone and the birds have assembled for their migration. The remains of the leaves are scattered around the bases of the trees. How did the tree know to produce its berries? Or the birds know that they were ready to eat? Another example of an orderly process occurs along our driveway. The previous owner planted oak and maple trees along the asphalt path leading to the main road. Over the fall these trees have turned a brilliant yellow. Then one day, as if on command, ALL THE YELLOW LEAVES FELL OFF! The driveway was now like the "yellow brick road" in the classic musical "The Wizard of Oz". Running through them on my Hoveround™ on the way to bring up the trash cans Monday night was crunchy and pungent. They stuck into my feet and the axels of the wheels. It was as if an unseen conductor had raised his baton and signaled them to fall. Finally there are various types of plants here that have berries, notably dogwood trees, a cherry tree, holly bushes, and black raspberries. I have learned to watch these plants for color changes that indicate ripening. The dogwoods are easy because the berries are preceded by the flowers. The holly bushes are right outside the window by my computer monitor. The cherry tree was blown nearly flat in a wind storm, but if I watch for the apple trees to start blooming it is likely that the cherry tree is doing likewise. The raspberries are harder to see because those bushes are sprinkled in the wooded parts of the tree line that separates us from the corn fields. Hard as I try to reach them early enough, the birds usually get there first. Who tips them off? Is there a magic wand that only they can see? This weather reminds me of the times in New Hampshire back on the Contoocook River. It was friendly until Labor Day and then, as if by direction, a stiff chill settled over the water. Summer was certainly over when that happened, and from skiing we went right to the business of winterizing the boat. But sometimes, if the sun was bright, there could be one more ride, "gunk-holing" as it was called along past the houses and farms. The brilliant colors that are the hallmark of New Hampshire autumns were falling into the water creating a mosaic of leaves. Looking around it was hard to distinguish the leaf filled water from the trees above it. Both had the same colors swaying very gently in the wind and likewise atop the water. This incredible scene lasted into October when temperatures caused the leaves to fall, "plop", at the conductor's hand. The water now, instead of being brilliant, was murky and dark, boding the onset of winter. Then one morning, upon awakening, the next movement of this "symphony" had begun: snowfall! Just Mom |
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| Cartoon Courtesy of Coffee Cup Software |