Christmas

It is coming fast.  Are you ready?  A few years ago, I would have said yes.  Now I am not so sure.

It seems as if Christmas arrives too soon these days.  When I was little I thought it would never come.  I searched the catalogs for things I knew I had to have.  I made hints to my parents.  I was always on my best behavior.  Really?? Well...to be truthful...most of the time.  After all I had to protect myself from my two big brothers.  A girl needs to know how to do that from an early age.

These days it seems as if Labor Day and Halloween run together.  I am putting away the beach towels and swimsuits, shorts and summer clothes one day and the next we are getting candy ready to give away to spooky ghosts and goblins.  Thanksgiving comes before I have a chance to catch my breath.  Where is that pan I always use for the turkey?  And where is  my mom's recipe for dressing?

Today I looked around my house and realized that somehow, miraculously, a tree had appeared on the table in front of my window.  It was decked out in sparkling finery.  Glowing lights, toys arranged artistically, or so I think, beneath its green boughs.  I love my tree.  It has so many things I cherish.  Sweet memories.  Cards have been written, addressed and mailed.  Gifts have been sent to loved ones far and near.  Can it be true?  Did I actually find that wonderful spirit somewhere amidst all the hub bub and hurry?  How can it be?

I know the secret.  And I will tell you what it is.  Listen carefully.  I will only tell you once.  Or twice if need be.  Well....I might even write it down so you can memorize it.

Life is short.  Take each moment and cherish it.  Time passes too quickly to waste it on minor annoyances and worries.  I must admit I don't always take my own advice. But I took the time this week to put everything else aside and make room for this important part of my life.  Christmas means so much to me.  It is not just a holiday.  It is a holy day.  A day to be honored.  A day to reflect on what it means to be a human.  Reaching out to others.  Expressing my love. 

Merry Christmas to all of you.  And peace to you and yours.  

 

December Benediction

I took a walk today as the sun began to set behind the Caney Mountains.  It has been warm the last few days.  Too warm for this time of year.  We should be wearing coats and mittens, shielding ourselves from the north wind.  After all, it is December.  The final note of the fading year.

Thanksgiving has come and gone.  Christmas is fast approaching.  But then, there is this space of time between these two events.  I strolled at a leisurely pace. There was no hurry in me.

Light wind.  Fading light.  A time to not think at all.  No plans.  No urgency to make a decision.

Just time, and sky, and breeze, and silence.

It is so very quiet up here on my hill this time of year.  The birds are gone.  All the busy life around me has stopped its frantic pace.  Peacefulness.  I can almost hear the earth breathing a sigh of relief.  

I join in.  Smiling, I feel a certain connection with this eternal design.

Long before I lived here.  Long before anyone tilled this field or built this barn.  Long ago, there was a time when the wind blew gently as it does now.  I am just a part of this long history.  

December, the last month of twelve.  The other eleven are gone.  Complete.  Done.  There is no going back.  And what does December say to me? With a soft whisper, it tells the tale that no other time can repeat.  It breathes in measured cadence a blessing. A benediction. A closing note.  The final stanza of the song.  Amen, it says.  So be it, it says.  And it is enough.   

 

October Tales

In case you haven't noticed, Fall of 2021 is here.  The days are still warm with a break now and then when a cold front dares to intrude from the place where cold fronts come from.  I am not a weather guru, so I have the bare rudiments of knowledge about such things.  Highs, lows, approaching storms, high humidity, rain, snow, possibility of snow.  I hope you understand.

Anyway, I am happy to see that October has finally arrived.  How do I know this?  One word..pumpkins.  Everywhere I look someone has pumpkins for sale.  This started way before October first.  In fact, I think I saw pumpkins for sale almost the week after Labor Day.  Not that I am disappointed.  What is there not to love about pumpkins?  They are all sorts of shapes from oblong to round, all sizes from tiny to huge.  They will fill a wheelbarrow.  Or nestle in the largest teacup.  

My experience with pumpkins started when we used to carve them for Halloween.  Most of the time my pumpkin's face was crudely made since all the artistic talent in our family belonged to my dad and my brother Derek.  They made a real production of making sure the faces were original and scary. I was praised for actually trying to make mine look spooky.

