At Last!

I don't know about you, but I have been in the dumps about the dry, colorless season we have been enduring for the last eternal weeks......no rain, very little color, high winds, hot, then cold, then hot again.

But then the rain came.  Gently, gently falling on the stiff, dead grass outside my window.  No rushing of water from the sky....just a steady, constant sheet of welcome rain.  We all had been looking forward to it....we knew it would happen soon.  But still, what a relief.

As I traveled today I was amazed at the bright shiny beauty I saw at every turn in the road.  Vistas of the hills clothed in orange and red, and yes....the perennial brown....dotted here and there with yellow and gold.  The color had been there before, but somehow the rain made each leaf and branch glow in the sunlight.

It makes such a difference in my attitude when I am surrounded with glowing autumn colors.  Fall will lead to winter.  The bare, dark limbs of oak and walnut and maple will move with the chilly wind.  Gray clouds will drift on the horizon...blocking out the light of the sun at dawn, noon and dusk.  

But somehow, the redemption of fall color and light makes that future seem at least bearable.  It's not that our winter here in the Ozarks is all dull and drab.  The sun will shine with a different light.  The air will be clear and fresh.  We do enjoy having a chance to walk in the brisk beauty of  a winter afternoon.

But just for today I gloried in the colors of this season.  A memory that will take me through the next months and encourage us all to look forward...to what our ever-changing world will bring us next.

 

No Smile Until December

When I was in my first year at Gainesville Elementary, sixth-grade teacher Susan Ault gave me some advice.  " Don't let them see you smile until December." she said with a straight face.  Of course, she was talking about how one might teach kids who sometimes take advantage of a teacher's lax discipline.  "Wow", I thought.  "That's really a good way to get your bluff in on the first day!"  I tried it, but actually wasn't too successful.  I mainly used my loudest "teacher voice" to quell any disturbance in my class.

Susan, who passed away a few days ago, was a wonderful friend and mentor.  But more than that, she was talented, resourceful, and endlessly creative.  She could look at a mess on the library table at the Historium, which yours truly had created, and smile.  Giving me a gentle pat on the shoulder, she'd say, "That's okay Jane.  You'll figure it out."  And usually I did...with the help of some of the other workers that day.

When we were moving all the books into the Historium before it opened, Susan and her husband John were endlessly optimistic.  The boxes were piled around the tables.  Jean Allen and I were busy, trying to make order out of mayhem.  Keeping track of so many family histories and trying to decide where to file and arrange information so it would be usable seemed a daunting task.  Susan was right there with us through it all.  John gave his advice and then went off to load more stuff off the truck and in the back door.  What a job!  It took awhile, but finally we were able to have some semblance of a library when we opened.

In the short while since I learned of her passing, I've been trying to sum up Susan's secret charm and can-do attitude.  She was not a quitter.  If the mud got deeper, if the papers got higher, if the kids got louder...she would wade in and get it done.  No smiles until December.  No resting until you had a solution.  No short cuts.  No whining.

But we also know the gentle, wonderful friend she was to all of us.  So many remember her smile, her kind words, her unceasing efforts to make Ozark County a place where people felt at home.  It was her place.  She was born and raised here.  And there was no more fitting person to lead us to do our best...whether we were child or adult.  Always that quiet assurance that all would be well.

Thank you Susan.  God give you rest now.  You will always be remembered as one of the best...in anything you chose to do.   

 

Homesick

I am a come-here from Illinois. Hogs and corn and other crops are part of my DNA.  No. I was not raised on a farm. But most of my kin were....and I am proud to claim them.

So then why do I yearn to travel those narrow country blacktop roads that are straight as a string...where corn and soybeans extend in every direction, where you can feel the setting sun beating down on you as you travel west, trying to catch that last glimmer of daylight before you get home?

I look at this picture and I can smell Illinois summer. That hard to identify sweet growing smell of rich soil and dark earth, so fertile that it begs to be turned and plowed and planted. 

