Close Comfort

This is a poignant photograph capturing a memory of my childhood; a childhood that sometimes seems so distant that it's more like a wonderful storybook that I read long ago, and other times so vivid I can still see, smell, feel all the things that were happening in the moment.

Here my four siblings and I are snuggled together in my parents' bed (and no, we didn't really sleep that way)! I love all the white: the five of us in our cozy pajamas and wrapped in white chenille. My oldest sister must have been about 10 in this picture...and I was the baby. My little brother would come along three years later.

Forty-five years have passed since this photograph from 1962, but in my mind's eye we are still young and vibrant with our lives before us, secure in the comfort of one another and dreams for the future in our pocket.

18 today...

My Beautiful Daughter,

I like to think of you as "Mine", but you truly are your own person....and what a beautiful young lady you have become!

I can't begin to tell you how very dear you are to me and how proud I am to be your mother. You have been such a joy to me, such a blessing with your sweet and gentle ways. Not only are you lovely on the outside, but your spirit is lovely as well. You are strong in your values and what you believe, and you shine from the inside out. How could anyone not love you?

I remember well these first steps you took and how excited you were in your accomplishment. Soon you will be stepping away from me and entering a new and wonderful chapter of your life. I know that you will take that step with grace, just as you have done everything else in your life.

Never forget how special you are, nor the important place you hold in our family and in our hearts. You are one of the greatest gifts I have been given, and I cherish each day that we get to share.

May this year be filled with love and joy for you, and may the happiness that you bring to those who love you be returned tenfold to you this day. Always know that I'm here, and that I love you so very much. Happy Birthday!

On Golden Pond

I love evenings like these where the western horizon is bathed in soft pastels and the world becomes a smooth silhouette.

Twilight has always been my favorite time of day. As a young girl I would call my mother to the window to see the magic transpiring as daytime turned to dusk.

Last night was no exception. After a busy day we spent time at our neighbor's pond and watched as enchantment filled the air. Hues of pinks, oranges, purples, blues mixed among wispy white and spilled out over the water. The kids fished among falling rays and stilled reflection, catching and releasing little crappie and bass.

With the cicadas familiar serenade came a peaceful contentment of feeling grounded, centered, lovely, at home. There's no better way to punctuate the day than among people you love on an evening gilded in gold.

Thoughts and Prayers

Beneath the Conoco sign of a local gas station is a marquee that reads:

"Thoughts and prayers for the Campbell's"

The Campbell family suffered a great loss this week when their older son was killed in a horrible accident, leaving his brother to live the rest of his days as an only child...and his parents with the unanswerable question of "Why?"

There was an outpouring of sympathy; friends and family gathered at the home with food, prayers and love. The church was overflowing with a community who suffers alongside of them.

When my mother-in-law died of cancer, there was much solace from friends and neighbors who grieved with us. It was not just our loss, but a loss for the entire community. And so it is for every small town. We are not just mail carriers, salesmen, firefighters, teachers. We know each other and share history, some good and some not so good. But when someone in the community leaves this world for the next, it is with shared sorrow and heartfelt condolences because it isn't just 'someone else', but a neighbor, friend, brother, sister.

May the thoughts we have for this family bring them comfort, and may our prayers for their peace be answered.

Seattle Sent

My nephew flew to Kansas from Seattle the end of June to spend a month here while my brother and his wife toured Europe, performing with their church. Though he spent the majority of his time at my sister's house, we were fortunate to have him here with us for a couple of days.

Living so far away, he rarely has a chance to see his cousins. But as is true with people who are close at heart, he lost no time in getting reacquainted and blending in with his Kansas connections.

It was fun to watch the kids as they laughed and made up for all the lost time, filling in the empty spaces with new memories that will last a lifetime.

Tomorrow we will see him off at the airport and watch as he steps away from us once again. Perhaps the next time we see him he'll be taller with a young man's voice and point of view.

It will be interesting to see who he becomes. But whoever that is we will always embrace him as one of us...one of our own and remember the little boy that used to be.

"Be not dismayed at Good-bye's. A farewell is necessary before we can meet again."