I am looking forward to our annual Trunk and Treat on the Square here in Gainesville.  I love seeing all the kids in their masks and costumes.  Sometimes the parents are dressed up too, making it a real family affair.  One year we came up with an idea.  In fact, I think it was the first Trunk and Treat.  Andy dressed me up as a scarecrow.  He loaded me into the back of the pickup and drove me down to the Square.  He unloaded me as if I were a dummy scarecrow.  That was the plan.  I would sit in a chair near the candy.  Andy would greet people.  He would make some excuse why I wasn't there to help him.  I wasn't feeling well, or I had another obligation.  It was fun for a time.  No one could see my eyes blinking but I could see them.  I slumped in my chair and and sat as quietly as possible.  Some people told Andy he had done a good job, making such an amazing thing.  But then it got weird.  A man walked up to us and asked if his little girl, dressed as a princess, could have her picture made standing by the scarecrow.  Thankfully, he didn't ask for her to sit in my lap.  Andy said...Well....sure, that would be okay and led the little one to me.  I held my breath.  The father was so pleased and thanked Andy for letting him snap the picture.  After the pair left, we had a whispered conversation.  I told him that this was not going to end well.  Before we could come up with a plan, a friend of mine approached me in the chair.  I swear, the Devil made me do it.  The person came very close to examine Andy's handiwork.  As soon as they were within whispering distance, I turned my face up to them and said, "Well, it is good to see you too."  And that was that.  I am sure I was the center of many anxious parents'  nightmares for many weeks.  Thankfully there were no children nearby.  I made a quick exit to the truck, took off my mask and hat and emerged to hand out candy too.  I think some people, as they were making their way around the Square again, wondered what had happened.  We did not explain.

Anyway, sometimes you think something will be fun.  But it turns out not to be so.

Don't worry.  I'll look like me when I am handing out candy this year.

Happy Halloween.

 

Fresh Wind Blowing from the West

A fresh wind is blowing from the west.  There were severe storm warnings for us last night but it never got here.  Just a smattering of rain.  On reading the news this morning, I saw there was damage to the west..in Oklahoma and Southwest Missouri.  But here the sun is shining.  The temperature is cool, but not too cold.  I am washing clothes, a usual Monday chore in my household.  The sheets are ready to hang out and then the towels.

There is a fresh wind blowing from the west.  I have decided to quit looking at the news on my phone, other than things I need to know, like the weather and local happenings.  The other news seems to be always the same.  And almost always it has  been hashed and rehashed.  I liked it when the news came once in the morning and once in the evening, thrown on the porch by our paper boy.  It might not have been up to the minute or second, but at least it was short and sweet.....just the facts.  And comics and funny stories and a column or two on the editorial page, a letter to the editor.  Always the good with the bad.  When I am in Mt. Home,  I have the habit of picking up the Sunday Arkansas-Democrat-Gazzette. I throw away the front page and read the inside news. Editorials,well-written and cogent, even if I don't always agree with the writer. A profile or two of worthy individuals who are being lauded for their achievements. And other things....Who were the attendees at the party at the Governor's Mansion?  Who was recently married?  And who were their parents and grandparents?  A lovely picture of the bride in her gown on the lawn of a palatial home.  Also a human interest story about someone who lived a good life, full of interesting details.  I throw away the obituaries since I know no one who lives much beyond Mt. Home.

A fresh wind is blowing from the west. Along those same lines, we do not own a TV.  Haven't for several years.  I listen to St.Louis Cardinals' games on my radio(Go Redbirds...next year!) or local football and basketball games when I know the team and the players.  Sometimes I tune in a MSU Bears' basketball game...women's or men's.  I might disagree with a call and be upset with the outcome, but they will be there to play another day.

A fresh wind is blowing from the west.  Soon I will turn off my computer, after posting this blog.  I will put on my boots, perhaps take my phone to catch a picture of an interesting flower or tree or bush or weed.  We just had our place brush hogged.  We sat on the porch at dusk last night and watched the resident coyotes scavenge a meal from the mowed grass..probably a tasty wood rat that somehow was napping when the mower went over him.  And a few deer who are not bedding down in the tree line came up to nose around.  It is amazing what you see when all that grass is cut...just a whole different world.

Did I mention...a fresh wind is blowing from the west?  And I, for one, am ready to get out and breathe in some clean air.  Try it.  Sure helps my attitude.

