January, February 1978

This picture will be 40 years old in a few days.  Or nearly so.  The winter of 1977-1978 was almost equal to its predecessor '76-'77.  Cold, lots of snow, freezing temperatures, and wind.  We have had bad weeks or months in the years that followed.  But this was one for the record books in my memory.

We had just moved to Gainesville in May of '77.  We were working on the Grandma Harlin house on Harlin Drive and living across the street, on the corner, in what was called the Jim Hale house.  It was small, but fine for us.  It had all the comforts of home...plus a woodstove in the middle of the living room.

I think we spent Christmas in Bethesda, Maryland with Andy's folks that year.  And when we were headed back through Memphis the bad weather met us full blast.  Always a challenge when you are traveling that time of year.  An ice storm came up, or down, from some unknown region...we made it home, but barely.  

School was called off, of course.  And we settled in to wait it out.  Living in town made it easier to get to the grocery store.  When we lived in the Wilderness we were pretty far from the nearest town, but our local store carried milk and bread and we made it fine, when we were able to get out to the main road.  But here in Gainesville it was all downhill...or uphill...depending on which direction you needed to head.  We didn't get the truck out very much.  And we had my mother's Saab parked in the front yard.  For a Swedish car it was useless in ice or snow.

After the first week of snow and blustery weather, we were looking for a  break.  But it didn't come.  No.  Each day brought more snow, more freezing temperatures, no melting on the roads.  

I do remember that at night the kids in town would bring their sleds up to the corner of Harlin and Fair, where our house sat, and make that hill a little more slick than Mother Nature had.  They hauled up tires and set them on fire to keep them warm in between runs down the hill.  And that went on until late in the evening.  In the morning we would go out and pick up the remains of the tires...wire, tire scrap, and try not to track the black remains into the house.

School was cancelled day after day.  I wondered if we would have to extend the school year into June.  That would be bad since none of the schools were air-conditioned and, as you know, the old Elementary was hot as could be when the weather warmed up.  

However the powers that be in Jeff City saw our plight and responded in a logical fashion.  They forgave all the days we were out of session.  They set the end date in May.  And put into law the Snow Day Policy, which said that each district would add so many Snow Days to the school year to be used for bad weather when the buses couldn't run.  And after the Snow Days were used up, there was a forgiveness area that would not cause schools to be in session very much longer than mid May.

I think we finally came back to school in late February.  And how happy all the kids were to see their friends and share the stories about what they did during the Big Snow. 

Oh... you might be wondering about the picture.  Andy was always creative when it came to making snow fun for Nina.  He  took a plastic storage box and made snow blocks.  He built an snow cabin for her to play in in our side yard.  A sheet covered the top. I don't know if she remembers that winter.  She was about grandson Gus's age then.  But her parents do.  And we hope we don't have to endure another one like it anytime soon.  

December Peace

Tis the season.  Ready or not.  Here it comes.  I stepped outside this morning to do some chores.  The sun was just starting to come up in the east.  Slanting light sparkled in a million blades of frozen grass...leaves became jewels reflecting tiny rays of golden sunshine.  And no wind.  No wind at all.  

The last few weeks have been full of wind.  Whenever I went out there was a breeze stirring or the wind was blowing hard, in gusts, whipping the clothes on the line, making it hard to see at times.

But this morning was different.  Frigid air.  Bright light.  And absolutely not a weed or leaf moving.

I stood for quite some time, just soaking up the wonder of it all.  The quietness of the early day surrounded me.  I didn't see a bird or animal.  No rustling in the trees or grass.  Just complete and utter silence.  Often times in the last few weeks we have had a flock of turkey hens feeding in the pasture.  Or a doe and this year's fawn will be eating grass out behind the back of the house, never stirring until we surprise them with the closing of the door.

I closed my eyes.  I could hear the echoes of the music I heard yesterday.  My favorite tune for this time of year...The Carol of the Bells.  Ringing, ringing.  First softly..one bell, then another joining in...until the air is full of sound.  And then quietly softening until only one bell is heard.

There is magic in a quiet December sunrise.  All the world is waiting.  Can you hear the message in the silence of the early day?  Can you feel the hope rising in your heart?  Can you imagine a world where only the sound of souls in harmony and peace, full of  grace and mercy will break the great stillness of our age?  

You can.  If you step outside and feel the quiet beauty of a  December early morning.

Merry Christmas to all of you...near and far, and always close to my heart.

Short in the straddle

It's that time of year.  I know I should be writing about Thanksgiving.  And I am.

Azure hills.  Squinting my eyes against the strong November morning sun I turn to the west and see my beloved Caney peaks in one of my favorite hues.  I ask Andy, the painter in my family, what color is that?  He answers, Azure.  Ahhhhh----Azure.  Not quite purple.  Not quite blue.  Something in between.

We are loading wood in the pickup.  Climbing down out of the truck, I carefully make my way to the woodpile.  Branches and limbs from our timber harvest still block the way, but Andy has been busy splitting and sorting until several good sized mounds of firewood are arrayed along the edge of the field.  Loading the truck bed reminds me of many other times I helped get the winter's wood in.  I was younger then and my muscles were stronger, but I can still lug and toss and pile it high, being careful not to break the back glass of the truck.

Loaded up we get ready to drive over to where the wood is stacked.  But there is a problem.  The truck is parked on a "sidelin'" hill...and my door is on the higher side.  As usual, I am too short in the straddle to make it into the passenger side.  Andy circles the truck around until I can get into the high seat comfortably.  

I have admired women who can give themselves a little bounce and hike themselves into a truck with grace and ease.  It seems so effortless.  In fact I saw a lady at Battlefield Mall, dressed in a short and rather tight outfit, give a little leap and settle right into her perch with very little effort.  Of course, she was several years younger than me.  But even when I was her age I had to struggle to get into the pickup.  Because I am a little too short in the straddle.

Making it over to the woodpile we begin the task of stacking.  As anyone knows, there is an art to stacking firewood.  And I am pretty good at it.  My short straddle doesn't interfere with my ability to stack wood.  But my short arms do make it harder to reach over the truck bed and grab the right size  log to stack in the proper place.  With some grunting and a little tip-toe work I can usually keep up with Andy in the stacking game.