Solitude

Everyone needs some time to themselves, and I've written before about the differences between being lonely...and being alone.

When I am struggling with something in my life, frustrated or in pain, I often go off by myself to think things through. There is solace in being alone; a strength that comes through solitude that can be found at no other time. The distractions of life are put at bay, and peaceful resolution is found in the stillness of time spent with oneself and the gentle voice of God.

It is true that 'no man is an island'. But like my son, sitting in the quietness of his own company, it is fitting and wise to row out and visit once in awhile.

Opening the Cupboard

Every Sunday of my growing up years, we ate our noon meal - or dinner - from these plates. Named "Autumn Gold", they display a buttery border, rimmed in gold with shocks of wheat in the center. They are a remnant from my childhood; a lovely reminder of our days on the farm and all those Sunday meals around the old oak table. Though those family dishes were given to my sister, my dear mother-in-law found exact duplicates at a flea market. I was thrilled, stacked them neatly, and carefully put them away in the buffet.

Many years ago after my paternal grandmother passed away, my grandfather gave each of us something that was dear to her. I received this beautiful set of Noritake China. Called "Serena", it has an intricate pattern of vines and ribbons that wind around delicate posies reminiscent of my grandmother's garden. They are a reminder of her love for beautiful things and of time spent among her flowers. I carefully unwrapped the old newspaper from around them and set them aside so they wouldn't be broken.

When my husband and I were married, my oldest brother was unable to attend our wedding. After the ceremony, we received a package from overseas. Inside was a hand-blown lemonade pitcher and matching glasses. Six fragile straws were wrapped in tissue that fit within small openings of each glass. I was delighted and charmed...and promptly put them in the glass cupboard so they could be seen, but not touched.

Then one day I realized that though beautiful, antique, and original I wouldn't truly get enjoyment from these lovely things unless they were used and shared. I remember reading a list written by Erma Bombeck about things she regretted in her life and one of them was this: "I wish I would have burned the beautiful candle sculpted like a rose instead of letting it melt in storage."

Life is like that, too. We can bury ourselves in the cupboard, collecting dust and melting away because we're afraid we may be broken. But that wasn't God's intention. In all that we do, there is risk: risk that we may fall or fail, risk that we may hurt, stumble, cry. But for every moment of frustration and pain, there are equal counterparts of delight and joy. It is a step at a time, a constant journey that when shared with others makes it lighter, more meaningful, more loving.

Though sorrow and hardships come to us all, it is the giving and sharing of ourselves that takes away the bitterness....and leaves something sweet and lasting in its place.

Post 4th

One of the things I love most about children is their positive outlook. I never remember a 4th of July like this year's: torrential rain that fell like wet gray sheets from an angry sky. It looked like our traditional family gathering was going to take place inside. Fireworks would be nonexistent.

But after the initial downpour and amid the sprinkles, the kids gathered in an exhilarated group to wade through the new stream that had formed in the yard, finding a new Independence celebration!

And as luck would have it, the heavy rain dissipated enough for us to have our firework show afterall. Donning rain jackets and blankets, we sat among the lightning bugs and "ooed and ahhed" as each rocket burst into color. Laughs were shared beneath the spattering of rain drops and cameras posed in the air as we tried to get just the right shot.

Morning Glories were lit as we formed a circle and sang "God Bless America", and we were thankful to once again come together to celebrate our glorious nation, our freedom and the family that we are so thankful to be part of.

July 4th

To Uncle Sam, the Red, White and Blue...and little boys in striped overalls.

Happy Independence Day - Let Freedom Ring!

Canadian Adventures

Two weeks ago, my son experienced his first visit to Canada on an extensive fishing trip with his dad. It was a time of firsts: first time out of the country, first time in an airplane, first time away from home for such an extended period of time.

It was strange and difficult being out of touch with him for so long while they explored the backwoods, but I knew it would be a time of learning and growth and that I needed to let him go.

He came back with stories and adventures he never would have had if he'd stayed in Kansas, and I knew that the time spent with his father was more valuable than anything else.

He is an easy-going boy who rarely gets either mad or excited.

"How was your first plane ride?"

"OK, I guess."

