Frost Flowers

The other night when the temperature dipped into the teens we knew what we would see in the morning.  My hip is still in the mending stage but Andy took my camera and went in search of frost flowers.  He knows just where to look.  Down in the southeast of our property there is a pretty good patch of frost weed.  These plants soak up water and hold it in their stems.  When freezing weather comes at night, the water freezes and bursts the stems.  The ice comes out in ribbons and curls.  Sometimes the stems retain some water and we have a repeat from the same plant.

It is such a treat to look out over the field and see the white frosty flowers at the base of the plants.  They glisten in the sun.  When you move closer in you see such a myriad of shapes and sizes.  They are just marvelous.  I like to break off a piece of ice and look through it, seeing the bands of frozen water.  I know most people who live here have seen these flowers of ice.  Most call it rabbit butter...or a form there of which is not spoken in polite company.  I can see the smirks on faces from here..I know who you are!

Regardless of what you call them, they are one of those Ozark surprises that we all wait to see on a winter day.  Gleaming there in the grass, spread out like a million sparkling diamonds.  Just one of those marvels you see when you live in the country.  Hope you can get out and see some one of these frosty mornings.  Shiver and enjoy.  Because they don't last forever.  A treat to see...and remember.

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That Special Day

What is better than a dinner with friends?  I have eaten many a good holiday meal with Joe and Maxine Lord , Jon and Johanna.  The above picture shows my brothers, Paul to the left, and Derek to the right lifting their glasses in a toast.  It looks like Joe is entering into the festivities.  My mom sits in the middle, laughing as usual.  And Derek's wife Rhoda is seated at the end next to Joe.  I assume that Maxine took the picture.

Evidently I was not present.  Who knows why.  Since Derek and Rhoda and Paul are in the picture, I think this was taken after I was married and away from home.  Perhaps I was celebrating with Andy's family in Maryland.

The whole point of my post is to remember those great times we have all enjoyed with the ones we hold dear.  All of the people in this picture are gone.  One by one they left my life.  And I am still here, alone with wonderful memories and a sadness that is sometimes overwhelming.

So many people can relate to this emotion during these happy times of year.  Family gatherings that are tinged with regret but still full of love and laughter.  I choose to remember with gladness the family that raised me.  I choose to cherish the gifts they gave me....love, acceptance, and a desire to be a person  they could be proud of.

It sounds trite.  But it is true.

This holiday time will be different for so many of us.  But if we would just think about all we have right now.  If we can acknowledge the sadness that will always be there.  The hole in our hearts.  The empty chair at the table.  We can then reach out and feel the warmth of their love for us.  And our love for them...around the table of life.  And especially on that special day.

 

Uncle Gus

Here he is.  My grandmother's younger brother.  According to my family records he was born in Michigan.  I have no idea why his family was up there.  His father was a minister and served Lutheran congregations in Illinois and Ohio.  And perhaps, when Gus was born his father might have been serving a church in Michigan.  

When he was just a kid, he and his mother and the other four children went to live with their maternal grandparents.  The farm was bisected by the railroad.  According to family lore, when Opa...or Grandfather...went to take his afternoon nap the boys were sent to the barn to stay for a few hours.  I imagine this was done to keep the noise level down in the house.  My great- great-grandparents were stern people...or so I gather from what I have heard. And I can imagine taking on a young family when you have already raised eleven of your own was quite a chore.

Gus would listen to the train coming down the track near the barn.  He loved to hear the whistle, the wheels as they clacked along the rails, the thundering power that blew across the cornfield near where he stood.  Every boy's dream.  The railroad.

Gus had a sweetheart.  Her name was Emma.  They made plans to marry one day.  After he came back from chasing his dream.  They promised to write each other as often as they could.  And he would come back and they would start their life together.

Alas, as is true in many of these stories, it was not to be.  Family lore has it that Oma..grandmother..and her daughter, Gus's mom, had other plans.  Somehow they managed to stop the letters coming from Gus to Emma.  I have no idea how this happened.  What was their plan?  Well of course, they had decided that Gus's younger brother Fred was a more suitable husband for Emma.  And so they encouraged that romance.  

Gus was in California and Nevada working on the railroad..  Meanwhile back home, Fred and Emma were becoming "sweet on each other".  Can't blame Emma. No letters from Gus meant that he had forgotten her.  