You are probably wondering how this is going to lead into Thanksgiving.  And here it is.  Yesterday, loading wood, driving all over my beautiful farm, the sunshine, the wondrous view of  the hills in the distance, brings tears to my eyes.  Even though I may be a little short in the straddle, and perhaps not able to do all I used to do, I am thankful.  

Thankful I have the privilege to live in a quiet and peaceful place.  Thankful for sunshine.  Thankful for trucks that run.  Thankful for a husband who takes good care of me.  And thankful for wood that will keep me warm this winter.  

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Geese

One of my favorite sights and sounds of fall is the flocks of geese flying over head...going south for the winter.  This morning on my walk I could hear their call before I saw them.  It always amuses me when I look up and have to circle around before I see that familiar V-formation up above me.

It was fairly cloudy early and they were hid from sight for a few minutes.  The clouds broke away and there they were...a thin, ragged line but headed to their new destination...following the leader.

If you pay close attention you will see that the leader changes almost minute by minute.  I have read articles...and a few inspirational quotes and anecdotes about the flight of geese.  As I watched I became aware of something else.  Not only did the leader change, but sometimes there was a smaller V inside the larger one.  The arms of the formation are not equal.  It is almost like a ballet how they swerve and sway as they fly.  First this way, and then another direction.  All in the plan.

And they may vary in their path south.  Headed for the river, they may suddenly turn west and head for the hills of Arkansas.  Amazing.  That inner compass keeps them on track.  They know where they are going.  They might get side-tracked once in a while.  But not very often.

I love to hear them calling to each other.  "A little to the right there, Bill.  Now a little to the left, Marge. "   All in the plan.

Too bad we don't have an inner compass like that.  Oh..wait...yes, we do!  Too bad we don't follow it as faithfully as the geese as they fly on their long journey south.

Teasing

Here it is.  The end of October, or nearly so.  I finally broke down and got out the coats and heavier jackets, washed my winter clothes, bought some new winter shoes, located the caps and scarves.  And all for naught.

Temperatures in the high seventies do not require much more than what I usually wear for late spring and summer. Even the plants and flowers are getting fooled by this fluctuating thermometer.  A friend showed me a lawn full of crocuses yesterday.  Even the blue birds are confused.  I saw our next-to-the-house pair looking anxiously into their abandoned box the other day.  Then they chased each other through and around the porch in the semblance of a mating dance.  

I am getting impatient.  I do not like cold weather.  I don't look forward to ice and snow and the miserable north wind blowing furiously outside my windows.  But this unseasonable warmth has the effect of putting me off my stride.

We have cleaned the wood stove, checked the flue. Wood is piled in the garage ready to bring in and warm our house to a cozy temperature, if needed.  We wait...and wait...and wait.

Almost holding our collective breath, we anticipate those crisp frosty mornings when the sky is clear and cloudless. When you step outside to check the weather, you quickly come back in to grab your sweatshirt.

Squirrels are not fooled by this on-again, off-again weather.  They scurry from field to tree to hiding place carrying walnuts and hickory nuts to store for the coming cold.  The spiders are doing their usual fall weaving of webs in every nook and cranny of the porch.  The cicadas have stopped their song.  The night music of the crickets has slowed and the frogs in the pond have made themselves scarce.  

Each sunrise beams honey-colored light into my house, reaching farther and farther into the north-most corner.  All the signs of fall are there.

This teasing has to end.  And it will.  Patience will have its reward.  Finally, one morning, I will get up, go to my east-facing door and see that it has finally come.  I will be glad.  Welcome fall. You are here at last.   

D.F.W.

I live 10 miles exactly from my supermarket.  Ten miles is ten miles.  But it is ten miles back home.  I don't go to town everyday.  And I certainly don't go to town more than once a day when I do go.

Today we were up in Cabool at the Older Iron confab.  Lots of fun, lots of old tractors, lots of noise and action.  When we left we decided to take the back roads home...or nearly home, since we had a date night in mind.  But that is a whole 'nother story as they say.

We ended up driving through Mountain Grove and heading down 95 toward Vanzant.  Andy mentioned that he just wanted to know how far this little excursion was going to take us to our destination.  So he set the odometer at zero where the road crosses the railroad tracks in Mountain Grove.  

We remarked on the fact that it had been some time since we traveled this section of 95 highway.  As we passed familiar and unfamiliar places we reminisced about all the people we knew from the area...and what fond memories we had of them and the times we had shared.

And then the question arose.  Just how far are we from WalMart?  Just how far would these people have to drive to shop at that Mecca of Merchandise that we mostly all frequent at least once a week..if not more?

13 miles, thirteen miles to WalMart.  That's not too bad.  Grab a bite to eat on your way out of town, gas up the car, maybe pick something up at another place or two.  

20 miles, twenty miles to WalMart.  Now that is a fer piece, as my neighbor would say.  Twenty miles is a forty mile round trip....and forty miles on winding roads with the probability of a livestock trailer negotiating the curves ahead of you makes it much more of a task.

When we got to 30 miles D.F.W (distance from WalMart) I realized that we were actually a little bit closer to the WalMart Mecca in Ava than we were from that store in Mountain Grove.  Aha...and a little light appeared to come on in that thing I call my brain.  

No Wonder.  No Wonder the movers and shakers in Bentonville, AR put those familiar must-go-to places to shop just about 20 to 25 miles apart in rural areas.

Is it that critical measurement that may mean where you choose to live?  That D.F.W.?( I truly doubt that) . No, I am familiar enough with the back roads and side roads  of southern Missouri and northern Arkansas to understand that it doesn't take a marketing genius to figure out that at least once a week, almost everyone in a 30 mile radius is going to need something that they can "only get at WalMart."

So as we journeyed down W hiway, which by the way is a lovely sidetrip as you leave Vanzant,  I admired the farms that stretched from here to there.  Pastures are dry but the cattle still look good.  Lovely homes, some old, some new.  Trees are still mostly green and the slanting light of late afternoon make them seem more beautiful.  

And you know in your heart that D.F.W. doesn't really make all that much difference when you live in such a peaceful, wonderful place.  Dora, Caulfield, Romance, and even Brixey.

As we neared our destination... my favorite place to eat a steak dinner on Friday night...I got to thinking about another amazing retail fact. 

What about that latest phenomena in our area?  What about D.F.D.G?  Distance from Dollar General?  But that will have to wait for another day.

   

Spiders, spiders everywhere....

