The Winter is Past--Finally

I admit our winter trials here in the little yellow house were nothing compared to those chronicled in Laura Ingalls Wilder's The Long Winter, but the challenges we faced were daunting nonetheless.  Our grandchildren were sick with one virus after another beginning in November and just when we thought we were beyond winter's grasp, every family member in succession was stricken with a horrific cold virus that kept us croaking and coughing throughout a dreary April.  I shuffled dispiritedly into May, still half-sick and oppressed by neglected paperwork and housecleaning.

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.

Rose verbena

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."

Farmer John fights an ongoing battle against the non-native, invasive musk thistle.  Cattle will not graze around the painful, spiny plants, and untreated musk thistle will take over an entire pasture.  Victorians thought the blooms pretty and introduced the plant in the U.S. in the 1800's.

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.  

A Barn Cat by Any Other Name....

Miss Kitty, who has her superior feline expression down pat. 

My mother's overweight, indoor cat once had a name, but Mom--who was the inspiration for the character of Ruby Mae in The Children Are Tender--has Alzheimer's.  She can't remember the animal's original name,  so she simply calls her pet "Miss Kitty."  

Miss Kitty is a sleek, gray tabby with a superior attitude.  She considers Mom's apartment her exclusive domain, and casts an irritated eye at any intruder.  She loves Mom but dislikes me, even though I faithfully deliver her daily ration of low fat, indoor formula cat food. 

Imagine Miss Kitty's chagrin when, early one morning, a big male barn cat hopped up and peered through Mom's picture window.  Miss Kitty arched her back and hissed, but then curiosity got the best of her and she jumped into the window seat for a closer look.  The yellow striped tom insulted Miss Kitty further with a display of exaggerated disinterest, in fact, he stretched out on the deck railing with his back to to us and refused to look Miss Kitty's way.  She was deeply offended and has ignored him ever since (though it is difficult to ignore someone who has ignored you first). 

I began feeding the big tom that morning and, unlike most barn cats, he was affectionate and appreciative; his indifference was reserved for Miss Kitty.  I was immediately smitten because he is such a big, pretty boy.  Since our indoor cat was a Miss, I decided to call our new outdoor pet "Mr. Kitty."  A few mornings later I was stroking Mr. Kitty's big head and crooning his name when I noticed Farmer John peering out at us through Mom's screen door with something like disapproval on his face. 

Nearly a month later, our one-year-old grandson came to visit.  He climbed up into the window seat in Mom's room, teetering precariously as he pushed to his feet.  John kept hold of the back of the little guy's shirt to keep him from falling, and they looked out the window together.  I heard John say in a soft voice, "Do you see Chuck?  Can you say hello to him?  Hi Chuck!"  

I looked out the window and there was Mr. Kitty.  "Who's Chuck?" I asked.  

John looked guilty.  "Didn't mean for you to hear that.  It seemed to me that critter was embarrassed to be called Mr. Kitty so I gave him a better name." 

Chuck/Mr. Kitty does not seem to mind his changing name so long as the human who calls him has access to the big sack of cat food John brought home from Murphy's (the local elevator). I don't think I'll turn over pet-naming responsibilities to John; after all, he is the one who once named a defenseless puppy "Mortimer."  But, next time I name a pet perhaps I will try a little harder to take the animal's personality and feelings about the matter into account. 

Mr. Kitty/Chuck, who despite my urgings would not lift his head from this food dish to have his photo taken. 

A Funny Fellow

Farmer John and I were driving home from a parts run recently when we saw the critter pictured below, digging busily alongside the road.  We had never before seen a live armadillo in our area of Kansas:   

My husband has a delighted interest in all wildlife, but when confronted with this unique-to-us sight he exhibited even more than his usual amount of enthusiasm.  He slammed on his brakes right smack in the middle of the country highway, cut a U-turn, and rolled up just a few feet from the hapless varmint, who exhibited no alarm at the approach of a human being.  If had known my husband as I do, he might have shown a little more concern.

But the armadillo ignored us and continued his foraging.

John whistled shrilly and the little guy jerked upright, then froze.

He held this position without moving, perhaps thinking himself camouflaged.  "Ohhhh, if I only had the cooler in the back," said John longingly.  Danny (our grandson) would be the only kid on the block with his own armadillo.

I spoke sternly, "I am certain it is against the law to capture an armadillo (I am certain of no such thing but at need I am a convincing liar).  In the same tone (and with the same lack of background knowledge) I continued, "And armadillos carry salmonella in their, um, plating."  I stumbled a little here and John recognized uncertainty.

"I'm going to pick him up!" he proclaimed.

"You are not!" I said.

At that moment we heard the approach of another vehicle and we both got back into the car.  As we pulled away John was still expressing regret, "He was such a cute little guy."

"A funny fellow," I said.

"Me, or the armadillo?" John asked.


"Both of you," I said.  "Definitely both of you."