Gus came home for a visit.  He brought Emma a beautiful fur coat.  I can imagine how he felt when he found out that she would not be his girlfriend nor future wife .  He gave her the coat.  And headed west on the next train out of town.

He succeeded in his life as a railroad man.  I have a picture of him in a Stetson hat, a nice suit, smoking a cigar.  He didn't come home much.  When he retired he stayed out west until his health started to fail.  Then he came home to live with his younger sister, my Aunt Nettie.  

I loved my Uncle Gus.  He had a soft way of speaking.  He was a quiet man with good manners and a quick smile.  I liked to sit on his lap and listen to him talk to my grandmother and my aunts and uncles.  No one ever mentioned Emma.  In fact, I didn't hear the story of their romance until I was an adult. 

I visited Uncle Fred and Aunt Emma once or twice when I was small.  They lived in a town near my other aunts and uncles.  They had no children.  And as long as I knew her, Aunt Emma was an invalid, in bed most of the time.

I share this story because we never know just how our lives might turn out.  Gus had plans.  He was disappointed.  He probably grieved for awhile.  But I know that he enjoyed his life out there, riding the train from town to town.

When he passed away my Aunt Nettie gave his railroad watch to my mom.  Mom gave it to my brother Paul.  And when Paul passed away, it came to me.  

Now we have a grandson named Gus.  An excellent name for an excellent person. I hope my Gus grows up to be a man like Uncle Gus....honest and dependable.  A man able to weather life's storms and come out a winner in the end. 

 

 

The End

And so it ends.  The frost this morning caused the leaves of our zinnias to wilt and turn dark green, a sure sign that this will be the end of flowers in the garden for this year.  Luckily, Andy picked a last bouquet yesterday and brought them in to liven up our window sill.  

The flowers have been especially beautiful this year.  We planted both zinnias and coreopsis in our flower field.  The deer ate every coreopsis as it emerged as a green seedling.  Amazingly, they left the zinnias alone...until a few weeks ago.  One night they browsed every single zinnia bud.  Just nipped them off clean to the stem.  The blooms they left untouched.  They are fussy eaters for sure.

I am sorry to see the flowers end this year.  Being home more has been a pleasure since our garden has kept us busy.  We have had more green peppers than we could use.  Tomatoes by the bucket full.  Lots of okra  And other good veggies.  Our lettuce is still hanging in there.  But the days are numbered for much that we have left.  The last lonely cucumber was kind of pathetic.  It looked a little lumpy and pale, but it did taste good.

We are already planning on what we will plant next year.  What we will try and what we might pass over.  Some things  do really well for us.  And some are just a lot of trouble for too much work.

As the nights get longer and the days chillier we can look forward to what might happen in the spring.  Winter will coat the garden place with frost and snow.  The wind will blow the last remnants of the bean vines and  whisk away the leaves left on the tomato bush.  And as the earth sleeps we will dream of spring and summer...good things to eat and the pleasure of seeing them grow.   

 

The Good Old Days

Seems like a thousand years ago.  Andy and I would add a little extra kick to the Jessie Polka.  No strain.  Just see how high we could go.  Usually we did this in front of the band. We wanted to see if we could get the fiddler to miss a lick when we hollered and got his attention.  It was fun.  Just the best kind of fun you can have.  

This picture was taken at the Taney Center near Taneyville.  They had the best dance floor around.  Lots of our friends from Taney and Douglas County would come to dance and enjoy the great music that Bob Holt played with the band.  We thought it would go on and on forever.  But, just as most things, it came to an end.  

The road to the dance was rough and windy.  Anyone who travels that part of 160 highway knows you have to be careful around those curves or you might end up wound around a tree or headed down into a dark and wooly ravine. But it was a pleasure to take off after work on a Saturday night and make that drive.  We knew that friends and good music would make it all worthwhile.

Usually the floor was full of sets when we did a square.  Sometimes there was a two-step or a polka, but mainly Bob played a fast and furious fiddle tune that kept us moving until we gave out.  What a great memory that is.  

The band would take a break about half way through the dance.  But before they did,  the jig dancers would request a tune to jig too.  Oh my!  It was time to show-out, that's for sure.  I can close my eyes and see so many of my friends dancing away, feet moving at lightning speed, heels and toes clicking to the ever increasing beat of the  music.  We all needed a break after that.