A moist, cloudy morning.  No wind.  As I opened my kitchen door to review the day I saw a line of dew drops.  It stretched from half-way down my west-facing porch to the southwest corner.  A single thread of silver.  A spider's masterpiece.

I have often marveled at the way a spider can make a web that wanders and sways and finally ends in a far-from its beginning place.  How do they do it?  I know the why...they need to eat.  And the way they capture their prey is by putting an invisible net in a bug's flight path.  Not always successfully.  But anything to make sure you have breakfast...lunch...and probably dinner for a few days.

Fascinating.  We are blessed with spiders up here on the hill.  I love to see the diamond-studded lace they weave on cool mornings...right there beside the road as I take my walk.  But often they visit my porch.  Truthfully, I sometimes sweep them away so I can hang up the clothes.  And often, just plain blunder into their masterpieces when I open the door or step down the stairs toward the garage.

But sometimes, like this morning, I have the chance to mark a spider's night time work when the day is still new.  I marvel at how that little being can laboriously climb and swing and weave a small, small thread all through the dark hours while I am sleeping, tucked into my comfortable bed.

Do spiders ever sleep?  I doubt it.  Always working.  Always planning where to place that trap.  Always finding the perfect area, out of the wind, and elements.  

Well, maybe not always.  But they are persevering little critters.  When you wreck their masterpiece that has taken hours to make, what do they do?  Why, just pull up their teeny, tiny socks, hitch up their minuscule britches and get back to work.

They may not be your favorite but they take the prize for sticking to the job..and never giving up.

Spiders, spiders everywhere....and amazing workers they are.  

I, for one, am thankful for their handiwork, even when it gets in my way.  

What a wonderful part of Creation....so tiny, yet a lesson to us all.  Just keep on keeping on.  You might just make a masterpiece one day.

A Different Kind of Fall

Don't get excited.  This is NOT a picture from this year.  I took it several years ago, in the fall, while we were walking in the Caney Refuge.

This year is so different.  High temperatures during the day.  Wind.  Dry air.  Blue skies.  And not a hint of rain.

Several places near and far from us have had moisture in the past few weeks.  Some have had even a few inches of rain.  But not up here on my hill in Luna.  The rain moves around us in successive  bursts of action.  We can see it coming up in the southwest, down by town, swinging up to the north over Caney, then across to Zanoni and on to Dora.  Or down to the east, across the Bryant where it dumps its load of rain on fishermen and canoeists.  

As I went for my walk today, I found that it is dry as can be up here in south-suburban Luna.  The armadillos are frantic in their search for food.  They have made the patch where we planted turnips a plowed field...scratching and digging in the dry powder and piling up the earth in mounds that cover  the boundaries of our cane patch.  The deer found our squash.  They kicked holes in the huge gourds and ate the silky moist flesh, full of water and seeds.  We saved a few but not much remains.

Our ponds are sinking down below the level they have held all summer.  If we have any fish left, they are destined to be a meal for an enterprising predator.   

Grass crunches under my boots when I walk across the field in the early morning coolness.  And when I scuff my toe around a bush or little tree, puffs of smokey earth rise up to cover my shoe.

Even the grass is a different color.  It is losing its green sheen.  Rather than turning brown, it looks grey and dull. 

I listened to the weather news today.  They are predicting rain for next week.  I have heard that before.  Hopefully it will give us a good soaking.

But for now I will wait and see...missing the bare hint of color in the trees across the valley...missing the shadows of green under the oak trees...the clear blue sky reflected in my ponds....red leaves littering the road....the way fall should be.  But this is a different kind of fall.

Patience, my heart says.  Patience.  And perhaps a good rain will bring my hill to life again. 

Total Eclipse

In my life I have experienced three partial eclipses of the sun.  When we found that we were going to be only 200 or so miles from the line of 100% totality we got out the map and started planning our journey to see this wonder of nature...a total eclipse.

Drawing a line on the map from west to east we spotted the perfect place.  An area just north of Highway 50, a Conservation Area that included a lake and hiking trails.  Port Hudson Lake.

Leaving early last Sunday we drove up past Rolla, motored through Belle and Bland and Owensville.  Turned right toward Rosebud.  Drove on through Gerald.  Turned to the north and followed the road to the lake.  Arriving we found that we were not alone.  A few fishermen in boats, a few people fishing from the dock.  In essence the perfect place to see the eclipse.

On Monday we got up very early, in the dark, anticipating crowded roads and lots of people on their way up I-44 to see this celestial miracle.  Pleasantly surprised by the empty road and easy sailing, we stopped to stock up on lunch supplies and grab a bite of breakfast.  On the way we saw a yard sale sign.  The man who was sitting by the cash box and selling various interesting items was pleased to see us.  Were there many people here to see the eclipse, we asked.  No, not many.  But he had decided to set up anyway...taking advantage of the expected crowd.  Was he impressed with the eclipse-to-come?  Not too much.  He thought it might just be like a cloudy day.  Nothing to get too excited about.

Arriving at our spot we found more than a few people had gotten there before us.  We strolled around, fished a little, took a walk around the lake and hiked up a solitary hill.  Perfect.  Just a perfect place to view the coming attraction.  With excitement mounting we came back to the truck and fixed a little bite to eat.  The day was hot.  We sought shade on the boat dock and visited with the growing crowd of people.  Some came from Arkansas, some from nearby, and some from farther away.  They put up sunshades and open tents.  We saw one or two fancy telescopes and cameras.  Things were getting pretty serious here.

Finally we checked our time and made the trip back to our solitary hill.  As we walked we sensed the beginning of the dimming of light.  I remembered how the sun appeared to fade when I had experienced an eclipse before.  There is a difference in the light...almost a bleaching out of color.  We climbed up to the field and waited.

Putting on our glasses we watched the sun move from a fat crescent to a small and smaller sliver.  And then, just as if someone was blowing out the light of a candle, the air around us grew chilly and  darkness descended down around us.  Taking off our glasses we saw it ...a total eclipse of the sun.  The moon stood there, blocking the light.  With our glasses off we marveled at this amazing sight.  

For me it was an almost holy experience.  I began to cry.  My heart beat so fast.  Actually, I don't think I could ever find the words to describe what I saw.  I was at once very small in the universe...and very alone standing there on that hill.  

I took some pictures as the moon began to move away from the sun.  The brighter colors came back.  We took some pictures of the crescent sun as it grew larger, its shadow making tiny arcs on the bare ground and through the smaller leaves of a river birch.