"Wasn't it cool to ride in the cockpit with the pilot?"

"It was all right..."

I think that as time goes on, he will glean much more from those days on the lake and recall it fondly, even if - at 15 - it doesn't seem like a big deal.

But for now, he's riding the fence on whether he liked it or not.

His dad had high hopes, because it wasn't just a trip, it's a family thing. It started back in the 70's when my son's grandfather took his three boys into the Canadian wilderness to fish. They all fell in love with the beautiful lakes and scenery, the wildlife and the quantity - and size - of the Northern Pike and Walleye they were able to snag. As the years went by, the trips continued; always a father/sons excursion or a vacation just for the 'guys'.
Then in 1988, a year before we started our family, I was invited along. Our good friends, also newly married, accompanied us on the long drive up to Ontario. We flew into Maynard Lake Lodge where we spent a week jigging in the fingers of the beautiful blue lake. It was an experience I'll never forget; a time in my life when things were simple
and easy, and worries were confined to where to pull up for shore lunch. We laughed over make-shift rain gear made from trash bags, community showers and some of the interesting characters we met at the lodge where we stayed. We experienced biting flies, harsh sunburns and hard bunk beds, and though for me, once was enough, it was a one-time adventure I'll always cherish.

Our son may or may not go back next year and either way, in his words, "It's OK". He is cut - just enough - out of the same cloth as his mother that he tends to look elsewhere for things that bring him joy. But regardless, he'll still have these memories of his 15th summer: the sun on his face, a view from the air, and cobalt blue in his back pocket.

Thistlings

The thistle is a common noxious weed that grows along the roadside and in pastures here in Kansas. It is an enemy to the farmer; a loathsome nuisance that taunts and sweeps across the prairie like a stickery green wildfire. Crop dusters fly low over grassy fence rows to stop the thistle before the wind scatters its seeds over the land; punctuating its words in mid sentence.

I know it's a weed, but on this particular night against the blush of dusk, I saw its beauty. Soft, feathery plumes were gilded in golden twilight as it rose above the earth in perfect proportions, the curtain of blue opening on its elegant entrance.

Loveliness comes in many forms. Ask any mother who has received a bouquet of dandelions from her child and she will tell you she prefers it over orchids. A card painstakingly made by a man in love far outweighs any Hallmark greeting. A watercolor created by little hands claims front row position over the best of paintings. It truly is all in the eye of the beholder.

Next time you're looking for beauty, look closer. Though the obvious may initially catch your eye, it is the unique and unassuming that will eventually capture your heart.

Capturing the Moment

Often when we take pictures, we're looking for that perfect pose; eyes gazing into the camera's lens...a perfect smile...that ever so slight tilt of the head...beautiful background, perfect lighting, subjects posed, centered, ready.

This particular photograph doesn't fit into that category, yet it captured a moment perfectly; my daughter's goofy and gleeful mood, my dear friend Cathy behind us as we stopped time for just an instant. We were enjoying this day, this time together with the wind in our hair and sun on our faces. It is a true snapshot of our lives as they really are: unposed, joyful, real.

Shining Your Light

"Hide not your talents;
for use they were made!
What's a sundial

in the shade?

Life is a risky business. There are no guarantees of how things will turn out or what we'll encounter along the way. Sometimes it's easier to hide; shrouding ourselves in shadows so we won't be exposed to rejection, disappointment, pain.

But life isn't meant to be lived that way. Each of us has talents and dreams; individual charms and bouquets of uniqueness that set us apart. We are meant to be seen and to see; to share and to give. By offering what we have to the world, we are able to come out of the shadows and into the light, illuminating not only ourselves, but our fellow man.

"This little light of mine,
I'm gonna let it shine...!"

RGB

Today while visiting some of my favorite blogs, I came across The Mad Hatter's - "In the Middle". I began reading and found that she had given me the "Rockin' Girl Blogger" badge. Thank you, Martie! Now it's my turn to bestow the honor on five of my favorite gals:

Martie - It is time to return the favor. You are definitely on my list! Your comments and support these past two years have been a blessing and I appreciate you so much! Your writing is always upbeat and centers around your family and loved ones. Though we've never met, I can tell you are a beautiful person whose spirit shines in all that you do. (You can also read Martie's other blog here.)