Taney Center dance is gone.  I can't kick high when I do the Jessie Polka.  The square dances are few and far between now.  Many of our partners are gone.  

I love seeing the pictures from those years that have so swiftly gone.  I can close my eyes and hear Bob playing Ninth of January or Black Mountain Rag.  I can imagine the clicking of taps on the floor as we swoop and swing and smile.

But I keep these memories in my heart and in my mind and know that for us those were the best of days...and best of nights.  Kicking high, moving to the constant beat of the fiddle.  The good old days for sure.

  

 

Bring on Fall

Who doesn't love the season as it changes from late summer to early fall?  I can't imagine not being inspired by the gradually cooling temperatures and the changes we see on our hills and in the valleys as  deep green turns to yellow and orange and red.  The garden is yielding its late season crop of lettuce and beans.  Some tomatoes are ripening and some will need to be picked before frost.

Did I say frost?  I look forward to that first frosty morning.  The wood stove may need to be started  to banish the chill in the house.  Warmer jackets, longer pants, heavier coats.  All hanging in the closet ready and waiting. 

My mother loved fall.  It was her favorite season.  Since she lived in Florida, she always made it a point to make a three month visit from late August until after Thanksgiving.  She loved to pick up walnuts, hull them and leave them out to dry.  She adored the drives we would take up on the Glade Top Trail.  She would talk about her own girlhood in Illinois, a trip to Shook's Timber, walking along the railroad on her way home from school in Panola, hog-butchering time.  It was her time of year.

I guess I must have inherited my affection for the season from her.  Football games where my brothers played in a valiant effort to beat a near-town rival.  As a cheerleader, bundled up against the cold, leading the crowd as we yelled and screamed as the final touchdown was made as time ran out.  Then making my way home under the streetlights...the trees over the road outlined in purple with orange and red leaves rustling in the wind.  Trips on my bike to Bishop Hill.  The little town itself a storybook picture of beautiful homes and a park where we roasted hotdogs and made s'mores.

Now I look out my window and see the leaves of a few trees beginning to turn.  My lighter sweatshirt is ready for the chilly morning even though it will be discarded by noon if not before.  I sense an urgency in me.  I can't quite put a name to it.  Change.  The season is changing.  And I am looking forward to what fall may bring.   

 

Dragonflies

You can't see them in this picture.  No.  They fly so fast only a supersonic mini-cam could catch them in flight.  I am talking about dragonflies.  

In the evening they gather in the air on the north side of my porch.  The low light makes it easier for me to see them spotlighted by the setting sun.

They are just amazing.  They fly in formation...each tiny shape aligned exactly, near but not too close to its neighbor.  Holding a steady speed they zoom toward the west, wings a blur, then abruptly turn 180 degrees and fly, without hesitation or slowing their speed, to the east.  Back and forth.  Up and down.  I try to focus on just one dragonfly but it is hard.  First one way, then a climb up and over and down to again turn backwards and around.  It exhausts me just to imagine how they do it.  

A little research tells me  they have almost 360 degree vision with huge eyes mounted on tiny heads.  Their double wings are endlessly mobile, giving them the ability to change direction in a nanosecond.  

All in search of that thing which all living beings need.  Food.  And lots of it.  Gnats, mosquitoes, tiny pinpricks of bugs that are almost invisible to our eyes.  They fly and turn and climb and disappear, only to emerge again in some far off spot.  They fly down the hill toward the valley...and then come back.  Always following their next meal. They need  a lot of food to keep those engines running.

As I sit there, entranced by the flight of these super pilots, I think about how the smallest things in our world can be the most fascinating.  We oooh and ahhh at the ability of  gymnasts and dancers to turn themselves into impossible arcs and leaps of greatness.  We admire the skill of athletes who appear to walk on air.  But this little insect tops them all. 

The light is fading fast.  One or two still linger, flying back and forth seeking a final mouthful.  I scoot back my chair and head into the house.  But my mind is still full of the show I have seen.  A miracle.  A true gift. It makes me smile..