Coming back to the parking lot, many people were already leaving.  We stayed until the sun emerged whole again.  Sharing our experience with the others, we found that they were just as awed as we were.

Going back through town we stopped by to see our friend, the garage sale man.  So, what did he think of the eclipse?  Awesome, is what he said.  It was absolutely awesome.  Never thought it would be like that.  And I think he was having a hard time coming up with words to describe his feelings.  

Just like me.  At a loss for words.  In amazement we all saw something that will live in our memories forever. A total eclipse of the sun.

That time of year...

You can feel it in the air.  Everyone is taking a quick last minute vacation with the kids.  Stores are full of boxes and shelves stacked with notebooks, pencils, backpacks, anything you might need for school.  Beauticians are busy giving boys and girls haircuts suitable for that first day back.  New shirts, new pants, new shoes.  Anticipation.

I still get excited when this time of year comes around.  So many memories of my own school days.  As I remember there wasn't much shopping for clothes or shoes.  We usually had what we called "school" clothes and "play" clothes.  Most for me were hand-me-downs.  But it was the same for most of us.  I don't remember any of us wanting for something that was clean and neat.  Nothing fancy...just good for school.

Our school supplies were not hard to get.  No teacher list was needed.  Pencils, erasers, crayons, paper, glue, scissors.  We had those wonderful desks that had a lift-up lid, metal body and attached seat.  They had been cleaned carefully by Mr. Thompson, our janitor, and were ready for another year.  We were careful with school equipment.  We knew that if we did anything to mar it our trip to the principal's office would be short and not too sweet.  Respect.  That was what it was all about.

I still like to pick up a box of Crayola crayons and take a sniff of that unique odor.  I enjoy seeing what kind of things teachers require students bring to school.  Most of it was not even thought of back in 1953.

But anticipation and excitement haven't changed.  Bright eyes.  Wide smiles.  Climb on the bus and off you go.  Another year of fun and learning is on tap for everyone.

Angels watching over me....

So many funerals...so many good-byes.....so many angels watching over me.  Today, again, I sit in that familiar place, among friends and family, honoring the life, supporting in prayer, grieving but not wishing them back.  

I have attended so many good-byes this year that I have actually lost count.  Some were old and have lived a full and fruitful life.  Others taken too soon, without even having a chance to tell them how much they meant to us.

Words are said, songs sung, Bible passages recited, comfort given, hugs, kisses, tears running freely down our cheeks.  All in all a time when we need to gather together.  

I don't particularly like funerals.  My father's was the first I ever attended at the age of 12.  Numb with grief, I was scarcely able to remember what was said or done.  But I do remember one kind lady taking my hand and leading me to a secluded spot.  She said, "Janie, you need to cry.  It is what you need to do...just go ahead and cry.  I'm here and it will be okay."  And cry I did.  After that I was okay...in a way.

Grief is a personal, private thing.  We all grieve in our own way.

And always we feel that connection with the one we have lost.  Angels.  That is what they are.  Angels looking down.  Angels watching over me.

Peace, comfort, rest.  For you, me and all of us who are left behind.

Milestone

I am a wildflower enthusiast.  One of the great pleasures of living on my hilltop is the constant changing scene that greets me on my morning walks.  For the past few years I have had to rely on pictures  I have taken in the past.  But this morning I reached a true milestone.  I took my camera with me on my morning hike.  First time in a long time.  There was a flower I wanted to add to my album...and it grows not on top of the hill...but at the very bottom.

And therein lies the tale.  Two years ago today I was in surgery to replace my worn-out right hip.  They gave me a bright shiny titanium one to get me walking right again.  Abuse, arthritis and age had taken their toll on the original to the point where I was unable to hike, walk, or enjoy my lovely country home.

And today I did something I have not done in three years.  Three long years.  Years of yearning as I passed by plants and sights I longed to record with my little Nikon camera.  In the car, with the windows rolled down I would stop and visualize myself walking over that high ditch and into the woods to snap a picture of the lovely blooms there in the shadow of the trees.

But today I did it.  I have been training my legs for several months to make the short trip down the hill...and then up again.  Stretching the tight muscles and urging my body to go that extra few steps.  Taking those tentative moves down the hill and over rough terrain until I felt confident again in my ability to walk without stumbling or falling over a root or rock.

Yes, I set off with that goal in mind.  Down, down, down I went.  And as I passed each familiar tree and turn in the road, my spirits soared.  "I am doing this.  I am actually doing this." I said to myself over and over.

And then I was there.  American bellflower.  A small, inconspicuous bloom.  But delicate, intricate in its form.  Not an intense blue like spiderwort or chicory.  But a lovely soft blue with hints of darker hues all around its lovely center.  Amazing.  I took a lot of pictures but found just the one when I got home  to share with you.

And to share with you this miracle.  Yes, a milestone.  All the way down that hill....and all the way up to the top.  Stopping along the way to catch my breath.  But feeling good.  Feeling whole.  And much more myself than I have in a long, long time.

July

This is a picture taken a few years ago when I returned to my hometown in central Illinois.  July always brings so many memories of my childhood back to me.  Especially the warm summer nights of midsummer.  As my dad used to say...listen to the corn growing.  And I could add the crickets chirping and the frogs croaking.

As soon as supper was over we would escape outside...screen door banging signaling our exit.  We would gather across the street at our neighbors...all of us kids....and choose a game to play in the gathering twilight.  Sometimes it was Hide and Seek.  Sometimes Kick the Can.  And sometimes just a pick-up game of baseball with all ages playing together.

If the fireflies were especially thick we would go and get a jar from home.  We'd chase those flickering lights up and down the field, sometimes catching one just as it doused its light.  Letting it crawl across our fingers we could coax it into the jar and clap the lid on quickly.  The more fireflies you caught the more light they made.  What joy to hold it up to our faces, very close, and marvel at the way they would make their bodies glow..off and on...off and on.

For a few glorious weeks I visited my cousins a little farther south in Woodford County.  My uncle ran a body shop in ElPaso and he would haul us down to Bloomington to the stock car races at least once or twice during our visit.  Climbing high up in the bleachers we could see the whole racetrack down below.  Smoke, crashes, lots of action.  The smell of burning tires....the screech of brakes as contact was made....and above it all the haze of that midwestern night....humidity clashing with night air...and the chilliness that came with the advancing darkness.  Bright lights made it seem like day, but when you looked around you could see the thick night crowding in on you.  Shivering, I would draw closer to my uncle and he would cuddle me in his strong arms.

