Finding Your Own Path

As Rob and I drove over Big River Bridge, I noticed the sand bar below had shimmied over the river mouth to allow non-Wellington walking along the shoreline.

When we reached the beach, we split up because I wanted to explore the north end and he was drawn to the south. I came across a variety of objects that tickled my fancy: a fine-edged feather, a curiously curled leaf and a crab carapace.

As I ventured further I noted a recently fallen pine juxtaposed with paw prints—most likely a dog. I followed the base of the rocky bluffs and came to a smooth sand cove showcasing stubby, polished pieces of driftwood. A mussel shell poised in mid-clap revered a massive horizontal tree trunk.

A twisted branch in the sand reminded me how our environment can shape us. I’m being shaped by the scenery here—letting each wave of beauty wash over me in a never-ending motion. My rough edges are being polished.

I rejoined Rob. He had made new furry friends. I frolicked with an Australian Shepherd mix and as we played fetch with seaweed, we came across a dozen roses in the sand. We both stopped to smell them. The blooms confirmed I am on the “Path of Flowers”—a path God set me upon years ago that is coming to fruition. To which path have you been called?

All photos © Sondra Sula.

Cultivating Amazement

“Lilium Michiganense Surprise” by Sondra Sula

Today as I left the open meadows and entered into the darkened forest I was surrounded and attacked by hoards of voracious mosquitoes. The recent wet weeks have created what I believe to be a larger, more aggressive form of these puncture-savvy parasites. But it was worth the shooing, flicking, and flailing to see a spread of wild lilium michiganense tucked behind a stand of waterlogged tree trunks.

“Floral Pumpkins” by Sondra Sula

Ten years ago I had tried to cultivate these lilies in my garden. I was taken by their recurved pumpkin petals, deep red spots, and splashes of curry yellow. The anthers hang down like a carousel of golden corndogs, and the stigma peeks out like a single eye. But no matter how much I babied the bulbs, I could not get these beauties to grow, save one weak bloom that never returned. I concluded that the environment was simply wrong and I couldn’t force them to naturalize in my garden.

Imagine my surprise three years ago when I saw a single beam of light penetrating through the forest canopy and shining on an orange lily. Could it be? How was this possible? As I tiptoed on tiny tufts of grass protruding from a swamp of standing water, I made it to the prize and gently flipped up the flower to reveal its telltale spots.

I had to chuckle. God must be teaching me a lesson: the cultivation of amazement. Had the lily bloomed in my garden it would not have been half as precious as it was now—rogue transplant secretly flowering in the forest.

Each year I have watched the lilies multiply and to date there are about fifteen plants. My wonder never ceases as I pass by their slender, nodding stems trembling with each burst of wind, their jiggling blooms brightening the brown and green landscape.

Today I saw many other awe-inspiring sights: a bee culling pollen from sweet clover, two gray feathers balanced on a tree stump, the pointy base of a soft-topped thistle. These are all fascinating because of the cultivation of amazement God has been teaching me day after day.

“Cultivating Amazement: Bee, Feathers, Thistle” by Sondra Sula