 

Aunt Tillie's Tea Kettle

I often arrange my flowers in this old copper tea kettle.  It has been through rough times.  Dented and marred with scars, it shows a long and useful life.  I have no idea how old it is.  All I know is that it came over the Atlantic in 1870 from Sweden with my great-aunt, Matilda Burke Myers, and her family.  They settled in Henry County, Illinois, joining a large community of Swedes who had first come to that area in the 1840's.  

Why is it, when you are a child growing up, no one thinks it's important to tell you who people are and something about their life?  I grew up not knowing Aunt Tillie.  I had no idea who she was or anything about her life.  As I have been doing my family history I have come across a few bare facts.

Tillie was born in Sweden in 1863.  I know her mother's name, Louisa.  And her brothers' names, Edward, Emil, and Albert.  She married my great uncle, David Allison Myers in 1910 when she was 48.  

But what else happened to her?  I vaguely remember visiting her in the nursing home before she passed away.  She lived into her 90's which was very unusual for that time.  I recall that she was very white-headed and thin...sitting in her wheelchair.  And that is all.  I have pictures of her that were found after my mom died.  She has a very Swedish look to her.  I know because, actually, I was raised by Swedes, but that is a story for another day.

Back to Aunt Tillie and her tea kettle.  My mom was always the person to rescue family pieces before they were put in the blazing bonfire.  Anyway,after Aunt Tillie died, my mom saved the tea kettle and brought it home to keep.  I assume no one wanted it.  She had no children and I imagine the other relatives were not too keen on taking on an orphan copper tea kettle that had seen better days.

There it sat on the bureau in our dining room.  When we moved, the tea kettle came too.  Many moves later it came to my house.  I love it.  The story goes that it was the tea kettle that was taken out to the fields during planting and harvest time.  It is sooty on the bottom so I can imagine it being suspended over a fire filled with water, ready to be boiled to make tea for the farmhands.  Tea?  That is what I was told.  Do Swedes drink tea?  I always thought they drank coffee.  Anyway, that is the short story of Aunt Tillie's tea kettle.

But there is more to it than that.  When I look at its dented side and bent handle, I see people bundling up all their belongings and packing them in trunks. I see them taking one last look backward  before climbing on a ship. Then turning and  looking west across that vast sea, hoping, wondering how they would fit in.  A new land.  Full of promise.  Full of dreams. 

I fill the kettle with my beautiful flowers.  I hope that Aunt Tillie knows that a part of her lives on here in the hills of Ozark County, miles and miles away from her beloved homeland, across the sea. Tillie's tea kettle has a home... right here with me.

 

Sharing

As I was driving down the street in Gainesville today I passed our former home.  I had noticed before that the surprise lilies, AKA naked ladies, were blooming to beat the band.  They are such a treat to see in the latter days of summer.  Boom.  There they are.  Bare stems topped with impossibly gorgeous blooms.  They come from bulbs.  When the leaves emerge in the spring they are nothing to look at.  Just your common ordinary plant leaf.  They die back and leave nothing to mark their place.  But in the driest and hottest month of the year...here they come...bursting through the hard and dusty soil.   

Alice Lord gifted us with two bulbs when we moved to our house in 1983.  She told us that we needed to take care of them.  Sometimes they would refuse to thrive.  Sometimes they were just contrary.  Just like a lady.  So we put them there by the fence.  We watched carefully those first few years.  They bloomed...just a few flowers.  We nurtured the ground where they were planted.  Tried hard not to plant anything that would compete with them in that place.  And year after year..more blooms.  Until, when we spent our last summer in that house, they were spread all along the fence line.  Alice was very serious when she shared those two bulbs with us. We are glad she did.  They make me smile when I see them.  And remember the one who gave them to us.  Sharing beauty. An amazing treat to see in this most unexpected time of year. 

 

Homecoming

Ten years.  Has it really been ten years?  I remember driving up the county road, climbing higher and higher.  The trees beside me were lit with the magical light that comes near sunset.  Their tops were touched with amber and gold, the trunks shrouded in deep gray and purple.

When we reached the top of the hill we got out and looked around.  Breathtaking.  That was the only word I could think of to describe what I saw.  For a full 180 degrees I could see hills, and houses, and fields full of cows.  One lone tree stood in the west.  A massive oak with bent branches and fluttering leaves that seemed to be guarding the place.  We walked around the field a little as the sun was going down behind the hills of Caney Mountain.  I don't think we said a word for a long, long time.