Mellissa - I started reading your blog through another's, but soon came to know you for the lovely woman you are. You take me to a world that I would never know otherwise, sharing your travels and beautiful photographs of places beyond my reach. I have so enjoyed walking a path with you and look forward to what you will share in the future.

Clew - My talented, fiery friend! Your writing is eloquent and moving and I so admire your energy and wit! It is obvious how much you love your little guy and the wisdom you are learning by being his mother. Though your writing is fewer and farther between these days, whenever you speak you always have something of worth to say; something we can all learn from. I miss you!

Kelly - You are my newest 'read' in the past two years I've spent on blogger, but reading your words is like a breath of fresh air. You are young and vibrant, with a soft heart and enchanting voice, and I know you are meant for great things in this world. Believe in yourself and in your wisdom. Your heart is in the right place and will take you where you need to go.

Melange - When I have precious little time, yours is the blog I go to first. If ever we were to meet, we would instantly "know" one another - I see it in your writing. Your photographs are inspiring, truly a work of art and you always have the perfect quote to start my day. You know exactly, the deep love I have for my children as you share the same for your beautiful Nyssa. You are truly a treasure in this fascinating world of 'blog'.

Growing Up Country

On the wall in our office hangs a picture, painted by my mother. She created it around 1970 while sitting at the kitchen table of our home on the farm. The view is from the south, looking northward to the house, across the sweep of golden wheat. In the distance is the grain truck we lovingly called, "Old Blumity" and closer to the observer's eye is my father on the cab-less Massey Ferguson combine.

My mother named this painting, "Panic". For any farmer who has ever tried to get his harvest in as a thunderstorm rumbles across the prairie, this title needs no explanation. I remember being in the fields as the sky darkened and lightning flashed in the distance, watching my dad as he fervently went around and around. Though my parents never showed much outward dismay, I knew that it was always a race against the weather to get the crops in.

Sometimes I would be on the combine with Dad, but mostly I remember riding in the truck. I would usually sit next to my mother, straddling the long gear shift as we rumbled along. My preferred place to be, however, was in the bed filled with dusty wheat kernels. We would bury our toes in the rich wheat, riding beside lazy grasshoppers as we barreled into town. The sides would sway with the weight as we drove up onto the hydraulic lift at the elevator. Most of the time, that was our signal to jump out while the wheat was being dumped.

One afternoon, my father told my sister and I that we could stay in the back of the truck while the truck was lifted and the back gate opened to let the wheat slide out. What fun we had slipping and sliding, and I can still hear our laughs and screams as we held onto the faded wooden bed! We thought we were defying the odds since a sign above the lift read, "Ride at your own risk", and I'm sure that we were pushing the rules. But it's a memory that my sister and I recall over the years and smile when we think about those treasured days on the farm.

When my mother used to draw or paint she would always say: "Remember, I'm not a camera!" In those days film and developing were an expense we couldn't always afford, so there are precious few pictures of my early childhood years. But I have only to look at this painting for perfect recollection of the smell of wheat dust, sunshine on my face and the wondrous feeling of what it was like growing up country.

Magnolias

Recently I walked the campus of a small college in Oklahoma. I delighted in the little alcoves tucked into out-of-way places, marveled at the art work carved in stone, and stepped up into the gazebo where I could look out over shiny red benches and the impressive clock tower.

But it was the magnolias that fascinated me the most. Planted sporadically throughout the front lawn, the trees were filled with blossoms, and having never seen them before, I was enchanted. The flowers were initially tucked up behind shiny green leaves but upon closer inspection I was thrilled to find blooms of ivory perfection.


Of all the inspiring and intriguing architecture, the beautiful paintings and sculptures, and the captivating words that move our souls, there is no artistry as breath-taking as nature. Every spring we are given life anew as a gift to savor and care for. How wonderful that we are the beneficiaries who can relish what's been given into our safekeeping. And how humbling to know we are the stewards who will pass it on so that others can take pleasure in its beauty.