  

 

Making 'Lasses

Here is a picture of my friend down in Arkansas, checking out the sorghum patch.  Taken a few years ago, this photo reminds me of the happy days when we would spend the weekend helping make sorghum molasses.  She and her husband would grow the cane.  And Andy and I and several others would gather at their home and pitch in...making 'lasses.

Sometimes we had good cane to work with...and sometimes not.  It might be full of juice and splitting its green sides, just waiting to come out.  Other times it was skinny and selfish, holding on to the sugary pulp until you had to beat it out with the heavy rollers that squeezed it in the mill.

At times we used a tractor to make the mill go around.  One time we had the resident mules do the job. 

Making sorghum is hard work.  The juice needs to flow into the buckets at a good rate, leaving the residue of cane pieces on the filter cloth.  You have to make sure the juice is as clear of trash as possible.  Nothing worse than to have bits and pieces of cane floating around in that green liquid.

We use a stainless steel pan that fits snugly over the fire.  It is a small pan, made especially for heating the green, raw sorghum juice and turning it into dark brown molasses.  Many places I have visited use a pan with baffles that guide the juice from the raw start to the bubbling end over the constant heat of the wood fire. Workers use paddles to move the liquid along, making sure it doesn't stick along on the way. 

We sit across the fire from each other, waving away the smoke as it goes up the chimney.  Using skimmers, we pick up the foam and floating scum, flicking it off into the waste bucket near at hand.  Taking turns, we watch closely, moving the logs in and out of the fire pit to regulate the temperature.  We visit as we skim, talking to the kids nearby who are playing a game of tag and wondering when lunch will be served, because they are starving.

When the molasses turns that deep, rich brown, bubbling gently under the hot steam that rises above it, we take a thermometer and check the temperature.  This is not an exact science.  When is it done?  Don't want it to burn, but we want to make sure that no green tinge or taste remains.

The moment of truth arrives when two strong men lift the pan off the fire and carry it to the table where it is placed among the jars that wait, clean and shining in the sun.  Our friend carefully opens the spigot and fills jar after jar with golden brown goodness.  We are there to help wipe the rims and cap it off.

Everyone stands around to see how it is done.  Meanwhile, the mill keeps on working and the juice keeps on flowing.  The pan is cleaned up and we start the process all over again after a bite to eat.

Sometimes people come to visit the party.  They bring their fiddles and guitars and entertain the crowd with music, Sometimes someone gets out the jig board and dances along to a lively tune.  We encourage them by clapping and yelling.  The kids usually dance in the grass just to show they can do it too.

Back to work. The mill goes around and around, the juice is poured into the pan, we skim and talk and trade places when our backs get tired.  As the evening shade starts to cover the yard, we make our last batch of the day.  Cleaning up is not a problem because many hands make light work. Everyone pitches in.  They grab a jar or two of sorghum, take the empty pots and skillets of what they brought to share for lunch, leaving us with something to eat for our supper.

As twilight falls the four of us that are left sit on the porch, a cool breeze blowing up the valley. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we sit in silence.  It is a companionable silence, no need to chat.  We are tired, bone tired.  Feed the animals and get them ready for the night.  Maybe bring the fiddle out again and play a tune or two there in the darkness of the new moon.  Stars begin to wink above us.  Bed beckons.  And tomorrow...joy of joys...we get to make ' lasses again.

  

 

Auction Fever

I thought I had gotten over it.  I thought it was part of my past.  I took the cure.  The desire was gone....or so I thought.

Unfortunately, I was wrong.  I still have auction fever.

It is not an awful disease.  I am able to control myself...most of the time.

It all began a long, long time ago.  My mom took me to auctions when I was a little girl.  In my hometown in Illinois, these sales were called by a notable and famous man, a real fixture in our area.  Unfortunately, I can't remember his name. But he was Swedish, as were many of the people in our county, and he talked with that wonderful lilting cadence so characteristic of that group.  His auction call was unique.  I have never heard it anywhere else.  I still remember it though it has been many years since I stood behind the crowd, looking up, standing on tiptoe to see what he was selling.

I was hooked.  

My backsliding happened today.  Andy and I were visiting a nearby town.  We were going to yard sales, seeing what we might be able to find.  We chanced upon the first minutes of a wonderful one and bought quite a few things to take home.  Bargains we couldn't resist.