I wish I had some way to open the memories of those magical evenings and show them to my grandson Gus.  He will have his own chance one of these days.  Summer nights pass by so quickly.  Enjoy them while you can.

Sunrise, Sunset

I don't need a calendar this time of year to tell me that we are just a few short days away from the summer solstice.  In the morning the sun's rays march along my kitchen wall, shining through the east-facing door. illuminating the far reaches of the house where sunlight never hits the other months of the year.  I glory in the golden honey light that bathes those corners of the house and spreads its joy to bless my day.

And at sunset I often stand on my west-facing porch, waiting to see where the sinking sun will finally go behind the hills of Caney.  Like a sundial, the light tells me that we are almost at mid-year.  It even appears in my east bedroom,  sunshine dipping in the open door to cover the quilt on my bed with red and gold and maybe purple.  And as it is with the morning sunrise, the sunset light never enters that room except when it reaches its northern most point in the western sky.

The joy of living on a hill appeals to me.  The eternal movement of the sun reminds me that I am a mere speck in the universe.  But, oh how fortunate I am to see the changing of the season and wonder at the majesty of it all.

Sunset, and sunrise.

Ambitious?

Why is it always at night that I start making plans for tomorrow?  I sit on my porch, comfortably full from supper, clean clothes, bathed, ready to relax.  And that is when I feel ambitious.  I will clean the cupboards..tomorrow.  I will get all the winter clothes out of the closet, wash them, and put them away for the summer.....tomorrow.  I will take my loppers out and cut all those pesky thorn tree sprouts that have appeared in our fields and gullies...tomorrow.

But when tomorrow comes my mind tends to forget all those promises made at sunset the night before.  Do I really want to attack those "have to" jobs?  Aren't they really ones that can be left for another day?

YES!  And so I cheerfully do the minimum housework and, like the spendthrift rogue housewife that I am, do things that bring me pleasure.  Walk down to the pond and see how many bullfrogs I can see peering up at me with bulbous eyes.  Stand under the oak tree and watch zebra swallowtail butterflies flit from blossom to blossom.  Sit on the porch, in the shade and read a book from cover to cover.  

Ambition?  I do have plenty of it....just not today.

Flower Power

There is just something about a daisy that makes me smile.  Simple, direct, unassuming, not flashy, but still sending me a message whenever I see them blooming along my road and in the field.  If the day is sunny, they shine even among the weeds and vines in the deepest grass.  In the dim light of evening their bright faces reflect the glory of the passing day.  After the rain, with drops of water  clinging to their petals, they lift their faces to the sky as if to say 'I'm still here.  Bring on the storm.  Bring on the wind. I will continue to bloom until my job is done.'

This has been a few bad weeks for all of us.  Things have happened that we would not wish on our worst enemy.  Untold sorrow, grief, hardship.  Decisions to made, endless waiting, and always,  the knowledge that some of us escaped...and some of us did not. 

I hike down the road and sing songs to myself .  The steady beat of boots on the dry rough road are calming.  When I look around and see the daisies blooming, I begin to relax.  Perhaps I am focusing too much on the here and now.  I need to take courage from these unassuming flowers...they don't shout at me, they don't demand my attention.  They wait quietly there in the fields and furrows beside the road....and bear mute testimony to the power of hope.  That there will be a brighter day tomorrow..that we will all emerge from this time with renewed strength.  And perhaps a better understanding of how the simple things in life are the most precious.

Those plain flowers have a message for us...flower power...it is there at our fingertips.  We just have to reach out and take it.  And tomorrow will be a better day, for sure.  

Come a flood....

We aren't going anywhere anytime soon.  It began to rain yesterday and the rivers came up and the creeks rose.  It came a flood.

A few years ago we had a flood that they called the 100 year flood.  And the very next year we had another....100 year flood.  So I guess, to make sure this doesn't happen again, this one will have the super-title of the 500 year flood.  Or so I hear.

The ground was already saturated with rains from a few days ago.  And when it started in yesterday the only place for it to go was out....over the fields, into the already swollen lakes and streams and ponds.  

The water played havoc with any surface it ran over.  We went down to check out the roads this morning.  Walking from bridge to low-water crossing, checking into our alternate route to town, we found huge chunks of asphalt tossed like frisbees along the roadside.  And deep gouges running across the gravel where the rushing water had lifted huge rocks and tossed them aside as if they were made of fluff.  Water is powerful and when it is running as fast as our streams and creeks did, it packs a wallop.

What will we do?  We, as in Andy and me, will stay put until our road is fixed enough to get the truck out.    What will we do as a community?  Why, what we always do.  Roll up our sleeves, get out the heavy equipment, and shovels and rakes, help our neighbors put their lives back together, cry with the ones who are crying, hug the ones who need a hug.   That's what we do in a case like this...when there comes a flood..even a 500-year one.  

Keeping up with a boy

Constant motion.  Never still.  That is what being almost 3 is all about.

We have spent the last month in New York, visiting our grandson Gus and his parents.

Our days were full of fun and adventure.

Pick him up from his parent's apartment in mid-morning with lunch already packed.  Ready to roll.  A stop along the way at the donut shop to greet everyone who comes in the door.  This boy has never met a stranger.  "Hi" he says to everyone in line.  Most of them smile and say hi back.  Some even give him a high five.

Then on to the park.  What will we do today?  Throw rocks in the stream?  Kick the ball all over the soccer field?  Run until we fall down?  Maybe all of the above.

The Aqueduct Trail is always a point of interest.  Lots of flat space to run and lots of places to stop, pick up a stick and dig a hole.

Dig a hole?  Of course!  What else would you do with such an expanse of wet and oozy mud?  Doesn't matter how dirty you get.  Grandma has clean clothes in the backpack.

Lunch.  How he loves to eat.  Cheerios and raisins, a pb and j sandwich, some cheese, maybe a veggie or two.  Whatever there is he eats it up and takes a big drink of water to wash it all down.

Getting sleepy, so we drive him back to our apartment where his travel bed is located.  A snuggle or two, a story about Winnie the Poo and then lights out.

After a refreshing nap...for all of us....he is ready to go back home.  "Mama, Papa!" he yells as we open the downstairs door.  He greets them with a happy smile.

