After the storm.

One thing you can say about my hilltop home.  When the storm passes by, the sky puts on a show all its own.  This past week has had its share of unsettled weather.  Hail.  Thunder.  Lightning.  Crashing rain.  Wind that blows until you are sure you will be swept down to the river and beyond.  

But when all the excitement is over and the sun begins to set I take my camera outside to the porch and see what Nature has to show me after the storm.

The light is truly unbelievable.  I wish I had the kind of camera that can capture that golden glow from the sun's rays that covers trees and grass and rock, bathing them in a almost tangible mellow light.  It doesn't last long.  But I remember it and wait for the next chance to see this transformation of the ordinary into the sublime.  

And the sky.  My poor rendition of the sky that night really does not do it justice.  The color from rich red to glowing pink and yellow, shading into blue and mauve and gray.  The clouds forming billows, shapes changing by the second, streaks of  white here tinged with sunset glow, there with the last remnants of angry, blustery wind and rain.  

I can almost hear the hilltop sigh in relief.  The elements had done their best to tear it apart.  But it stood strong against the attack.  And now all of us can breathe easy again.  And enjoy the scene that only peace and quiet can bring, after the storm.

On the road...

I laced up my boots to take a walk down the road this morning.  It was a little humid out, the sun was shining and I knew that I would find something to pique my interest down there on the stretch of gravel that goes by my house.

I have found several toads lately....they were dead, which was kind of sad.  I didn't think they were dead at first...they looked very toad-like and as alive as any toad might look at 8AM on a sunny day in April.  I took my little stick to get them to hop out of the way.  I always do this because there is nothing sadder than a squished toad who has fallen victim to the wheels of a pick-up.  The toad did not move.  I pushed a little harder.  Nothing.  I gave a little flip with my stick and his poor stiff body turned over.  How sad.  I thought it would be kinder to let his body rest in the green grass off the beaten path...and I gave another little flip and off he went to Toad Heaven Beside the Road.

A little bit farther down the road I came across a wooly caterpillar.  He was looking like a miniature bottle brush, a black bottle brush for that matter.  He crawled along beside me for a time.  I stood still wondering what he would do.  Inching his way toward me he came up against the solid rubber end of my boot.  He climbed a little, lifting his funny round body up and peering at the boot toe with his shiny black eyes.  I guess he must have thought (if caterpillars are capable of thought) "Hmmm....maybe I really don't know what this is.  Gravel feels a lot better.  I think I'll get down."  And get down he did.  I stood still.  He circumnavigated the sole of my boot...going very carefully around the edge, poking his nose into the rise between the front and the heel, decided that was not the way to go, backed out and continued his journey...slowly, slowly, not hurrying at all.  Finally he breathed a sigh of relief (if caterpillars can breathe sighs of relief) and crawled out into familiar territory heading to the other side of the road.  I whispered to him, "Hey little fella, you might want to get a move on.  I see a hungry sparrow up ahead and he might want you for breakfast."

On up the road I admired the weeds that were growing in lush beauty in the ditch.  The flowers are so small and white.  I nearly lost my balance trying to see how many there were and if they looked at all familiar to me.  One lone spider web still held the morning dew, the sun making each drop shine like a diamond.  Coming up the slight hill and down into the swag I saw some scratching in the dust of the road.  It must have happened last night.  I could see claw marks and scuffs of paws, large areas clean swept, and others that might be marks of a tail or two.  Coyotes?  Bobcats?  Who knows.  I stayed and studied the four or five places that had been made all along that section of gravel.  I tried to imagine what had gone on.  A friendly hello?  A growling stand-off?  A tussle?  Or maybe just a welcome hi, how are you, how are the wife and kids?  I will never know.

On the road.  Lots of things happen.  Caterpillars cross.  Toads live...or die.  And animals, big and small leave their mark.   All it takes is a little time to stop and look around.  And see what might be happening, right there ....on the road.

   

Ahhhhh....

Yes, yes, yes.  And again I say yes.  Spring has sprung.

The emerging beauty of our native wildflowers has always made waiting through winter bearable.  I take my camera with me most of the time and snap a picture here and there.  A few years ago I decided to make an album/journal of wildflowers with names and maybe a little sentence or two.  As with many things that I set out to do, it was harder than I imagined.  I took out my trusty Wildflowers of Missouri book and turned to the pages where I thought I might find the name and nature of several flowers that were unfamiliar to me.  I searched in the section of white flowers...then turned to red and pink thinking that they might be there.  I have been able to find some information, but some are very hard to find.  I love the names:  Spring Beauty, Dog Tooth Violet, Deptford Pink, Purple Flox, Pussytoes.  Needless to say, I gave up on this project and decided that I could enjoy looking at the flowers and taking pictures of them even if I don't know their names.

The best thing about the flowers of spring?  They make me smile when I see them  I always take time to examine the tender buds and appreciate the variation of color.  They almost seem painted with the smallest brush imaginable.  So if you don't find me at home these days you know where I'll be.  Down the hill, or up in the field, looking for the blossoms of spring.  Ahhhhh....

Lost...and found

Early this morning before the promised rain began to fall, I took my sturdy hoe and set out to get rid of some pesky thistles.  Just as I stepped out of the garage door I looked down and to my left.  There lying in the new grass were my car keys.   Thank you God is what I said as I brushed the months' long dirt from them, holding them up to show Andy

Sometime last year, probably during one of our hectic times getting ready for company or going on a trip, we lost our car keys.  Andy had them when he parked the car in the garage.  He didn't have them after he walked the short distance to our house.  We searched everywhere....in the car, in the garage, in the house, under the porch....anywhere they might have fallen.  We took the magnetic wand that we use to pick up nails and ran it all over the area where they might have fallen.  No luck.  No keys.  But, I did pray saying Lord please help us find these keys.  And He heard me.  Evidently His plan was to let the keys stay in their hiding place for several months.  In the meantime I had a new key made but I  really missed the handy-dandy fob that locks and unlocks the car and raises the trunk lid. Amazingly, it still works even after its exposure to fall rains and the cold of winter.