We had looked in the local paper and saw that an auction was almost ready to start a few blocks over.  When we arrived the crowd was thin, just a few stragglers, looking with interest at a car, some women rummaging around, looking at the pots and pans and dishes.  We almost left but then realized there was much, much more beyond the few items set out in the front yard.  The entire back yard and garage were full.  I could feel that urge.  The call of the hunt.  Then auction fever took hold of me.

I fought it for awhile.  I stepped back and watched the crew setting up and arranging last minute findings.  A box here, a piece of furniture there.

I rummaged around in a pile of books.  I could almost reconstruct this person's life.  I didn't know them, but I could tell just how talented they were.  Among the piles in the garage were well-worn tools, ancient items I had not seen in years.  Memories flooded in.

I was mesmerized.  I walked in a trance from table to table laden with quilt fabric, two quilting frames, piles of blankets, boxes of this and that. Papers, family pictures, toys left over from long-grown grandchildren, furniture...desks and chairs and sofas, a piano, a rug, two rugs, a whole pile of rugs.  On and on I walked, searching for a reason to stay.

There were many hidden treasures there on those tables.  I just knew it.  But we had an appointment.  We needed to get on the road.

As I walked back to the car, I was very briefly aware of a whisper in my ear.  I could almost hear that long ago Swedish auctioneer calling the sale.  The excitement of finding a desirable antique lurking somewhere in the bottom of a box, the satisfaction of being the winning bidder, the anticipation of carrying my finds home, like a warrior returning from the hunt.  Oh, glorious day.

Yes, auction fever has returned.  And, really, it's not that bad.    

 

The Magic of the Turning Season

First question?  Did you get any rain today?  We did.  And it was most welcome.  The dry and dusty roads, the dead and dying grass, the heat that threatened to overcome you at midday.  All were forgotten with a thunder storm in the early morning, and mist and light rain for a few hours after dawn.  It wasn't enough to jump start the creek  flowing, but that will come later.  Rain, glorious rain.

And the coolness of the day.  I had to search in the closet for my sweatshirt when I went out the door this evening.  It felt good to feel that smooth comfort on my chilled arms.  Driving into town I thought the sun setting in the west had a different glow.  I love  fall sunsets.  The clearer sky.  The light shining through trees soon to turn red and orange and yellow.

There is something special about fall here in the Ozarks.  The air smells different.  Cleaner and full of promise.  Night comes quicker.  Dawn is later. The open road beckons us all.  I love to travel during this time.  To see familiar places in new ways.  I never knew that valley was so deep.  I never saw that river quite so blue.  I never knew the wind could blow the clouds into such wonderful, mystical shapes...

Tomorrow is the autumnal equinox.  Another season.  Another chance to seize what is important to each one of us.  New conversations.  Old friends.  New experiences.  Old tales.  

Welcome fall.  We have been looking for you.  

 

Kindergarten Tears

This is a blog I wrote 11 years ago, August 16, 2010.  The picture above is my daughter, Nina Jane, when she was 3.  I wrote this piece to assure moms everywhere that they are not alone.   

You would have to be deaf and blind to not know that school is ready to start in my hometown, here in the Ozarks.  Everyone is shopping, taking last minute vacations for the day or overnight to theme parks and lakes.  Anything to cram a little more summer into an already hectic schedule.

As the first day of school looms ahead, I remember watching the Kindergarten moms bringing their children to school for that once-in-a-lifetime experience.  The road to the old elementary went right by my house, so my husband and I had a front row seat to the reality show called "I'm so happy, I'm so sad."  Mothers had spent lots of time combing hair, tying in ribbons, picking the perfect outfit for their little ones.  Proud as can be they marched along the street...little mister or miss hanging onto mommy's hand and carrying their new lunchbox in the other.  I know what happened next, even though I wasn't present at the classroom door.  Because, soon, here would come the Kindergarten moms, minus their little ones.  And every face was covered with tears.  Some tried to hide their feelings, but most were openly weeping.  And I felt for them.