Don't get me wrong. I love the Ozarks. I have lived here longer than I ever lived in Illinois. It would take a lot of persuading to make me move from my hilltop home.

Maybe it is a kind of primal genetic urge you feel as you grow old. Maybe it's that homing instinct that brings salmon leaping upstream to lay their eggs in the spring. Maybe it's that call to butterflies and swallow and geese as they make their way north when Nature bids them.

Whatever it is, I feel it especially during this time of year.  I can close my eyes and feel the air as it surrounds me...right then, I'm home. Comfort in memories. Ready to move on.

Remembering My Friend

I should have written this tribute a few weeks ago.  But, somehow, whenever I began, my tears started to flow.  I could not see the screen.  I would give up, but knew I needed to write something.

Jean Allen was one of my first friends in Gainesville.  I knew about her a while before I moved to Gainesville.  I had been teaching at Winona in Shannon County.  We made the decision to move when Nina was about two.  We found a place to buy in Ozark County and prepared to relocate.  Before I left, I had an appointment with my hairdresser in Winona.  I told her of our plans.  She stepped back and said, in a half-joking voice..."Well, those people stole our Jeannie away from us!  Never will forgive that Allen guy who took her with him.!"  She mentioned that I might find the much loved girl working at the local lumberyard, right downtown in that distant place called Gainesville.  

Jeannie was a quiet person.  She spoke softly.  She did not want to call attention to herself.  I am sure  she is probably looking over my shoulder this minute as I write, narrowing those eyes and making a playful grimace as she watches me type.

Jean was my go-to confident.  We shared so many wonderful times, there in the back of the flower shop.  She would stop working on the arrangement she was making, pull up a stool, and I would unburden myself to her.  She would agree, or disagree with me.  We would share various solutions, or lament the fact that there was no solution.  I don't know whether I ever really thanked her for listening to me....but she didn't fail to welcome me back to visit again.

A worker in the background.  Hardly ever noticed she was there.  But, oh boy, we missed her when she went on vacation.  Fishing in Canada, fishing up at the lake.  Things tended to go undone...waiting for her to return.

We were in Sunday School together for years.  First in the all women's class, then in the older adult class, Bible Study, evening Bible Study.  I still remember Jean and I agreeing that the unit about the Book of  Revelation made us more confused than we were to begin with.  But we smiled and agreed that whatever the Lord had in mind....we wouldn't argue with His plan for us.  

Strong in her faith.  That was Jean. We shared so much that helped each of us along our path.

The other day I watched a church member carrying the candles from our church altar to the kitchen.  They had run out of oil.  When Jean was in charge...they never failed to be filled.  

Flowers that she always took care of, taking on committee  duties both in the community and elsewhere, volunteering at The Center, the Historium, .... the list goes on and on. 

 The last time I talked to her...about two weeks before she passed away, I told her about visiting the graveyard at Falling Spring in Shannon County.  I remarked that I had seen the stone with Cap Brawley's name on it.  She shared with me several years ago that she had helped with research for the cemetery where some of her kin are buried.  Brawley was her maiden name.  

I am certain that when she entered Heaven, everyone shouted...."Thank you Lord.  At last Jeannie is here.  She'll fit right in"....An angel.  A helper.  My friend.  Rest in Peace sweet Jeannie.  Until we meet again. 

 

Is It Spring Yet?

This time of year tries my patience.  I don't like being cooped up inside.  It is too treacherous for me to venture out today, just as it was yesterday, and the day before.  I do not enjoy looking out the window and waiting for the ice to melt so I can take a walk down my road and see what might be popping up along the way.

Of course, many people already have jonquils and early blooms trying their best to make it through the on again, off again, beginning of spring.  The teasing days that came before our latest onslaught of ice and snow were just a taste of things to come.  My flower beds are clear and ready for new plants.  I am waiting for that first blush of green on the trees down in the valley.  