It's almost time for him to help make supper.  He loves to cook.  And thankfully his parents know just how to keep him busy in the kitchen.  What a joy to see him cutting up carrots to put in the salad and adding a pinch of this or that to make a tasty dish.  Perhaps he'll be a famous chef someday.  Who knows?

One thing this grandma does know.  When it is time to kiss him good-bye and tell him we'll see him tomorrow, his little face lights up with joy.  That is enough to keep us trying to keep up with this little boy.

Bound boy

Andy's ancestors came from Ireland.  And before that they came from Scotland.  Slaves..captured in the dim mists of time from their Scottish home...enslaved by their Irish captors...servants, bound in service for life to masters who ruled them with an iron hand.  And then as the famine in Ireland grew and life was hard for everyone, the news came that there was a chance for freedom...in the United States of America.  Freedom.  How sweet the sound.

Several great-grandfathers ago a ten-year old boy by the name of Elder signed to become a bound boy...an indentured servant who would work out the cost of his passage to America by working for a family...a different kind of servitude..with an iffy promise, but better than the life that he could see ahead.  He made the long journey across the Atlantic.  He worked and managed to save some money.  With his savings he bought his freedom...and made plans to pay the passage for another brother.  When he arrived the two brothers worked to bring over another brother.  And so it continued until ten Elder men came from Ireland to start a new life in America.  Sweet, sweet freedom.  Hard work.  But, still, it was what they felt they owed their family.  A chance.  A chance for a new life...

The young man at the bottom center of the photo is Andy's grandfather, Andrew John Elder.  He was the father of John Andrew Elder who was the father of  Andy.

The patriarch of the family in the picture is also named Andrew John Elder, the father of all the children in the picture.

A heritage to be proud of.  Hope makes everything possible.  Even from the fog-shrouded coasts of Scotland...to the gleaming green hills of Ireland, the call for a free life and a new way of living echoes.  Freedom...for every bound boy...and man and woman who cherishes life and lives in hope of a better day.

Drifting with the seasons...

Some days when the sun refuses to shine I close my eyes and drift with the season.  Strong winds, pelting rain, gentle breezes, soft sunshine.  All in all it has been an early spring to remember.  

I have come to the point in my life when I have to write notes on a calendar and remind myself what happened when.  A journal of sorts you might say.  When did we see the four wood ducks on the pond?  Was it March 6th?  Or a late as the 23rd?  When did I see the first peek of a violet in my western sloping field....on the 13th...or the 5th?  And when did we hear the turkey gobble...the 25th..or maybe later?  

Does it really matter?  No, it doesn't, but for me it helps make sense of the onward march of day to day and season to season.   Morel hunting, the first greens that can be picked, the tender flowers adorning fruit trees not yet bitten by a late frost and snow.

Life on my hill in Luna is a chance to detach from the world that hurries by and counts its days and hours by clicking and ticking of the phone and the clock.  Unplugged from my electronics I relish the surprise I find with sunrise, noon and quiet evening.  Stars mark my seasons, the moon's shape the months, the sun a constant reminder of time of day.  Why do I need a calendar or clock?

Close my eyes, hear the sounds of nature all around me.  Content to be here in solitude.  Just to drift with the season.

Winter...and then summer.

I feel like telling these tender blossoms on my red bud tree to be prepared.  Be prepared for something other than snow, sleet, ice....be prepared for blazing sun, roaring winds, summer-time temperatures.  Because we have had them all.

Just a little over a week ago we had snow.  And sleet.  Some people had ice.  Cold.  Did I mention the cold?  The wind blew and I pulled my jacket collar tighter around my neck as I ran for the garage and the relative warmth of the car.  

How can it be that right now I am sitting in my house with the AC on?  Last night we debated whether we needed to build a small fire in the wood stove to warm it up a little.  I was chilly.  Put an extra blanket on the bed.  This morning I slipped on my lighter winter coat, popped my sweatshirt in the back seat and took off to run errands in West Plains.  By 9 AM I was suffocating in my light winter shirt.  The sun was sending blazing rays of heat into the car.  I turned the AC on and kept it running all the way to Gainesville.  

I listen to the forecast every day, just because I need to know how many layers of clothing  to wear and what to put on to strip down to.  Crazy.  Just plain crazy. 

But one thing I have noticed.  Everyone is smiling.  It is a beautiful day for the first day of spring.  And we are happy to be out in it.  After all...it could be snowing!

Old School

I went to see Benton Breeding in the nursing home on Monday of this week.  He had come there to recover from the effects of a fall and broken bone a week or so before.  I could see that he was tired as he sat in his wheelchair, but I just wanted to say hi..and glad to see you back home.  Little did I know that in a few short hours he would leave us to go and join his loving wife Genelle and his family and friends.

I will miss him.  In the spring of 1977 Andy and I came to Gainesville, bought property, and made plans to settle in town.  The first thing I needed was a teaching job.  We had been camping while we were searching for the perfect place here in Ozark County.  I asked the realtor, who was on the school board at that time, if there were any vacancies that I might apply for.  He sent me to the superintendent's office.  And I met Benton Breeding for the first time.  I was a little uneasy going to interview in camping clothes, but I shouldn't have been.  We had a little talk.  He asked me some questions.  We talked some more.  And in short order I was hired to teach half time at the Junior High and half time at the Elementary.  Talk about lucky!  I didn't know how lucky I was.

Benton, or Mr. Breeding, as I called him while he was my boss, and I always got along fine.  I could tell that he ran a tight ship.  My experience with school superintendents was varied...some were pretty much in for the ride and others ruled with an iron hand.  But Mr. Breeding was definitely old school..and just what I needed.

After he retired we still kept in touch.  We went to church together.  We visited at Vaught's during coffee time and Sunday breakfast.  I still remember how pleased I was when they named our then-new football field and facility after him when he retired.  I would drive past the sign each day when I went to work at the new elementary school, and with a smile,  recall my years teaching under him.

Once, when we were eating breakfast at Vaught's, I got the chance to thank him for hiring me on that May day so long ago.  I told him how wonderful my time had been teaching at Gainesville and that he was a big part of that.  He had paved the way for our school to be one of the best I had ever taught at...and I told him so.  He smiled.  He always smiled.  He thanked me for the kind words.  I hope  he knew just how sincere I was.

