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.

 

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.