That's what friends are for.....

How blessed am I to live in the Ozarks!  It isn't as if I never had friends when I lived in other parts of the country.  But true friendship takes on a whole new meaning when people you hardly know gather together and give you a hand when you need it.  Case in point is shown in the picture above.  This was our home-to-be in the Irish Wilderness just about 40 years ago this coming summer.  I was pregnant.  Andy was trying to get the house ready for us to move in the following summer.  And we had no roof.  But our Wilderness neighbors, without us even hinting that we needed help, arrived on the scene one fine Saturday morning and started to work.  The ladies brought dinner and the men brought their ladders and nails and know-how.  Before nightfall there was a fine roof on our house and we were well on our way to making a home to live in.   When I struggled to find words to thank these people for what they had done for us, this is what they said. That's what friends are for....
Over the years I have remembered that very first act of kindness that was given to us in that tight-knit community.  And here in Gainesville I can see the same spirit alive and well.  In a few weeks we will have the Relay for Life.  This past year has seen all sorts of fundraisers for sick babies and their parents, neighbors suffering from awful illnesses, families torn and battered by life-gone-wrong.  We are together here in the world.  For better or for worse.  And somehow we will make it work out.  Because that's what friends are for.

May Days

As I was traveling this week I spied a church sign that read May is God's Apology for February.

And I said to myself, "Indeed!"

May in the Ozarks.  It can be fickle, as any time during the change of seasons can be.  One day you shiver and pile on the extra sweater or coat.  The next you are sweltering in eighty degree weather that threatens to give you heat stroke.

May is the month we love.  Early mornings bring us sunrises that blind you with golden beams outlining each dew-tipped blade of grass.  Mist rises from the river valley like smoke from dampened fires.  Birds greet the day with  trilling songs to call their mates to nest and bower. 

At noon we seek the cooler shadows down under the trees.  Moist earth crumbles in your fingers as you test the garden plot.  Do I dare put out my tender plants now?  Will frost some night creep up and bite the budding flowers on tomato and cucumber?  Can I bear the heartache of planting again?  And again?

Early evening brings the promise of rain.  We need it badly now.  We listen to the weather forecast and try to plan for the next day or two.

And the mowing.  Always the mowing.  Just as soon as you cut the grass it hops up again, twice as thick and three times as tall. 

I'll not complain.  Spring has returned with green hills and swaying grass, lovely mornings and spectacular sunsets. 

May is here.  Thank You God.

Easter 1946

This is a picture of me on my first Easter.  My brother Paul is there beside me in his fashionable beret.  I have noticed that many times when we had our pictures taken Paul got to wear this particular hat.  I have no idea why.  Maybe it was the hat all the kids wore when they were three going on four, like Paul.  I know there is a picture of me when I was around three wearing the self-same hat.  Waste not, want not.

But back to Easter.  I can see that Paul has a basket with some eggs in it.  By looking at it closely I know exactly what basket that is.  It was given to my family by our friends, Joe and Maxine Lord.  It had been handed down in their family from a relative and I guess my mom admired it so we got it.  I have it now.  For many years it sat in tarnished splendor on the back of the sideboard in our dining room.  Neglected and only brought out when we needed something to put Christmas greenery in or an appropriate decoration for Easter or some other holiday.  It was never polished as long as I remembered it.  And it ended up with a few dents and dings over its long life.

A few years ago I inherited it along with a lot of other left-overs from my family's long career of saving everything that crossed their path.   I had it re-plated, the dings smoothed out and now it sits on my dining room table on various occasions with Christmas decorations or Easter eggs or leaves at Thanksgiving.  But it is polished and when not in use, I put it away where it will not be bumped and battered.

You may wonder why I have strayed from my theme of Easter 1946.  I guess this picture brought to mind just how precious things become to us over time.  I wouldn't trade my memories of Easter gatherings and fun and frolic for anything.  And seeing my brother Paul, now gone for seven years, and me sitting in relative harmony, amidst the iris on a cool Easter morning makes me smile and remember those happy days.

Happy and blessed Easter to all of you.  May you make many happy memories to cherish for a long, long time. 

At last...spring?

This morning was anything but spring-like.  Cold frost clung to the grass and we scraped ice from the car windows before we bundled ourselves off to church. My trusty winter coat felt good when I faced the frigid breeze as I walked across the parking lot and in the door.

This afternoon when lunch was over we went on our usual Sunday stroll around the pasture and woods to check out what was happening.  It is amazing what a few hours of sun and light breeze from the south can do.  For the past couple of days the wind has had a distinctly winter bite to it, cold and icy with a touch of malice.  It was as if Mother Nature were sneering at us and saying, "I'll show you what I think of your hopes for spring and green grass and flowers !"