And then I remember my first Christmas teaching here in Gainesville.  I had just dismissed my junior high class and was getting ready to leave for the elementary school when word came from the office that Mr. Breeding needed to see me.  Something about a "Christmas bonus".  I was surprised.  I had never gotten a Christmas bonus before.  What could it be?  I knocked on his door and he told me to come in.  All smiles, he reached down beside his desk and pulled out a shiny apple and a huge orange.  "Merry Christmas, Mrs. Elder!", he said.   I replied, "and Merry Christmas to you Mr. Breeding."  

Old school.  Definitely old school.

Winter's not done yet.

March snows have become something to deal with here in the Ozarks.  Usually we have had at least one or two good snows a winter, but lately that has been the exception rather than the rule.  We have been spoiled this year by spring-like weather since late January and all through February.  People were even saying they would have liked to have at least one snow before spring came officially.  Well....they got their wish.  

It didn't snow very long up here on the hill.  The morning was gray and cloudy.  Threatening skies seemed to say that winter had not left us without a last hurrah.  Shortly after lunch it started up here.  Thick flakes fell fast and furiously.  The wind blew snow up on the porch and plastered the sides of trees and buildings and even our bluebird house.  I wonder where Mr. and Mrs. went to hide from the wet flakes swirling around the entrance to their preferred home?  They were probably nestled down in the nearby woods, out of the cold and the wet.

Buzzards gathered on a tree to our south.  I went out to take their picture when it stopped snowing.  They took exception to my presence and flew off before I could get more than a few shots taken of them huddling on the branches.

All in all it is a pretty sight to see the snow falling up here on the hill.  Nice to be inside where it is warm and cozy and not having to fight my way through the wind and cold.

Winter is not over yet.  We still have a few weeks to go.  And who knows what these last days of the waning season will bring.  More snow?  High winds?  Or maybe just gentle breezes and welcome sunshine.  Whatever happens, winter is almost gone.  And I, for one, am ready to welcome spring.

Perfection

When I look at daffodils  I see pure sunshine.  Even on a cloudy, blustery day, their brave faces still speak of what lies behind the cool wind and rainy gloom.....the sun is shining somewhere, up there, in a blue sky we can't see from down here.

We have some beauties that we planted long before we had a house up here on the hill.  They were nestled into the ground up under our martin house in the fall.  We covered their beds with leaves and mulch and added a layer of chicken wire to keep the armadillos from digging them up over the winter.

The snow came.  The rain came.  And in the spring we could see the beginnings of green shoots coming up through the brown and matted layers of their winter bed.  Pulling the chicken wire off was another matter.  Trying to be careful and not damage the tender stalks we finessed the protective mesh off the daffodil bed.  And they bloomed.  Not very strong...just small little bits of sunshine there in the greening grass.

We nurtured those blooms and mowed around them....protecting them from harm while we decided where to put them when it came time to dig up the bulbs in the fall.

Since we had not built our house yet, we hit upon the idea of putting them down by the road so they could be shared with anyone who drove by.

And that is where they are today.  It has been several years, and as daffodils are prone to do, they have spread and multiplied along the bank above my county road.

I look for them each spring.  Searching the ground for the tender green shoots.  Being careful not to step on any that are beginning to break through to the light.  But I have found  these flowers to be very forgiving.  They will spring up again and again.  They don't need much encouragement.

You have all heard the saying "Bloom where you are planted".  My sunny daffodils remind me of that every time I see them.

Blooming right there.  Bringing sunshine to me even when times are gray and blustery.  The perfect reminder to hang in and hang on.  Because the sun is always shining...and the sky is blue.  Maybe not here...but somewhere. 

Perfection...in a sunny little bloom.

Good-bye

The Joplin tornado of May, 2011 shook our world.  But it brought us a blessing too.  A blessing in the form of an elderly couple, left homeless by that devastating windstorm.  Gladys and Olen Reding were visiting their daughter and her family here in Ozark County on that fateful Sunday afternoon.  They had come to see their great-grandson graduate from high school and, fortunately, decided to stay the night before returning to their home in Joplin.  While they were here, their home was blown away....their belongings scattered, their lives changed forever.

Where would they live?  At first, I can imagine they thought they might be able to return to their hometown where they had lived their entire married life.  But as time went by, they settled in, here in Gainesville, far from their old stomping grounds.

Most people in their nineties would not be able to make the transition after such a blow to their everyday life.  I don't think I could.  Everything gone..or almost everything.  The more I talked to them at church and visited with them in their new apartment in town, the more I realized that they treated this as another phase in their life.  Gladys would reminisce about this or that, something that she had there in Joplin...and then just lift up her arms, wave her hands and exclaim, "But that was just all blown away!' and follow this statement of fact with a laugh and a smile.  Olen missed his tools...and his car...and his workshop.  But he also would say..."Who knows where they are now."

They were in my Sunday School class.  Always able to give some insight into the lesson, and faithful in attendance.  We would have Sunday dinner together at Vaught's or The Antler after church.  Visit.  Oh the stories they could tell.  I loved our time together.

Olen had the most wonderful speaking voice.  When he prayed you could almost imagine the angels in heaven stopping what they were doing to attend to his words...always heartfelt, always full of faith and joy.  

Gladys was one of the most lovable women I have ever met.  She would tell me  how she and Olen started courting.  About her life in Joplin.  And her life after she married.  AnnE, their daughter, posted a picture of her folks on their wedding day.  Olen, so handsome and tall in his Army uniform.  Gladys, a beautiful bride in a gorgeous dress, smiling the smile that only a new bride has.  Obviously in love.  For ever.

And now they are gone.  Within a short day of each other.  He went first.  She followed.  I have an inkling that she knew that she wanted to see him safe home first before she joined him.

Thank you Olen and Gladys.  Thank you for showing us courage.  Thank you for showing us grace in all circumstances.  Thank you for loving us.  And thank you for letting us share a short part of your long lives with us.

Go in Peace.  Go in Love.  Go ... and we will join you one day.  

House Cleaning

When we first bought our place we decided we wanted bluebird houses...and lots of them.  Andy got busy and made 20.  The first spring we put them up all around our 50 acres.  We love birds, but we are not big fans of bird feeders.  Putting up an avian cafeteria in my yard is not my idea of fun.  Watching the neighborhood cat grab an innocent wren off our feeder one winter day put an end to my bird watching from my breakfast table.  And out here, our house is sided with pine.  Add free food to a chance to nibble on wood.. an open invitation to every squirrel in the neighborhood to come and fill their stomachs..and sharpen their teeth.