With a joyful heart I set out on my walk.  Swinging the hoe, I marveled at the may apples that are lining my fence row.  I smiled at the violets blooming under the cedar trees on my western boundary.

Singing in my heart thanksgiving to a God who hears prayer and answers it in His time and in His way.

But, there is a bonus to this story.  For several weeks Andy has been searching for some special paint brushes that he uses when he makes small pictures.  We have looked high and low.  And, I have been praying Dear God help us find these brushes.  Digging under my bed for some wrapping paper this afternoon I came across a small shoe box full of art supplies.  Opening up the top and lifting the paper inside I saw...yes...I saw those tiny, precious brushes.  I called to Andy to come and see what I had found.  Thank you God  I said.

And on goes my song of praise....thanking God for always listening to my prayers.  And answering them...in His time...and in His way.  

Real Time

While we were at a local college to hear some fiddle music yesterday we came across this sundial.  It is situated front and center as you come to the front door of the main building on campus.  I paused to look at it.   I have seen sundials in the past.  Andy even told me that the upright piece that sheds the shadow on the numbers is called a gnomon.  We compared the time on the sundial and the time on our cell phone.  The cell showed 11:45...the sundial 10:45.  I know you can't see it, but the left edge of the sun's shadow in just a quarter increment before the line denoting 11.

I began to think about how we have adjusted the laws of the universe to our own convenience  here in this modern time.  Centuries ago when men came up with a way of marking years and seasons and days and hours, they depended on the sun and the moon and the position of stars in the sky.  The world they lived in made them aware of what was happening...or about to happen.  Harvest.  Winter.  Planting time.  Eat.  Sleep.  Work.  Play.  Simple yet effective.  The world got along very well with what to us, are crude measures of time.

I am not a farmer.  Never have been.  And I never will be.  But one thing I do know.  When the clocks are set ahead in the spring and back in the fall, it does not make any difference when you milk your cows or go out to plow your field or plant your crops.   Our universal life is still ruled by the sun rising in the morning and setting in the evening.  The stars show us season and the moon marks the months.  

Living where I do I am much more in tune with what is happening outside.  When the sun streams in my east window, it is time to get up.  When the warm rays beat down over my head it is time to eat my mid day meal.  And when that blazing orb sets over the western horizon and paints the trees with crimson...it is time to put away the tools and make ready for the night.  And when I search the heavens for the marked constellations ,which I am slowly learning...I look forward to the month ahead and what it will bring.

Yes, there are certain advantages to living in "real time". 

All things Easter...all things spring

Here is an ancient photo taken from my secret vault.  My brother Paul..he must have been around 3 plus...and I was nearly 9 months, sitting in the side yard of 711 North Center Ave. waiting for my mom to take our Easter picture. You can see the shadow of her in the foreground... I can imagine her aiming the old Kodak camera after capturing our faces in the top view finder.  

Looking out over my expanse of green and growing pasture today my mind wanders back to springtime and Easter in my Illinois hometown.  I see a box near me and Paul is holding his Easter basket in his lap.  He didn't quite know what to think of his baby sister by this time.  The new had worn off and he really didn't feel like being a big brother. The pink bonnet I am wearing went the way of many things..sold at our auction a few years ago.  It was pink corduroy and lined with pink silk...when I found it in my mother's things it was a little crumpled and creased..and the lining was ripped.  But still it was a keepsake...and one of Mom's sacred objects, or SO's as she fondly called them.

But back to Easter.  We always had a Easter basket, hidden in the yard, for us to find after church was over.  I look out over my fields and woods and can imagine where I might hide an egg or two for a child to find...hunting and happily finding one here and there.  My parents didn't really hide eggs...they went in for the  "Let's put all the candy and stuff together in a nest of green cellophane grass and put it outside...where the kids can tear into it and not get their good clothes dirty crawling around."

Spring and Easter.  New things growing.  Hope abundant.  No matter how old..or young you are, Easter and spring meld together, the perfect metaphor for that Eternal Promise we all have. A  Happy and Blessed Easter to you and yours.  Take lots of pictures.  Kids are only young once.

Spring is calling...

I know that it is still early in the year to be looking for spring.  But I hear it calling.  I see it coming.  Every day the sun rises earlier and sets later.  Mist hangs more gently in the valley.  The wind has a definite softness to it, the sharp bite of ice is gone.

Everywhere we look we see jonquils and daffodils, some lining the former paths of houses long gone, some planted only recently on new ground.  How forgiving and generous these yellow flowers are.  They pop up in ditches and fence rows where they have been pushed aside by huge machines that weren't able to crush their plucky spirit.  Hooray, they seem to say.  Here's the sun.  Here is our time to bloom and smile and lend some hope to a winter-weary world.

Don't you know that long ago, when farm wives and early settlers saw these signs of spring-to-come, they smiled and felt a lifting of their spirits.  The long and dark days of winter are almost over.  The rains will come and the land turn green.  The birds will build their nests in high and arching trees.  The redbud will brighten the hills and the dogwood will bless the valleys with sweet blossoms.

Spring is calling.  And soon it will be here.