I turned to Andy and nodded my head.  Yes.  Yes.  This is where I wanted to be.  He understood what I said.  The feeling was mutual.

And as we celebrate our tenth year up here on the hill we are thankful for the chance that has been given  us.  A good life.  Good neighbors.  Wonderful places to explore and use.  All this beautiful  vista that unfolds before us.  It changes by the hour, the day, the season.  Soon it will be fall.  Then winter,  Then spring again.  Fulfilled.  That is how I feel.  I wouldn't want to be any other place in the world...but up here on top of the hill.

       

  

 

A Memory That Lasts

And so it is not to be.  No Hootin an Hollarin this year.  No funnel cakes.  No costume parade.  No Big Parade.  No music in the Gazebo.  No booths.  No tacos.  No....square dancing.

The last item hurts.  Even though we have not danced since last year, it hurts.  It makes our eyes fill with tears.  It's just almost too much to bear.

The picture you see is from a long, long time ago.  We were all younger.  We could dance all night...trying to wear out the band and the fiddler.  Midnight and beyond...the bleachers would be empty..most people had left ...yawning and stretching...saying that they would be back tomorrow night.  And still, there we would be...Just another tune please, we would plead with the musicians.  Just another one until we too had to leave.  

Mist rolling in from the hills.  It would filter down around the street lights as we stomped and yelled and made our way through Grandpa's Baby and Whirl like Thunder.  On and on and on.

This is what I am doing now.  Right now.  And I am determined to do it every day...until this thing is over.  I take my wishes.  I imagine a bright colored balloon.  It can be red or orange or yellow..and maybe even green.  I close my eyes....I envision the thing I am missing ... and carefully, carefully tuck it into that wondrous space called The Future...and let it go.  

It helps me  know that somewhere..sometime...those lovely things will float down and be here again.  But until then, I dream and hope and plan.  A future full of memories.  Memories that last.

Cheerleaders

The days are hot and humid.  I have to get out and walk when it is barely daylight.  I try to wait until I can see a the road clearly....too many snakes crawl out and stake a claim to the green centerline with out giving you any warning.  But I am careful and don't go anywhere without testing the shrubs and grass.  

The flowers that bloomed along the way have all gone.  It was a pleasure to see the Queen Anne's Lace and other early blooms for a long time.  But they now bow their heads and give in to the changing season.

Yes, it is getting on toward late summer.  Or mid-summer.  I really miss the color and variety of flowers that I saw earlier.  But there are some we have planted.  Zinnias bloom in a patch down in the garden and also up in the field where the cane is growing, lush and green.  I love zinnias.  Nina had them as her flowers for her wedding 7 years ago in September.  And we have continued to plant them every year.

Birds have taken the place of flowers for my walk.  Today I saw a goldfinch, winging its way, dipping and diving...sitting in the tree I passed.  Singing and singing.  Hopping down for a quick bite of seed..or a bug.  And then flying over and up, coming to rest in a high branch of the oak tree.  He was so brilliant...the yellow of his body and the stark black of his feathers stood out above the brown and dull green of the field.  I know there are other birds that accompany me on my walk.  I am not good at identifying them...and they are hidden in the green leaves of the trees along the road.  But today they were cheering me on.  It was almost like a crowd that gathers at the side of the road when you are in a race.  "Come on," they chirped, "just a little more and you will be on your way home."  

I don't know about you,but I can use all the cheering I can get during these days.  

Thank you little birds.  I appreciate your enthusiasm.  And I will keep on keeping on.  

Porch Sitting

This is one of my favorite occupations.  It was a warm and steamy day when I went for my walk this morning.  I thought I had missed the early warm-up to the day.  But I was wrong.  I wanted to check out some flowers and views that had changed over the past week.  The intermittent storms and drizzle have kept me close to home in the last few days.

Armed with my hiking sticks, heavy boots, and camera I set out at a moderate pace..or so I thought.  The sun heated things up quickly but I soldiered on.  When I get a task in mind I usually push through until the end unless something bends or breaks...usually my bad knee, or some other body part.