Patience is not one of my virtues.  I want to get out and walk down my road, even if I have to slog through the mud.  My eyes long to see the first green leaves peeking up from the  still cool earth.  My ears long to hear that first birdsong that tells me nests are being built, ready for young.

I am a child again.  It seems that looking forward is half the joy of living.  Anticipation.  Wonder.  Just wanting to be part of what is happening.  And if I desire spring, why is it not here?  Why can't it be now?   Is it spring yet? I ask.  And the older me answers, Just be patient.  It will come.   

Home

Back to Caney Mountain Refuge today.  It was a beautiful January afternoon..mild temperatures, sun, and little or no wind.  Perfect for a drive up the North Trail.  We have walked this way many times, in all sorts of weather.  It was good to see the familiar sights and sit and listen to the snow birds and nut hatches as they flew from branch to branch, busy with their winter chores.  After a round or two of the fields where we might find a shed or two, we climbed back in the truck and set off for a favorite place....the Morrison Cabin.

This house site is one of the historic places in the Refuge.  I love to visit it.  We are acquainted with the family who are descendants of the original owners. I love to see the chimney and imagine it aglow with warmth on the chilly days of autumn and winter.  The remaining logs are piled near their original places.  Round logs with notches cut to fit them in place.  There are two rooms it seems, which was common for many homes at that time.  Today we also thought we saw the lintels for doorways, the stones for steps, the logs that might have held a porch on the west side.  

What is so special about this place?  I think it is because I can look back and remember seeing pictures of just such a house while doing research for our local Historium.  So many of the ancestors of Ozark County families lived in houses just like this.  Perhaps their fireplace and chimney weren't built quite the same.  Perhaps they had only one room...or a little shed built on to make a place for a growing family.  The road that runs by this house is narrow and rocky.  We have never found sign of a barn or outbuilding in our search for clues.  But we are sure there must have been some place for animals to stay, or storage for household items or farm equipment.  Of course, this rocky terrain has never been too hospitable for much large scale farming, but most places had a garden spot and fenced in area for hogs and chickens. 

But it was a home.  A place to live.  A place to leave when it was time for you to go.  And a place to come back to when you miss your family.  Don't we all have that yearning?  If we are truthful...we do.  It might not look like this cabin with its fireplace and towering chimney.  But it is home.  And it calls us back...time and time again.  

 

One January Afternoon

Some of you will recognize this view.  We haven't been able to climb up here for about a year, due to various things that have gotten in the way.  But enough of that.

This is one of our favorite places to sit and contemplate the wonders of Ozark County.  It is in the Caney Mountain Refuge, which we always refer to as just The Refuge...or Caney Mountain.  

Far below in the valley is the road we usually use.  But it is closed due to water undermining a low water crossing.  We were brave a few weeks ago and took the truck over it, after Andy got out and inspected the crack that made it all but impassable.

We enjoyed taking the southern route.  It brought back lots of fond memories when we could hike all the way from the Public Hunting Area, through the gate and onto the road that  generally goes downhill toward the main entrance.  Mushroom hunting in the spring, exploring the fields for sheds, looking for frogs and critters in the ponds along the way.  As we drove we told a lot of tales...and some of them were true!

How blessed we are to be able to enjoy this place of solitude.  Looking through the valley that you face when you stand in the picnic area, you can see our barn...and our house.  Just peeking over the ridge where our neighbor's house sits atop a hill, there it is.  You can't see the house, but the barn shines in the sun.  

We had the place to ourselves, as we often do.  That is okay.  Nothing better than a little bit of peace and quiet in a beautiful setting.  Calm thoughts.  Good thoughts.  Carefree feelings of letting the world stand still for awhile.  Not that we live in a hurry up and wait place.  But it is always nice to rest your eyes and spirit, sitting on a rock, watching the birds fly below you.  Thinking of nothing.  Just enjoying the day of sunshine, moving clouds, and shadows on the rocks.

Contentment.  Indeed.