But this afternoon her smile was gentle and the wind that blew was soft and full of promises.  Could it be?  Did we dare hope?  The nearly an inch of rain had softened the ground and we could see the very beginnings of flower buds pushing up through the dry and crinkled leaves.  If you looked closely you could almost see the ground moving around the life pushing up from below,  like one of those time lapse photos of flowers with petals unfolding in a matter of seconds.

And the birds.  The meadow larks were the only birds singing a few days ago.  But suddenly they were joined by other voices.  Nesting songs.  Songs of greeting. 'Hello, how have you been?  It's been quite a winter hasn't it?'

The baby minnows were frisking around in the little pond.  Penny bugs hop-scotched across the rippling surface. Nearby a gray squirrel ran for cover with a nut in his mouth. 

We have lived out here on the hilltop since September.  We have seen fall turn into winter.  We have lived through our first winter.  And now winter is turning into spring.

Somehow, my cautious heart warns me  not to be too quick to welcome the new season.  'Anything can happen in April', they say.

And I say, bring it on.  Because, I do believe, that spring is here to stay. 

 

Hoops, Baby

Ah, my favorite time of year.  March Madness they call it.  I call it Heaven. 

The picture above was taken when I was about nine months old.  You can see that my mom had high hopes for me.  Sadly, I played basketball back in the dark ages when girls could only dribble the ball twice before passing and we had to stop at half court and turn it over to the forwards on the other side who would then dribble and pass and dribble and pass and hopefully make a basket at the other end.  Not very exciting.

But I was a cheerleader.  I remember those wonderful post-season games in tiny, steamy high school gyms in Central Illinois, the over-flowing bleachers stuffed with fans screaming, yelling, and stomping while their favorite teams coursed up and down the floor making basket after basket.  My brother Paul was a wonderful player.  I still remember how proud I was when our local team had winning years.

I guess that was all I needed to become a fan.  When basketball season starts, I love to sit in the stands and cheer on our boys...and girls.  We have been so blessed this year with teams that have had great success.  But even after the high school season is over I am following the NCAA tournament and all the other tournaments that colleges play in.  I grab the paper every morning and check out the scores.  I am not so brave as to actually fill in the bracket.  I just am excited to read about the great comebacks, the upsets and the close games that are played.  I like nothing better than a game that goes into overtime.  Sometimes my 'favorite' team wins, sometimes it loses.  But it is all good, as they say.

And when the finals come and the trophy has been awarded to the Best of the Best, I smile and look ahead to the coming season......

Ah, baseball!  Did I tell you how much I love baseball......?

March Snow

Yes, they warned us.  They have been talking about it for a day or two.  'Saturday will be wonderful....warm and breezy.  But be ready.  Come Saturday night there will be a big change.  Wind, rain, more wind, more rain until noon and then the snow will begin to fall."

We listen.  We prepare.  Just another glitch in our count down to spring and green grass, lovely flowers and budding trees.

Another snow.  Another snow.  But this one is beautiful.  I took a nap this afternoon and when I woke up I looked out to see giant flakes of white blowing by my window.  I stood, mesmerized, watching the snow fall. 

There is still a sense of contentment that you feel when you see a late winter snowfall.  Yes, we are sick of winter.  Indeed, I have had enough of shoveling and burrowing into layers of coats and jackets just to go outside.  I have had my fill of putting up with the icy north wind.

But this evening, as the snow fell near twilight, I felt like a child, looking out on a magical scene.  The ground covered with white.  Tree branches rimmed with fluffy snow.  Peace on the hilltop.  And the snow falling, gently, gently to the ground.

 

Shirt Sleeve Weather

Finally the day we had all waited for arrived.  Yesterday was wonderful.  Today was equally as nice.  The sky in the morning was that true blue shade that you see only in the spring.  Setting out for my morning walk, I quickly shed the sweatshirt I was wearing.  The air was already warm and gentle, with just a hint of breeze.  Buzzards swooped lazily in the sky, dropping down low to survey the scene and then rising up on thermals to ascend higher and higher until they were just dots in the azure light. 

And not a cloud.  Not a cloud was seen, anywhere.  Just clear as glass air, without any hint of fluffy white.  Perfect.

What to do on a day like this?  Common sense said, "Get the rake.  Get the hoe. Do something useful."  But, I rarely listen to common sense.

Blithely I walked across the sun-kissed field, breathing in the scent of warm grass and wet earth.   And, for today, I walked in shirt-sleeves, soaking up the sunshine, feeling content, admiring the perfection that only this kind of day can bring.