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.