One morning in early June I crept out to the old red pickup and climbed into my too-long vacant seat next to Farmer John, and all seemed right with the world once more. We drove to one of our rental pastures, and while John sprayed musk thistle (a noxious weed), I tromped through the prairie weeds and grasses and took the photos below.
|Some farmers frame pasture entrances with tall posts attached at the top with a wire.|
|These pretty little daisies bear the ignominious name of "Annual Fleabane."|
|Stark beauty in the sculptural branches of a dead tree.|
|The cattle like to congregate in this sun dappled corner of the pasture and have tromped the grasses flat.|