Home Is Where The Fluff Is

A reader recently wrote and asked if Indiana was boring. Like many who are not from this state, he envisioned a giant race track (the Indy 500) surrounded by flat cornfields. I can’t really say anything. I have stereotypical views of many places.

I could argue that our capitol, Indianapolis, is a big city. I could discuss the various cultural amenities. The state parks. Southern Indiana with its rolling hills and drop dead gorgeous vistas. The people who for the most part are polite and friendly. And yes, lots of farms.

But I’m not going to do that. Instead I’m going to write about my little piece of Hoosierland.

I live at the edge of a large lake. As I work from home mostly, I see the water reflect the sun, sky, and moon throughout the day and night, react to different weather conditions, and change with the seasons.

I could describe the lake’s varying moods forever. But today it's all about the cottonwoods. The cottonwood tree is common in Indiana, but I’ve never witnessed its life cycle because I’ve never lived near the water before moving here. Cottonwoods love their feet wet.

The cottonwood is a magnificent tree; big, heart shapes leaves that rustle high overhead even during a slight breeze. The plant isn’t perfect, though. It drops its leaves so quickly in the fall that the “color” it turns is a nasty brown. Worse, in April it sheds sticky seedpods that adhere to the bottom of your shoes and then to everything in the house. They also are the exact same shape of cockroaches. Eek.

But after the seed stage comes something very special. I call it summer snow. The cottonwood (hence the name), releases tiny balls of fluff into the air right about now. They float lazily down to earth like snowflakes, except much slower. I could watch them for hours. And have. You simply cannot be stressed when you track a single fluff dancing in the wind, pure white against the background of newly greened trees, finally making its way to the ground.

There are those who don’t like summer snow. I do understand. If you leave your car windows open the stuff can drift inside. Allergy sufferers hate it. And don’t even think about running a fountain; the “snow” will clog the gears. The stuff doesn’t do much for birdbaths either.

But I love it. I think the cottonwood represents why Indiana is so special. It’s true that Indiana doesn’t have grand landscapes such as mountains or oceans. But it has a quiet beauty that says, sit down. Watch the cottonwood seeds. What’s your hurry? So no…I’m not bored living here.

It’s interesting that a few days ago I spent an entire post discussing external inspiration. And this one is the polar opposite. But that’s cool. If exploring new places gets my blood going, my home is where ideas gestate.

This morning my lake is gunmetal grey and still as a sheet of glass. The birds are singing. My garden is lush and fragrant. The cottonwoods are holding onto their snow but soon the wind will blow…