Harvest

It's wheat harvest in Kansas. Combines roll out from their winter seclusion and one lane roads make way for the wide berth of headers and rumbling grain trucks. Golden plumes of wheat dust rise above John Deere green on the prairie landscape, and the co-op hums a harvest tune as grain is weighed and emptied from beds.

Farming is a serious thing. And it's a family thing. Each person plays a role in a successful harvest, whether it's bringing meals to the field, cutting the wheat or hauling it to town. It takes sunshine and hot temperatures, sweat and tolerance, patience and perseverance. And it takes faith. Faith that crops survive and thrive through the elements of a sometimes harsh climate. Faith that machines will make it through the seasons. Faith to plant again, even after hail, freeze or drought steals away the hope and plans of the here and now.

I watch as the combine cuts a wide swath; the wheat heads succumbing to the sharp teeth that pull them up into the bin as an ever-growing patch
of stubble trails behind. Its belly now full, the powerful machine rolls across the stiff stalks - heads up - as the auger swings to the side. The grain is lifted through the shoot and pours into the truck's bed like golden rain, skirting into every corner. Now empty, the combine returns to the field for another round. The grain truck makes its way to the elevator while the farmer hopes for low
moisture and high bushels for his acreage.

Most years it is an exciting time. Men gather in the morning for coffee while its too wet to cut to discuss prices and problems and help one another out when someone gets behind or falls ill. Mid-day sees a flurry of activity as the monstrous machines consume the wheat and everyone gives right of way to those who provide our bread.

This year has been different. It was a difficult spring. A late freeze did major damage to the crops. Add strong winds and flooding and the results are sobering. Many of the farmers are discing their fields, burning them off and taking their losses this season. Others are cutting at 1/3 of what they normally bring. There is insurance, but it doesn't cover the hours of toil, the hopes, the dreams. It is only monetary and cannot take away discouragement or give back time.

If it were anyone else, any other job, it would be over. Terminated. I quit. But it is the American farmer; people who are stoic and strong, who may stumble at times, but always, carry on. It isn't just a job, it's their living - their life. So it has been since the pioneers walked their rows, laden with thick straps across clumsy oxen and so it shall continue. It is a right of passage, a legacy that is carried proudly from generation to generation.

The first line of the FFA Creed states it best:

"I believe in the future of agriculture, with a faith born not of words, but of deeds."

There is another generation that believes in their future of working the land and raising livestock. The faith doesn't come from lofty promises with gilt-rimmed edges, but from watching and learning from parents and grandparents and from working alongside of them. They see the reward of contribution to the world and togetherness of a family. They look ahead and believe that the days of sunshine will outweigh the days of darkness. Despite the setbacks, despite the odds, they love the land and their heritage. It is a faith not just born, but alive and filled with hope.

The American Farmer. God bless them.

Outside the ACT

Even though school is out, the studying never ends. Saturday was an ACT testing date and five students from our community traveled south to take this extensive exam. It began at 8:00 and lasted until noon, so while the kids were testing, a friend and I walked the grounds of the college campus, taking photographs and catching up. It was a beautiful day and that time was a much needed respite from the week.

As for the students, they emerged with taxed minds and ready stomachs!

Moment of Joy

Part of the reason I share my writing here is to hopefully inspire others. Perhaps by reading my words, people will stop running so fast through life and pause to consider their blessings. Maybe they'll see their own children differently, realize how quickly time goes and cherish the people that are closest in their lives.

But another reason I write is for myself; to journal memories that happen along the way that, for one reason or another, stand out. Though there are so many places I'd love to go and so many things I'd like to do, I've learned to savor the everyday moments that are the true stepping stones of my life.

These photographs are one of those, "You really had to be there" moments. There's no way that I can describe the absolute hilarity that was going on inside the car nor the laughter that filled it! It was one of those times when you can barely breathe from laughing so hard and when the tears you shed are from pure happiness. I've always believed it is joy and those child-like times that bookmark the greatest pages of our lives.

Today I write this post for me, to savor this memory and carry it into the future. Time has a way of stealing away seemingly insignificant things. But today I'll stop its thievery, capture this day and in doing so, always remember this moment of laughter and joy.