change of place & seasons

Mornings have been dipping into the upper 30’s.  My Florida thin blood has me bundled up with hat, mittens and coat.  My doxie/chichihua mix needs her sweater and stays under the quilt when inside to stay warm.  We’ll be headed south in just a few more days. 

Beauty knows no climate.  Ragweed makes me sneeze, but it’s beautiful on foggy mornings covered with dew.  The horse in the next pasture looks surreal as he watches us walk by.  

 One thing about staying so late in this climate is the remembrance of autumn.  It’s not so evident in a zone 11 climate.  Here, it’s a #5 Agricultural Zone.  The big hay rolls from summer have faded to grey/brown.  Sumac and sassafras are already coloring.  Squirrels have been very busy with the acorns.  I have to be extra careful for invading spiders and mice that would rather spend the winter in my RV safe from the elements.   

Don’t I wish I was sitting on a Gulf Coast beach in Florida right now!  Instead, I’m still in the Midwest waiting for a few more family events before I can return to my adopted home of SW Florida.

It would be hot there.  But - it’s hotter here in the midwest.  But as anyone knows there are different kinds of hot.  Both locations would be sunny and humid.  But the still, windless days of August in the Midwest feel hotter than the same temperature and humidity with a nice salty breeze off the Gulf. 

The change of seasons are more subtle in the deep south.  Here, early signs of fall are seen in the woods and fields.  One of the first to turn into fall color are sassafras trees.  The green of the other trees are a tired, worn out looking green.  Summer itself seems to be tired.  The fencerows sport scarlet patches of sumac and brown dried grasses.  I’m seeing Monarch butterflies and birds are beginning to gather into flocks, practicing for their return to their winter home.  I make my morning coffee while it's still dark. 

In just a few weeks, this snowbird will happily return to SW Florida - to my home of winter sunshine.  I always like to make note of the first palm tree I see on the drive.  One year, I saw them in Montgomery AL.  Of course they were intentionally planted as part of the landscaping in front of a expensive hotel.  No matter!  It meant I was getting close to home!  ~pam

Memories of Lois

This morning I attended the funeral of Lois Brooks.  A recent widow, for 20 plus years she was almost my sister-in-law.  In the first pews sat her immediate family - children and grandchildren.  Beyond those seats were neighbors and friends like me who had come to say good-by.  Those people and their own memories of her are the legacy she left us. 

I remembered episodes of our relationship:  She loved to sing and would sing bits and pieces of songs at unexpected times.  I loved that about her.  Because of her and Wilbur’s winters in Florida, I became a resident there too.  I am grateful to her for that as well.

Sitting in church listening and observing I pondered the end of life questions the Pastor was attempting to answer.  Why are we here?  What happens after we stop breathing?  I like to believe that the essence of who we are, our soul or psyche lives on in a new and different way in a spiritual realm I can only speculate on.

Where do we go, how much of the life we had on earth goes with us? .  Who really knows the answers to those questions?  I guess Lois knows them now.  ~pam

Kansas revisited

 Now why would anyone visit Kansas?  You know all the “Dorothy” jokes about Kansas – hear tales of boring drives across it’s flat expanse – jokes about it’s corny-ness in August.  My two small dogs, Willy (in front) and Sophie (behind him) decided it was best to just sleep through Kansas.  

Well, that’s just what I did.  I visited Kansas in August.  And – I loved it!!  

My excuse is I was born there, so I always have a sense of being home again when I’m there.  To me, its flat prairies and constant wind are an inspiration.  I want to sing out loud, want to swing my arms as wide as the sky and if my 70+ knees would stand it, run against the perpetual wind.  I notice myself breathing deeply as though I could suck in the simple beauty of the rolling Flint Hills dotted with scrubby stands of cottonwood and willow in the draws.  It would be even more beautiful in spring.  But then --- most places are prettier in spring.

 In the above photo I liked the contrast between the abandoned limestone farm house and it's old fashioned windmill with the modern wind turbine you can see faintly in the center rear.  As I continued west along Interstate 70, the windfarms followed the crest of the hills for miles and miles.  If there is one thing Kansas in abundance it's wind and limestone.  

Standing in line at a fast food place, I heard people who talk just like I do – a flat kind of drawl.  I didn’t have to interpret their language and nuances – everyone spoke just like they should speak!  Plainly!  Hee, hee.  It’s all in the ear of the beholder.  