I too had that Kindergarten mom experience.  The only trouble was that I was a teacher in the same school and I was expected in my classroom that morning.  My little girl went with me up the stairs to her classroom...new tennis shoes and blue, blue jeans for the first day, and her very own lunchbox.  How proud she was. Thankfully, her teacher was the mother of one of her best friends, so there was already a connection there.  I kissed her good-bye and left her at the door.  Walking through the gym to get to my own classroom, I can remember thinking, "I AM NOT GOING TO CRY!" but the telltale tears would not go away.  Luckily, my principal saw me coming by the office and called me in to speak with her.  I ducked my head and followed her into her office.  Giving me a smile, she closed the door, pulled up a chair and handed me a box of Kleenex.  She didn't have to say a word.  You see...she was a mom too.  After a few minutes, I was able to pull myself together, and with red eyes and a wobbly smile faced the beginning of a new school year.

This is written for all you Kindergarten moms.  That first walk to the classroom is hard, you will cry, but it will be okay in the end.  It's all part of being a mom.

 

Point of View

  June has been a crazy month so far. Cold rain, cloudy, windy weather.  And more rain.  And more clouds.  Would it never end?  Of course there were some good days when the sun shone and a gentle breeze stirred the trees.  The damp kept gardeners from planting in their soggy ground.  A cold snap a month or so ago hit the early young plants and laid them low.  The constant rain soaked peonies and roses that were just coming into bloom, turning their beautiful colors to sodden brown as their drooping petals fell to the ground.  

And now it has turned into summer.  Just a few days ago we woke to clouds and threats of more rain, but then the elusive sun broke through to beam down on us.  And it got hot.  And it got hotter.  Sweatshirts were put back in the closet and shorts made a return along with bare feet and swimsuits. But along with the warm-up came the ever present humidity.  Every thing you touched seemed to have been soaked in warm water.  Clothes on the line refused to dry. The sudden change in temperature made us retreat to the cool of our air-conditioned houses. After a long day spent working in the garden, mowing the lawn, or putting up hay, the slow approach of dusk came with welcome relief.

As I sat on my porch, I marveled at the changing colors in the sky.  First orange, then streaks of red.  Purple shadows graced the flanks of the nearby hills.  It was almost magical.  Even though the remnants of heat were still there, a feeling of peace and rest came to sit beside me in my west-facing chair. 

Though we struggle daily with all sorts of trouble, there is a place where we can change our point of view.

It may not be a perch like mine...above the valley and creek...but we can find a place to rest body and soul.

This summer will pass, fall and winter will follow, and then spring again.  Our daily trials will always be there, along with joys.  We need to sit and watch the sun set.  A change in our point of view can bring us comfort and hope for all the tomorrows yet to come. 

  

 

 

 

Pushing the button

An idea came to me today as I was walking down my road.  I have been looking for signs of spring for a few weeks now.  The snow is gone.  The temperatures have been close to ideal for March.  I search the likely places where some flowers should be trying to break through with a green shoot or some tentative leaves.  The picture above shows the daffodils we planted before our house was built.  They have survived a few snowstorms and cool weather during that time.  You can see the buds filling out.  I am encouraged.

But...what if, just for fun...there was a button you could push and suddenly, miraculously, it would be the middle of May?  Wow.  I can see it all now.  The trees are leafed out.  There is my favorite little flower hiding near the blackberry bushes, covered with white. The butterflies are fluttering.  My garden is beginning to grow. Birds are building nests.  I can hear bees.  And the air is full of the lovely scent that only spring can bring.

Wonderful.  I close my eyes and dream.  But then I wake up.  What if it were actually May?  What did I miss?  That's right.  What would we miss if we had that magic button?. For one, my daffodils.  Redbud trees full of blossom.  Dogwood flowers. Seeing the first bluebird building a nest in the box near my house.  That haze of green showing early leaves on the trees.  The soft light of sunrise as it moves along my porch, casting new shadows on the wall.  Discovering a wildflower that I had never seen before. Feeling the warmth of  noon and then the refreshing cool of evening. 

No.  I don't want that magic button.  I know I am as anxious as so many are to have spring come...sooner rather than later.  But be careful what you wish for.  You might miss those bright and beautiful days that are just around the corner.  The wait is worth it, don't you think?     

 

Warmth from a Sunset

Can you feel it?  Isn't it just the best treat in the world?  I stand on my porch looking west toward the sunset. 

After what seems like 100 days of grey skies and ragged, freezing wind, snow up to your eyeballs, frozen tundra, ceaseless trips to the barn for yet another load of wood to feed the stove, we see this beautiful sunset.

