What does it mean to be hospitable? Where do you see hospitality or welcome in this wintry chapter?
How do we grapple with the cruelty or hostility present in these pages? Are there times when our response to the natural world (a predator or invasive species, say) should involve a degree of hostility? Why or why not?
How do different seasons transform or challenge your understanding of the world around you? (Dillard, for instance, notices an alteration in things and creatures because of winter’s cold and snow.)
For your outdoors challenge: which creature are you choosing to learn more about? What surprises you about that creature? What new facts do you learn?
We live year round on the shore of a Great Lake. Dunes and spruce-maple-oak forest make up our surroundings. This maritime climate combines with the density of a northern woods to present an ideal habitat for spiders of all kinds and sizes. Spring through fall deliver steady production of webs in the eaves, on the screens, in patches on the mowed lawns, across foliage, and as architecturally constructed orbs linking evergreens to sheds. The building skills of spiders and their hunting prowess using these weaves provide wonderment all the way to the snows of winter. Then they move inside with us. Those creatures providing wonder now induce terror to residents and visitors alike. The puzzle is why we love to watch them nine months a year but then cower when they slide by quietly on the bathroom floor, undoubtedly in our minds arriving from underneath, or even in, our beds. Dillard makes me feel a little better about letting them stay warm with us. But … how many aren’t we seeing?
I like the way that Dillard intersperses stories and scientific facts amongst her outdoor observations in this book. In some cases, these stories challenge my thinking. For instance, she writes that "snow looks light and the sky dark, but in fact the sky is lighter than the snow." As I read this, I am thinking "Wait a minute! I have looked at snow and the winter sky hundreds of times. The snow is white. The clouds are gray." I have the uneasy feeling that the way I have "seen" something quite familiar is not the way things truly are! [And I wonder how often this is true for other "facts" I have in my head...] Next winter, I'm gonna do the mirror experiment Miller describes to confirm what she writes :)
Re: the outdoor challenge - this summer has been dry where we live, so it has been weeks since I have mowed our lawn and the grass is undisturbed. Lately, I have noticed many flat spider webs on the grass - they have a delicate, gauzy appearance like a piece of thin tissue paper has been dropped on the ground. I have never noticed these webs in years past. With research, I found that the webs are made by grass spiders. Grass spiders' webs are not sticky, but it's easy for insects to get entangled in the thick web - then the spider speeds across her web to the prey, injects a paralyzing toxin, and drags the helpless insect back to her lair to enjoy a meal. I had no idea this violence was going on unseen in my back yard! Now I have to figure out how to "unsee" it!
We live year round on the shore of a Great Lake. Dunes and spruce-maple-oak forest make up our surroundings. This maritime climate combines with the density of a northern woods to present an ideal habitat for spiders of all kinds and sizes. Spring through fall deliver steady production of webs in the eaves, on the screens, in patches on the mowed lawns, across foliage, and as architecturally constructed orbs linking evergreens to sheds. The building skills of spiders and their hunting prowess using these weaves provide wonderment all the way to the snows of winter. Then they move inside with us. Those creatures providing wonder now induce terror to residents and visitors alike. The puzzle is why we love to watch them nine months a year but then cower when they slide by quietly on the bathroom floor, undoubtedly in our minds arriving from underneath, or even in, our beds. Dillard makes me feel a little better about letting them stay warm with us. But … how many aren’t we seeing?
I like the way that Dillard intersperses stories and scientific facts amongst her outdoor observations in this book. In some cases, these stories challenge my thinking. For instance, she writes that "snow looks light and the sky dark, but in fact the sky is lighter than the snow." As I read this, I am thinking "Wait a minute! I have looked at snow and the winter sky hundreds of times. The snow is white. The clouds are gray." I have the uneasy feeling that the way I have "seen" something quite familiar is not the way things truly are! [And I wonder how often this is true for other "facts" I have in my head...] Next winter, I'm gonna do the mirror experiment Miller describes to confirm what she writes :)
Re: the outdoor challenge - this summer has been dry where we live, so it has been weeks since I have mowed our lawn and the grass is undisturbed. Lately, I have noticed many flat spider webs on the grass - they have a delicate, gauzy appearance like a piece of thin tissue paper has been dropped on the ground. I have never noticed these webs in years past. With research, I found that the webs are made by grass spiders. Grass spiders' webs are not sticky, but it's easy for insects to get entangled in the thick web - then the spider speeds across her web to the prey, injects a paralyzing toxin, and drags the helpless insect back to her lair to enjoy a meal. I had no idea this violence was going on unseen in my back yard! Now I have to figure out how to "unsee" it!