 Visiting Lingsborg, KS on a 100 degree day wasn't as much fun as I wished .  As you can see my doggies have their tongues hanging out.  I quickly closed my panting mouth long enough for a kind stranger to take this photo.  

My recommendation is to visit Kansas if you must, but only in May or September.  ~pam

Well now – have you ever felt like this?  There are days when my old bones do indeed feel just this way. 

I came upon this pair in a prairie dog town between Boulder and Longmont, Colorado on a recent visit there.  It made me laugh to just see them.  I had to stop and get some photos. 

Looking around, I tried to figure out why these two were here.  There was no indication that there was ever a home there.  No crumbled foundation anywhere.  Then again, no home would need a ‘his’ and ‘hers’ would it?  Next, I thought of a church or even a school.  Still, no indication of any building nearby. 

After looking more, I noticed several fallen down, fenced off areas, like paddocks and at the end of the field the type of open ended shelter used for livestock.  Perhaps this had been a stock auction or small rodeo grounds. 

Wouldn’t it be interesting to talk to some of the locals who have been here 50 years?  They’d have the answers.  As it is, speculating on the former life of these old outhouses is as much fun as actually knowing the facts.  ~pam

Summertime - and the livin; is easy. NOT!!

Dawn of a summer morning looks serene and quiet.  Compared to a spring morning with the cacophony of bird song, there is actually little sound to reach the ears.  But, under-laying that surface quiet is the energy bursting from the sun – a different kind of ‘noise’ if you will. 

In high summer, the most fierce energy is the relentless, burning sun.  Thunderstorms which would cool us a bit, if violently so, seem not strong enough to push themselves against the power of the sun.  Even pernicious weeds in fencerows wilt against this intense sun energy. 

Local farmers have labored in 100 degree heat to cut and bale hay for winter use.  Two tractors with sun burned men chug back and forth across the field cutting, drying, windrowing the hay for three searing, hot days before it’s ready to roll up into bales.  A lot of energy in man power, sweat and tractor fuel are flung against the face of the summer sun

A well-known summer resident is the Red Tailed Hawk.  They literally ‘make hay while the sun shines’ in these suddenly scraped fields.  Mice, quail and rabbits have lived safely under cover of the tall hay until now.  It must seem like a war zone.  Hawks dive and strafe the field like fighter bombers.  Mice and rabbits flee in panic to safety under my porch only to find another danger – the teeth and paws of my twelve pound terrier. 

Gershwin wrote “Summertime – and the livin’ is easy”.  Well --- not always or for everybody.

Making Hay While the Sun Shines

I’m not an authentic country girl.  I grew up in a big city of concrete, asphalt and brick.  But – I think I should have been born a country girl.  That’s where my heart lies. 

The farmers around my summer home are working in the worst kind of summer heat cutting and baling hay.  The hotter the sun, the better for putting up hay.  One evening, just before predicted 3 rain free days, I saw his tractor going back and forth across the field cutting hay after dark by the headlights of the tractor.  Twice the next day, he came with a rake and turned over the fresh cut hay to make it dry and cure.  Third day, he was out again doing the same thing.  By evening, he had his baler going.  It rolls along behind the tractor appearing to do nothing.  Then, suddenly, it opens it’s big mouth and spits out a big round bale of hay that goes bouncing across the field to a stop.  Later, they'll line up these big balls along a fence line out of the way of the second cutting in fall.   

Squadrons of Barn Swallows escort me as I mow the field in the early evening with my own little tractor and mower.  I like that analogy.  It makes me think of scenes from old black & white war movies.  All I can see are their flittering silhouettes against the fading summer sky.  They appear from nowhere after my first pass of the field.  Their aerobatics are quite remarkable.  They dive and swoop after dislodged bugs in steep patterns too extreme for even the most accomplished air show pilot.

This field takes almost an hour for me to mow.  By the time I’ve made a dozen passes, I see some swallows sitting on the elec. line, preening and resting.  I suppose they’ve had their fill.  Others are still following me across the field.  The supply of bugs and the supply of swallows apparently is neatly matched. 

Back and forth, across and down I mow over and over and over again.  Somehow, it seems almost meditative.  Not boring at all.- like following a knitting pattern.  Knit 2, Purl 2 around and around. 

Normally I don’t consider myself a patient person.  Waiting for an upcoming trip, waiting in a grocery store line, or for a very long stoplight makes me fume.  But, the kind of patience needed for mowing a field or knitting a sock is strangely comforting.  Why is that?  How is it different?