Yes, 20 houses would be enough we thought.  With the help of a neighbor boy we put them up in a day.  I don't know if we were successful or not that first year.  We were too busy building and digging and working on our new house.  I would see a few bluebirds flitting around but didn't pay much attention to where they were or where they were calling home.

One mistake we made was putting the birdhouses on trees on the edges of our place.  We spaced them correctly so there wouldn't be any neighborhood squabbles among the pairs.  But I guess the birds just weren't interested in flying into the timber's edge to make a home in a wooden box, no matter how comfy we tried to make it.

The next year we put them on posts...near where we thought they might like to live and raise a family.  And found that some of the 20 had not survived the winter.  So we were down to 18 or so.  Up they went on the posts.  We would check and see if we saw any evidence of nesting when we made the rounds.  Some were used and some were left vacant.

Over time more of the houses met their demise....some fell victim to wind storms, others to errant crashes with brush hogs and wandering tractors with no back-up mirror.  So now we have 12.

We have usually cleaned out the houses before nesting season.  Sometimes we get to all of them..and sometimes not.  But today we decided to spruce up each and every one.

As with most of our mutual jobs, Andy and I have our assigned tasks.  I hold the drill, the hammer and the cleaning stick and pass them to him when he needs them.  He uses the drill, the hammer and the cleaning stick and sometimes the posthole  digger and the maul.  You get the idea.  I do the assisting and he does the heavy work.  That has always worked for us.  

We found a variety of things when we cleaned the houses today.  Almost all of the houses had nests in them...some had old eggs from previous seasons buried under the debris....some had wasp nests festooned under the covers....and some were just about to fall apart.  

My skillful husband managed to put them back together...good enough for another year.

After tromping around to each locale we were satisfied that all would be ready for the birds to move in when they took a notion.  

And I for one am more than ready for bluebird season.  I love to see them lined up on my power line, sitting up there in a row, turning their necks to see if they can see a bug or two flitting under them.  Diving down they catch their meal and head off  toward the homes we have made for them.  It makes me smile to see them and know that we have done our part.  

House cleaning....I do it for the birds.

Dude

This is a picture of my dad, Bill Myers, around 1920 or so.  He was born on New Year's Day 1897.  He was a WW I veteran....served a few months in a tank division in South Carolina before he was mustered out.

And he was a dude.  He loved getting dressed up.  I know exactly where this picture was taken...in the side yard of our house in Galva, Illinois where he lived with his mom and dad and little sister Pearl.  There is the grape arbor that was full grown when I was small...and I see a planter there in the background where he grew the most beautiful flowers.  He had a green thumb.  And the garden was his domain.

I wish I had found this picture when I could have razzed him about his stylish outfit.  I know he probably saved his paycheck for many weeks to buy it.  Of course, this was many years before he met my mom....and then married and had three kids to support.

No mustache.  That is the thing I miss in this picture.  I don't know when he decided to grow one, but I always thought he looked like a movie star anyway...very distinguished in his three-piece suits and camel's hair coat.  My dad never left the house without shaving and putting on pants that were pressed, a crisp shirt and tie, and shiny shoes.  Even when he went down to Spuddy's Barber Shop to get his hair cut or run an errand for my mom downtown.  Always dressed to the nines...that was my dad.

When I find a memory like this lurking in the back of my mind, it makes me smile.  I miss him each and every day.   But as the years have gone by, I can see what he gave his children.  We were loved. We were cared for.  We were encouraged.  By this man...who was truly a dude.

Fog

This picture, of course, was not taken today.  The grass is far from green.  The trees are bare.  But, I am surrounded by a grey blanket of fog.  I take my early morning walk and it feels good to stretch my legs.  Rain, cold and other things have intervened and I have missed my daily exercise.  For too long.

I get cranky when I can't, or won't get out in the fresh air.  It is wonderful to walk the road and see what might be happening.  Nothing much up here on the hill.  I can hear the sound of a chainsaw...to the south and to the north.  Someone is busy.  

The birds are hunkered down in the bushes, waiting to fly out and grab a snack of seeds as soon as I pass by.  A few signs that some varmints have been out prowling last night.  And everything dull grey without a breath of wind to blow the cloud away.

I look up and see if I can imagine where the sun might be this time of day.  Nope. Not even a clue.  But it is mid-January.  Lots of grey days ahead I am sure.

I can feel the tension leaving my body as I trudge up and down the hill.  Nothing like some deep breathing to let all that bad stuff go.  In and out.  Swing my arms.  Sing a song.  Today it is I Know Who Holds Tomorrow.  One of my favorites.  

It may be grey outside.  But the sun is shining inside.  And that is all that matters.

And then there were none.....

When we bought our property it had two ponds.  The bigger one seemed just right for stocking.  And we did stock it with catfish and hybrid sunfish and some minnows.  We fed them.  They would come to the sound of our cowbell twice a day.  They grew big and fat and a little sassy.  We caught a few, threw them back in to grow a little bigger.  The first winter all went well.  But then the otters made their way, one frosty winter's night, creeping up from Pine Creek...and leaving the heads of several catfish in a row on the bank...and a pile of fish scale poop in the weeds.  The DOC calls it otter latrines.  

So we restocked.  Surely to goodness the fish would survive and we would have some fun seeing them bite on our hook and pull and tug in that feisty way that small fish have?  They thrived again....growing plump and happy, swimming along the edges and deep in the dim reaches of the pond.  Joy to see them feed on little pieces of grasshopper and worm that we threw in to tempt them.  And then the winter came...again.  And again the otters came...and dined.  

This past spring we restocked another time.  The new fish were not as fat and sassy as the ones we had previously.  Perhaps they knew what might happen to them.  Or maybe the ghosts of their brother and sister sunfish visited them on starry, moonless summer nights and whispered tales of horror..of being gobbled by giant beings who swam and grabbed them up off their nighttime beds.

Today I walked the margin of the pond.  And what did I find?  Otter poop, laced with fish scales.  No catfish heads, but lots of evidence that fish were eaten here...and few were left to tell the tale.

I have decided that I am done with providing the otters from Pine Creek free winter banquets.  The otters are welcome to any fish they can find....until there are none left in my once lovely pond.  A sad tale but true.  Sunfish are no match for a hungry otter on the prowl.