I made it home and cooled off.  Fixed lunch and checked my email.  Not wanting to brave the sultry afternoon I brought my chair out on the porch.  This is just the best part of my day.  I love to look out over the hills...checking out the traffic on AA and CR 314.  Not much happening right now, but it is interesting to wonder just where that pick-up is going...and is that really a trailer he has on behind?  What kind of car is that?  New or old?  Up and down the hill...emerging finally at the horse barn and then disappearing again.  Sometimes I can glimpse them as they near the far hill....and then they are gone.  On their way.

But I am here.  On my porch.  Just spending some time ruminating on life...in general.  Nothing very deep.  I'm not into deep right now.  Just a casual visit now and then with reality does the trick.  

We have phoebes nesting in the gable end of our roof.  They have tried the nesting above the door..but we have discouraged that.  So we enjoy the young ones when they begin to fly...sitting on the porch rail...moving their tails up and down...ready to take another turn at the quick trip out and back.  We have tree swallows nesting in the bluebird box.  They are so pretty...and graceful.  I think their brood is out and in the big oak tree to the west.  It always amazes me how the parents just know exactly where their young are...and when they need encouragement.  Perhaps we could take a lesson from them.  

The afternoon passes on.  Soon it will be time to go in and get supper started.  Evenings are magical around here.  The sun moving around to the west.  The bright light beaming down on the field.  And then that wonderful light of day's end coloring the hills and valleys with gold and red and shadowy purple.  Definitely time to go out again and sit and enjoy.

Thankful.  That is what I am.  Just plain thankful that I have a porch and a view and a life that just couldn't be better...at least right now.

Flowers and Me

Those of you who have been following my posts on Facebook know that I am in the throes of flower-mania.  Yes.  I am enjoying taking every picture I can of these emerging beauties that grace my hillside and valley.

But I must be truthful with you.  I know dandelions when I see them.  And I do recognize violets.  But anything else sends me to my handy-helper Ozark Wildflowers by Don Kurz.  This was not my first flower guide.  We had an older version put out by the Conservation Department.  It was great..lots of good pictures and great descriptions.  But we were begged out of it by a friend who really, really wanted it...and besides we had this new and improved one.  Sometimes, I wish I had the old one...but that is a story for another day.

No.  I am not a natural flower or plant person.  If you come to my house you will notice the complete lack of any flowers planted around my house.  Number one reason:  It is very windy up here and most plants get whipped to pieces.  Number two:  I kill plants just by looking at them.  Most people have a green thumb.  I have a brown...or even black one.  The one plant I had in my classroom lived for several years. I would bring it home in the summer to keep it alive.  Ignored, it hung from the ceiling in my living room where it got just a minimal amount of light.  I would water it...very occasionally.  And just when you could hear it say, "Ahhh...at last I am going to my reward in plant heaven.."  I would resuscitate it with a few drops of water.  Poor thing finally decided it had had enough and went to its reward, smiling I am sure.

However, my husband is a marvel with plants.  He picks flowers and brings them to me.  I love them.  I cherish them.  I let him work  them into an artful arrangement...and I take all the credit for the lovely bouquet.  I have learned something in our nearly 53 years together.  He has an eye for color and space.  I do not.  I am prone to grab whatever pot or bottle is convenient and ram the stems down in the water.  If they fall into a semi-attractive pose...I let them be.

Andy comes from a gardening family.  His mom earned a Masters Degree in Botany from Columbia and was truly a master at growing anything.  He was raised to be a plant person.  I was not.  My dad loved flowers and gardening, but I took after my mom who had no interest in growing things at all.

Lately, I have been helping Andy plant the garden and several hundred trees on our property.  I enjoy getting out and putting those tiny seeds in the ground.  I can hoe.  I can plant.  I just am not too skilled with what goes where and how you go about it.  But Andy is a patient teacher.  He knows my limits. 

I have come to the point in my life where I have accepted my status as a lover of flowers..and plants...but definitely not a nurturing soul.  The flowers and garden plants don't mind it.  As long as I keep my hands to myself and admire them from afar...they are content. A truce of sorts.  Just my kind of arrangement.   

  

News from Luna

Hello.  It has been quite some time since I have written anything.  Partly due to my computer being out of order.  Partly due to my getting accustomed to being at home...all the time.

I know many have experienced this during the last few months.  So much to do...and suddenly...too much time to do it.  Isn't that a crazy notion?  I am guilty of filling my days with excuses not to do this..or that.  It can wait.  That is my mantra.  Definitely put it off until tomorrow.  Indeed!