Note:  Several comments on this post's link on my Facebook page have warned that infected Armadillos can carry leprosy.  Please recognize that Farmer John's goal was to tease his wife, and that he did not seriously intend to pick up or transport wildlife, leprous or otherwise.  No armadillos were interfered with in the creating of this blog post. 

Great Bargain on E-book

Ambassador-International has selected The Children Are Tender for their Friday Fiction promotion this week.  Tonight and tomorrow you can download the book for just $2.99 from Amazon!  Here is the link:  The Children Are Tender for Kindle.

You can see the promo from Ambassador-International's publicist, Alison Storm,  HERE. 

You don't have to own a Kindle to buy and read e-books from Amazon; a free Kindle reader can be downloaded here:  http://amzn.to/18cm5CJ

Or, on your smart phone just download the Kindle app. 

Kansas Beauty: Depression's Cure

 I have cycled through some emotions that are close to depression in the wake of giving up my teaching job two years ago.  I hadn't considered retirement, and it came as a shock that I had enough years of service to do so.  My job description changed in the wake of budget cuts, my mother's needs increased, and it seemed logical for me to retire early.  And so here I am, back home on the farm; writing, caregiving, and being a grammy; all jobs I love.  But some days that depression cloud hovers.  It is usually comprised of fibromyalgia aches, caregiving stress, and a sense that my life is winding down to a journey's end rather than gearing up toward some new goal. The idea that I've been demoted from a position of authority and respect to the roles of housekeeper and caregiver adds to my angst, but I figure this is good for my humility (a reference to family lore; once when I was bemoaning some cosmetic deficiency my then six-year-old daughter said, "Welp, that's good for your humility, Mom..."). 

When one is depressed, the inclination is to pull the shades, turn out the lights, and lay on the nearest soft surface, escapism-book in hand.  I manage to resist these pulls, but as I putter about the house  procrastination attacks, and my sad/bad feelings increase as I accomplish little; the silence pressing in about me.  I'm too tired to seek company, ache too much to volunteer my services as a babysitter, and tend toward short-temperedness with my mother's dementia related behaviors.  What I am able to do, however, is to step outside. 

Fresh air and light are curative. A few nights ago I snapped this phone photo of the setting sun's colors over our little yellow house and found there's no room for depression when one's senses are filled with this kind of beauty.  Again today I'm feeling so grateful for the restorative peace that's always just outside my front door simply because I'm privileged to live in rural Kansas: 

Ridiculous!

I don't watch a whole lot of TV (I know, everyone says that), but in my occasional sessions with Food Network or news programs, a relatively new expression has caught my ear:

"Ridiculous!" exclaims a commentator as he tastes a delicacy prepared by a five star chef.

"Ridiculous," says an actor who is being interviewed about filming a movie in New Zealand.  He's gazing at a mountain range behind him as he whispers his assessment of the beauty.  "Just ridiculous!"  

I've come to understand this word is being used to express emotion over something so amazingly delicious or beautiful that no adjectives in the language can adequately describe it.

With these thoughts in mind here are some views of our Kansas skies taken within a mile of the little yellow farmhouse, all pretty much just ridiculous! 

The intersection west of our house is appropriately named Homestead Road

Evening walk with Farmer John

Sunrise over the lake on the hill above our house.

Sunlight through cottonwoods along the road.

...another Farmer Johnism...

I am riding in the pickup with Farmer John.  We have counted cattle at a pasture that is nearly ten miles away, and are driving back home.  The morning has been relatively cool, but afternoon temperatures are predicted to reach 102 degrees. 

As we approach, two turkey vultures swoop away from the unidentifiable remains of some small animal that did not make it across the highway successfully. 

Farmer John:  Oh look.  This morning they are having cold cuts but if they come back at noon they can have a hot lunch! 

A Not-So-Ghostly Ghost Town

Farmer John and I made a parts run to Iola, Kansas today and on the way home John said, "Let's go see Neosho Falls; we've never been there."  I agreed, and he made an apparently random turn onto an unmarked road that led us, Farmer John fashion, straight to our goal.  The man has an uncanny ability to find places, and this nicely counterbalances my complete lack of directional sense.  Before the advent of cell phones and GPS, I couldn't go anyplace without him because I would get lost. Years of habit are deeply ingrained, and even now I rarely travel alone.  I kind of miss him when he's not along. 

As we drove into town I was astounded at the beauty of the Neosho River. The river flows serenely along but then makes a 9 foot drop over a man-made dam and from that point bubbles and rushes madly toward the new concrete bridge.  It does not look like the entrance to what I'd heard described as a ghost town. 

As we drove down the main street I had John stop several times so I could snap photos, and as I stepped away from the car I could hear more than one lawn mower running.  A man mowing a large corner lot gave me a careful look, and as I turned to come back to the car I saw a rusty sign that read Neighborhood Watch.  "I guess he's the neighborhood watcher," I said, laughing. But a few minutes later two motorcycles appeared at the corner a block away from where I was attempting to photograph the main street that is now overgrown with vines and trees, and I had the distinct feeling that Neosho Falls' neighborhood watch had indeed been activated. 