I know.  We have probably had lovely sunsets in the few days before I wrote this.  But I am a sissy.  I don't like to stand on my west facing porch with the wind from Siberia blowing in my face.  Right, right, Siberia is the other direction.  But give me a break.  If I say it feels like Siberia...IT IS SIBERIA.

This was the first big snowstorm that we have had this decade. It seems like it lasted forever even though it was only here a few days...turning our usual warmish "here comes Spring" February into a visit to the deep freeze buried somewhere in the Arctic north.

When the thermometer rose to above freezing today, I felt as if a heavy gray blanket had been lifted from my shoulders.  The snow was pretty.  When the sun shone it was a wonderland of sparkles and diamonds, reflecting the blue sky overhead.  I watched from the warmth of my living room.  I made endless pots of tea.  Lots of warm soup and sandwiches.  But I was missing something.

I usually go for a walk everyday.  I have a new hip, and even with my trusty hiking poles, I dare not  take my daily stroll to examine just what might be going on out to the east and then back to west.  I miss my daily talks with the trees, and rocks along my path.  You'd be surprised what wisdom I gather from them.

This evening I finally went out on the porch, just before supper, to see the sunset.  And this is what I heard.  "Don't despair.  This frozen view will soon be gone.  The gentler breezes will blow the budding trees.  Here. Touch my hand.  Better days are coming.  Just close your eyes and feel the warmth I am sending you."  And that is just what I did.  Who knew that a sunset could be so warm?  

 

Bread

Since early April of last year we have bought, maybe, 5 loaves of bread from the grocery store.  At that time we were stocking up to avoid having to go to the store every week. Baking our bread would be a good idea. We checked the recipe box and dug out Andy's Aunt Jane's recipe for Scotch Oatmeal Bread.  It has been a family favorite for many years.

It took a couple of tries to get the routine down again.  Baking bread is something we did when we were first married.  I made Swedish Rye Bread from a recipe from my hometown.  It was so good...but it took a lot of time to make.  We decided that oatmeal bread was quicker.  And it was.

I love making bread.  Getting the kitchen warmed up.  Scooping out the flour.  Adding the oatmeal and sorghum and yeast.  Mixing and mixing until your arm is tired.  And then the best part, kneading.  I love to knead bread.  Andy says that I attack the dough like a wrestler attacks his opponent.  Down for the count.  Just another smash to the floor.  I knead and knead and knead until the dough calls out for mercy.  Luckily this bread can take a lot of pounding and still rise magnificently in the bowl.

I love to see that golden mound as I take it to the counter and divide it in two.  It rests for a ten minutes and then gets stretched and formed into loaves.  

The loaves usually rise pretty quickly.  I guess they know I mean business.  No lolly gagging around in my kitchen!  You better do the job right if you are going to go into my oven.  I pop them in and set the timer.  I try not to peek but I can hardly resist sneaking a look to see how things are going.

When the loaves come out I tip them out of the pans on the cooling racks.  Bread really needs to cool some before you try it.  But it is hard to wait.

I get out the butter.  Make sure my bread knife is good and sharp.  Our ancient cutting board is ready and waiting.  Oh....how long will it be...hurry,hurry.  

The beauty of baking bread is that first slice, warm from the oven.  The smell is overpowering.  It makes your mouth water.  Quickly I put the warm slice on the plates and we slather it with butter.  The first bite.  I am hard pressed to describe it.  Heavenly.  Sweet on the tongue. And just about the best taste on earth.

Needless to say we usually consume at least half of the new bread the first day.  Lunch, snacks, and a little mouthful now and then.  Hot tea to go with it.  Just the best  of the best. 

If you have never baked bread, you really should try it some cold wintry day.  It will put a smile on your face...and joy in your heart. 

    

 

A Peaceful Escape

A few days ago we had a skiff of snow here in Luna.  But we could see the tips of the hills over in Caney covered with white.  Bundling up in warm coats and hats to ward off the cold wind, we jumped into the pickup and went to see what we could find.  

The Refuge is a favorite place of ours, no matter the season.  Spring brings wildflowers and mushrooms. Summer brings birds and sparkling streams, springs bubbling up under the gravel. Fall shows us brilliant colors of yellow and red and orange...and all the spectrum in between.  But winter... winter is a different story.  When the cold weather arrives, the trees shed their finery and present stark branches and trunks of grey and black and deep brown.  Only the sycamores shine with silver down by the creek and along the shimmering water.  