I woke up to the fact that I have been "putting things off" for a long, long time.  When I was working I had to do things in the little free time I had.  Not so since I have retired.  But until recently I always could "put it off" because there was usually something I would rather do.  Now those things have suddenly disappeared.  No ballgames.  No movies.  No visiting.  Oh my!!!

It took a week or two for me to stop fidgeting.  Sitting and reading my book.  Looking at my phone.  Roaming around the house trying to decide what I really wanted to cook.  And how long could I wait until I had to go to the store.  Really major decisions.  Or so I thought.

Luckily spring arrived just in time.  The skies cleared.  It got warmer.  I forced myself to get out and walk.  I looked at the greening hills.  I felt the light wind of promise whispering to me and saying,"Isn't this better than you expected?  Isn't this something you need to take advantage of?"

And so it began.  One step at a time.  Meals planned. New dishes tried.  Organizing stuff.  Cleaning out those shadowy corners that had not seen a broom or dust rag in many a moon.  Oh yes.  You know the drill.

And so I greet  you my friends.  I am happy to say that I truly look forward to seeing you face to face again....one of these days.  But in the meantime, think of me.  Newly energized.  Ready to get to work.  But taking time to love the hilltop where I live...and enjoying the promises of spring.

Antidote

Who can not smile when they see these happy flowers?  Who can not be entranced by the song of the meadowlark at daybreak and nightfall?  And who in the world is not cheered beyond measure by the cheep-cheeping of those notorious songsters of the leaves and meadows, the ever-favorite spring peeper?

Now at this season when late winter gives way to glorious spring we need to focus on what is important.  I live on a hill.  There is not a day that goes by that I don't find something to please my eye and awaken my senses.  Yes, sometimes it is a chore to put on my boots and heavier sweatshirt and brave that mighty March wind.  But I try to do it everyday.  Cloudy, sunny, foggy or clear.  It is an antidote for bad news, worse news, and horrendous news.  You know what I mean.

So many things are right in our world.  Look around.  Children are laughing.  There is a helping hand when I need a pick-me up.  Good news.  Sweet babies being born.  Loving couples getting married in a few short weeks.  Life goes on.  And I am here to tell you this.

Seize the day.  Carpe diem as my Latin teacher taught me.  That is the one and only way we are going to prevail.  The antidote.  Try it.  It just might work for you.

Respite

This time of year finds us wishing for better weather.  We are already tired of cold and wind and icy rain, snow and sleet.  The inside of the house begins to bore us even though there seems to be a thousand things we can do to keep the winter doldrums away.

Yesterday we got a reprieve...however brief it was.  Sunshine!  Blessed sunshine!  I walked down the hill wearing a light jacket.  The road was muddy from the freeze and thaw of the week before.  But muddy boots are just something you expect in January.

The wind was soft and mild.  The sky was vivid blue.  The blue that comes with chilly air, clear of moisture and refreshing to breathe.  In and out.  In and out.  What joy to stride along and feel the lightness in your step as you watch for birds and other wildlife also venturing out.

Ah yes...I must admit I saw my nemesis The Armadillo rustling in a patch of leaves not far off the road.  I didn't have my heavy stick.  I did not have my .22.  I only looked at him fiercely and he escaped to live another day.  I am a mild and calm person, but these beasts get the best of me sometimes.

On a happier note I sat on the porch after my walk and watched Andy as he mowed a patch of grass behind the house.  He enjoys getting the tractor out when he can do some good in the winter.  Besides cutting wood and busting it for our woodstove, winter jobs up here on our hill are few and far between when the weather doesn't co-operate.  No animals to feed, no fences to mend.  Just gazing out the window and wishing for spring.

As I sat there on the porch I felt a certain peace.  The last few days have been hard on several of us in our community.  Sickness, death, struggles that only each person knows.  But there, basking in the sunlight I felt that most of my worries were just not that important.  Life is good.  Rain and wind and sleet and death and sorrow and remorse dog our steps.  But when we have a break, when we are able to clear our minds, we realize that Power that surrounds us and gives us a respite from the storm. It seems to say, "Hang on.  Better days are coming."  And they will.  They will.  I know it.  And I believe it is true.