Sandpiper
February 9, 2012 § 6 Comments
When I was maybe thirteen, we were reading a collection of short stories as a family (we were great readers, together and on our own). I don’t remember the name of the book, but one story told of a woman who had gone to the beach to deal with her grief. She befriends a little girl at the edge of the water, a child with a tendency to find the happy things of the world. The girl has leukemia, or something like that, though the woman doesn’t know this until later on. If I’m remembering correctly, the child dies. But the girl loved sandpipers, and left the woman with a drawing of one and a bidding to be joyful (again, if memory serves me . . . has anyone else read this tale?). The title of the story I do remember: “A Sandpiper to Bring You Joy.” This phrase comes to mind so often for me, at random times, and always when I come across anything to do with sandpipers. I love it, and I don’t know why, except perhaps because of how it involves such a small, natural thing offered for the uplifting of another’s spirit.
Photo Credit: US Fish & Wildlife Service
So. Here you go. A sandpiper to bring you joy.
Frost
February 8, 2012 § 3 Comments
Iowa gave me a pretty, pretty present to welcome me back.
These are the kinds of frosts that remind you that the world contains magic.
Explain it away as scientifically as you please, and I may even listen with interest. But that won’t take the thrill out of waking up to this.
Everything’s changed. Made at once softer, colder, lace-trimmed. Given that sort of peace that falls with a covering of white, and its gray and blue shadows.
Step carefully, outside. Try not to bump branches or brush fences, or they’ll lose their fair dusting. Breathe quietly.
Wonder, won’t you, at frost’s fine spell?
And then my car broke down
February 8, 2012 § 1 Comment
It’s true. We got stranded on Highway 20.
Do you know how many times I have joked about my fear of being stranded in the middle of Nebraska?
Fortunately, this wasn’t quite the middle. Rather about 3 hours from my parents’ home in NW Iowa. I called my father, as I tend to do in these situations. He said, calmly and kindly, “I guess I’ll have to come get you.”
Then he spoke with his brothers, and it turns out I was only 80 miles south of them. All Dad’s family lives in South Dakota and I never felt so glad of it till now! Two uncles came to get me with a trailer in tow. I spent the night at Grandma’s surrounded by all her familiar things and was grateful.
The other nice part is that while we waited to be rescued on Highway 20, we happened to be right next to a recreational trail. So T and I had a good walk, appreciated Nebraska for a little longer, and tried not to think about The Blue Belle’s demise.
But she is, in fact, done for. At least in regards to me! It isn’t a fix I can make or afford, so she’s up for sale (for the mechanically inclined).
Time to save. Well, first to get a job. Then to save. And to think about the possibility of a pickup.
At the ranch
February 7, 2012 § 3 Comments
Two-thirds of the way through Nebraska I stopped to visit my friend Mae Rose. We know each other because we studied in the same program at Iowa State University. It is so fun to look around and see what all my former classmates are doing these days.
Mae Rose is currently interning as assistant ranch manager at the Peterson Ranch near Newport, NE. This area is part of the unique geographic region known as the Sandhills, where mixed-grass prairie grows on stabilized sand dunes. Nearly all of the plant species here are native, as plants must be well-adapted to survive such a landscape and climate. This is grazing country, and you’ll find Scottish Highland cattle and Dorper sheep on this particular ranch.
My friend let me tag along with her for a few days to see what’s happening on her stretch of the plains.
We explored.
She fed and worked cattle.
We discussed animals, plants, agriculture, and ecosystems.
And drove tractors down roads, over sand, through many grasses.
There is more to tell about what’s going on here. Intricate things on a seemingly simple landscape. But that will be shared, or linked to, another time. Stay tuned!
Travelers
February 6, 2012 § 2 Comments
Photo Credit: US National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration
Half-packed
January 28, 2012 § 1 Comment
I have two and a half days left in Colorado. I’m stopping to visit a friend in Nebraska. But don’t ask me about much beyond that. When I see what’s around the next bend, I’ll fill you in!
For now, I am sitting in an apartment filled with boxes. Everything is half-packed. Unsettled, once again. This is an adventure, but adventure tends to have its discomforts and unease. In this moment I take comfort in the sound of the dryer (which I will soon, hopefully, be selling) and the even breathing of the dog lying on the floor next to my computer.
I am grateful for rhythms. Rhythms have a reassuring sameness. And yet even rhythms can be interrupted, reset, altered. (The dog must breathe faster when she is running, which is an important thing.) And you know? That might make for a more marvelous world. It might produce more wonderful music.
More thoughts on dirt: art from the soil
January 27, 2012 § Leave a comment
Masaccio: The Tribute Money
The fresco painters of the Italian Renaissance found themselves in a peculiar position with respect to color. They had available to them a large number of vegetable- and mineral-derived pigments, but the technique of fresco (that is, working on wet plaster) limited them largely to the earth’s palette, because the alkali in the plaster tended to decompose and disperse the vegetable-based dyes. The very rich colors of Masaccio’s frescoes are almost all derived directly from the soil. The reds, browns, and yellows are from ochre. The green is from a reduced clay called terre verte. The umber came straight from the earth of Sienna. The whole Christian drama is expressed in the colors of the earth.
– William Bryant Logan, Dirt: The Ecstatic Skin of the Earth
Winter exuberance
January 27, 2012 § Leave a comment
2008: Little T with Elsie, our very beloved family dog. Only a few more winters would Elsie-girl run like this! (Though my heart believes she bounds through heaven now.) And Tass, well, she was just discovering the joy of running. Particularly after a good old dog who meant to leave her in her wake.
Kinds of Honey 