The neatest part of this little side trip is that I found Karola's Community Church!  Those of you who have read The Children Are Tender know that the fictional community of Karola has just one place of worship, a white clapboard church where all are welcome. Neosho Falls' United Methodist Church is a ringer for the non-denominational church I imagined for Karola,  so much so that I posted the photo below at the Pinterest Page dedicated to creating a visual introduction to the world of Karola.

Neosho Falls' Methodist Church is a ringer for the community church in the fictional town of Karola, Kansas, setting for the novel The Children Are Tender. However,  I do think the ladies of Karola Community Church would have hosted numerous bake sales in order to fund a fresh coat of white paint for their church. 

Neosho Falls' school was abandoned in 1969 and its framework still stands as a testament to what happens over 40 years of time to a building that is not maintained. I took this closeup of a pair of windows in the old school:

Two former places of business, the one on the left is completely obliterated by greenery. Perhaps the building on the right was a gas station. 

Neatly mown lawns, a new post office/community building, and the pickups parked around an establishment called "The Oasis" keep the remains of this little town from feeling abandoned or ghostly.  The people didn't seem unfriendly, but they were watchful, and we took the point and left a little sooner than I would have liked.  This is probably just as well because following my urge to explore inside the abandoned school might not have been safe; the building's remaining concrete walls stand with no visible means of support. 

I thoroughly enjoyed this little side trip, and though the citizens of Neosho Falls seem happy with their town just as it is, I am hoping that Karola does not become quite as unpopulated.  In my imagination, Karola School stands with open doors, awaiting another school year's influx of students and teachers who will have adventures yet to be told. 

Nine Reasons I Love June in Kansas

The euonymus shrubs are green and glossy but haven't bloomed, so they aren't yet attracting flies! 

Dragonflies have emerged with rainbow wings...

These guys are almost done producing flowers and fluff...

The Margie rose is blooming in the fence row (named for the childhood friend who gave me the cutting). 

The hanging basket my daughter and her husband gave me for Mother's Day is still beautiful (I haven't killed it yet).

The rosebush my son and his wife gave me two years ago survived the drought and is covered with blooms....

...and the old fashioned rosebush  is blossoming

First thing in the morning it is neither too warm or too cool to sit here......

...and it isn't yet too hot to take a walk in the early evening. 

If I could've captured a photo of cottonwood fluff wafting through the air this would have been reason #10!  I love June in Kansas! 

Conversation

Linda:  I heard a horrifying fact about Gila Monsters today on a children's zoo show.  When they latch on to bite you they don't let go!

Farmer John:  Like snapping turtles.

Linda: (rolls her eyes toward her husband doubtfully)

Farmer John:  (nods sagely) Yup.  When they latch on they don't let go until it thunders.

Linda:  You make this stuff up.  I swear you think I'll believe anything.  (Pulls out her smart phone, finds hundreds of references--albeit most labeled folklore--to snapping turtles not letting go until it thunders).

Linda:  (Sheepishly) Ummm...guess that's just one I hadn't heard before.

Farmer John: (Smug) Well, I do know a few things you don't.  

Riding in the Pickup With Farmer John

This sprig of purple flowers lay by itself in a field of green, looking as if a passing bridesmaid had dropped her delicate bouquet in the grass. 

The pastures are full of these little yellow flowers this spring (see below).

The bouquet Farmer John tossed in my lap--he harvests his spring crop of asparagus from road ditches; disdaining the lack of challenge raising an asparagus patch in our garden would provide. 

I hadn't accompanied John to do chores all week long because he's been so busy planting.  Last night's storms brought us about a quarter inch of rain, and so he couldn't go to the field this morning.  "Want to go count cattle with me?" he asked.

It is Sunday, and on Sundays I am nearly always in my usual pew at church, but after just a moment's hesitation I pulled on jeans and boots and followed my husband out the door.  The rain had washed everything clean, the air was sweet with the scent of mown grass and spring flowers; and I hardly felt guilty at all (well, not until after I ate the donut John bought for me--but I did give our dog, Annie, part of it...). 

We saw a white cattle egret that was apparently playing tag with two calves.  The bird would fly a few feet ahead of the frisky critters and land.  As they kicked up their heels and gave chase, it would stretch out its wings and fly a few dozen more feet ahead, then land and wait for the calves to approach once more.  

There was a flock of white pelicans paddling sedately, almost swan-like, across the lake.  Two coyotes trotted across a pasture and stopped to look back at us over their shoulders before they resumed their journey.  A lanky adolescent whitetail deer leaped across the road in front of us. 

We saw a total of four box turtles at different places along the road which, John claims, means we will receive a "four turtle rain tonight." 

"Notice," he said, in the tones of a tour guide, "...that all those turtles are on high ground." 

I looked at him doubtfully. 

"Well would YOU like to be a box turtle in a flood?" he asked. "They can only swim so long before they sink like a rock." 

I never know whether my husband is teasing or not, but I do know one thing.  Though I'll return to church so as not to give up meeting together with fellow worshipers next week, I found respite in God's creation this morning.