This day we were ostensibly searching for sheds.  It is the time of year when the bucks lose their antlers and leave them in the fields and margins along the hills and valleys.  We knew a few places to go and dutifully stomped around, seeking a glimpse of white bone there in the bronze leaves or among the turnips in the wildlife plot.  Armadillos, skinny and hungry, were all we saw, their poor red noses seeking a bit of food to keep them going.  Truthfully, I intensely dislike armadillos, but even I felt a little sorry seeing them frantically scouring the field for a meal.

The snow that lay on the ground, shadowy lumps of leaves beneath, caught my attention.  And the quiet.  No birds, no squirrels, no rustle in the grass.  Up high above the fields below, the sentries of the forest stood tall.  Their comrade trees that had fallen lay covered with white blankets.  It always amazes me how different forests look in the snow.  In the rain they are wet masses of dripping bark. On a cloudy day you pass them by with scarcely a look.  But when snow-covered , they make a statement all their own.  I looked beyond and down the hill and away.  And still they marched.  The silent soldiers of the earth. I could close my eyes and almost hear them sighing.  Guarding the hill until the warm weather arrives.  Keeping it safe for the next season.

 

 

Bluebird Sky

When I took my walk yesterday I headed up the road to a favorite spot.  Pine trees shade this path.  The shadows are always impressive.  Moving from bright sunlight to shade, I felt

 the comfort of the season. Winter is not dreary here in the Ozarks. We have our share of freezing temperatures and ice followed by snow.  But after all, it is winter.

I had a smile on my face while I trudged along on my way to the end of the road.  What made me smile?  The beautiful blue sky.  There were a few clouds but they were those wispy kind that seem to trail along with any good weather.  I stood there and gazed up and up, tilting my head and walking around so I could see the sky from every angle.  The sun was behind me and the light was perfect in bringing out the blue above me, the green pines beside me.

I love these first days of the new year.  Most animals are hiding in their burrows, dens, and nests.  They know that the pleasant afternoon will turn to frigid night.  The scurrying hunt for food goes on when the sun comes up and the temperature rises.  I see a few squirrels hopping along in the grass, looking for a nut they might have missed.  The crows gather on my driveway, pecking in the gravel for seeds or some scrap of food that might be hiding in the rocky ground.  I do not have a bird feeder.  It is just too breezy up here on the hill.  The seed would soon be scattered to the four winds.  And I can't imagine any bird who would want to feed while being blown around, sometimes at an awkward angle.

No, rather than looking for animals, I look up and out.  Across my neighbor's field, up into the Refuge.  The sky spreads above me.  Just as a friend said when she saw this picture.  "A bluebird sky".

Yes, indeed.  And may we have many more.

 

Opening the gift

At long last we have left 2020 behind.  I could feel the sigh of relief all the way up here on the hill.  

And as we look ahead what do we see?  What do we plan to do with the next 365 days and nights?

I have a few ideas which I will share with you.

1. I will spend less time trying to solve the problems of the world.  I am a doer.  I don't like to not give my two cents worth about anything....food, politics, how to raise your children.  But I am going to rein in my "here's my advice" habit.  It will be hard, but I will try.  If you ask me for my opinion,

  I will say "What do you think?"

2.  I will spend more time outside.  Or looking outside, depending on the weather.  I live in probably the prettiest spot in Ozark County.  Yes, I am bragging.  I do concede that your place is probably just a pretty.  And I'll allow you those beautiful pictures of the lake, and the hill, and the flowers and trees.  We have so much beauty here I think it would be selfish not to share.

3.I will think of at least one thing I can do during the day that will benefit not only me, but others.  I need to get out and walk.  I need to write a letter.  I need to read a good book.  I need to do at least one thing that I have been putting off, until a better day.  Better day?  How about...today.

4. I will treat this year, this day, this hour as a gift.  There are dozens of sayings on this theme.  But that doesn't make it any less true.  Think about it.  I wake up in the morning.  I have food to eat.  I am able to take care of myself and my husband.  I can go out and enjoy myself doing things that I want to do.  What better gift than the life that lies before me?  That is my question.  I will be opening that gift for the next 365 days.  Stay tuned for my progress report.  

Happy New Year.