Assortment

Spring Hope

 

 

When you sit in the sun and look at the river flowing by, you think about things.

You think about how snow has come and gone all winter, how the river’s ice is only hugging its banks now, and how it’s getting thinner with the warming. You think about spring and its promises of new.

 

Thoughts bubble to the surface and pop with the splash of rocks breaking the surface. Many rocks, picked and thrown from the bank by wandering boys.

He’s there, too, the man by your side, the one whose thoughts, most times, are yours and yours his.

Those thoughts, which, months and even years ago, when first breathed, seemed only to ever be dream, to hover with ethereal translucence, always just out of reach.

 

 

 

The sun soaks deep and layers are shed. Skin is warm and tingling. 

And you can’t quite believe how the plow of time has turned new ground.

When you look up at that dreamy mist now, suddenly, it has three dimensions. 

Hope springs new.

Winter Good

 

 

I knew the tease of spring was over as I ran around the pond in sideways-blowing-snow this morning. Only a bunny rabbit and I had been by so far to make tracks in the freshly fallen from the sugar shaker.

More winter.

A bit more is good, though, I think. For baking, if nothing else. Spice cake muffins just don't have the same appeal on a 80 degree August day as they do on a twenty-something degree day in February. You know what I mean. And you can't pad around the kitchen in wool slippers in August, either. Nor can you comfortably knit a wool throw blanket in your lap.  

So, more winter it is.

I lick the cream cheese frosting from my lips.

I'm good with that.

 

 

Have a lovely weekend, friends!

 

 

Open Door

 

 

The weather man says fifty degrees today. In Wyoming's foothills. In January, for heaven's sake! 

The south-facing front door will be wide open... 

What Ranchers Do

 

The wool rancher's caps (with ear flaps down), the Carhart coats, a (big) thermos of coffee, and they're out the door.

That's what ranchers do.

Never know what they'll be up to out there. Might shovel snow, might scratch the tummies of the happy Heeler dogs who come running across the way, might check on the horses, might shred more BB holes into the target hanging from the fence. Might get in a fight.

That's what ranchers do. (Uh...do ranchers get in fights?)

 

And when they're cold and a bit boy-play-tired, they head into that "cabin" of theirs for some rest and a cuppa joe. Pull off the gloves, tip the rancher's cap back, scratch the sweaty head, then slurp an airy swig from the steaming hand-wrapped cup.

That's what ranchers do.

The Gift

 

I remember that Christmas when I was a girl, when we lived in the Big House. My brother, sister, and I waited in nervous excitement just down the hall from the living room and the Christmas tree, the gifts and our parents, who were arranging something exciting and wonderful in there.

We were near bursting; a frantic jumble of wait-and-see.

At the call, we came rushing out to find, leaning against the living room wall, in order froom largest to smallest, five sets of cross-country skiis! They had ribbons hanging from them, they were new, and they were our very, very own!

Though there were no groomed trails anywhere near, we had woods and meadows, and we knew other people who had more woods and more meadows, just waiting to be carved and dotted by parallel lines and pole holes.

I loved skiing.

 

 

You can imagine, then, the thrilliest of thrills that befell me when, this Christmas, I opened my eyes to see a brand-new set of skiis leaning against the wall near the Christmas tree!

For me?

 

As soon as I could, I was gliding along a mountain trail, alone in the snowy woods, and I remembered why I loved it so much.

The Quiet.

The weighty, reverent Quiet that sinks down deep.

 

Save for the faint swishing of my skiis, the only sound I heard was the lonely caw of a raven's silhouette against the sky.

 

My gift!

The Season

 

A chili party with friends, in the snow, by the sledding hill and the forest full of Christmas trees.

Perfect for the day after turkey dinner.

 

People? The Season has begun!

 

 

On a Snowy Morning

 

 

Hello snowy Saturday!

I do believe you're here to stay, you winter white. Time to begin the Christmas shopping (I have!), to plan and create some handmade gifts (I am!), to wear two layers of warm (I will!)

Have a lovely weekend, friends! What's in your plans?

 

 

Page by Page

 

 

We found muskrats in that pond.

And there's a donkey in a lonely pasture nearby. I thought I'd heard a donkey braying now and then as I went about my day. Sure enough, there he was - long-eared, fuzzy-coated, sway-backed and cute as ever.

There's been a change of scenery since we left the Summer House a few weeks ago. In addition to the pond, the muskrats, and the donkey, now the river is only a stone's throw away across a pasture shared by a pair of Pinto horses. We have three old apples sitting on the counter, just for them.

And Santa lives next door.

I know.

You'd never expect it, but there he is - great round tummy cinched in the middle, long white beard and everything. You'll like knowing that he's very friendly and always smiling. And that he wears blue denim overalls and bulbous-toed black boots. He's retired the reindeer and sleigh, and now drives a four-wheeler and has a dog named Timber. We've been told that Timber wears her reindeer antlers proudly without even trying to paw them off. He's so proud of her.

 

You know, there's always a new page in life's book, and you never know what's going to be on the next page until you get there. 

Here we go, page by page.

 

 

High Country

 

Up before dawn.

Woolens, warmies, and dark coffee, hot.

Up to the high country.

Eight thousand-plus feet in elevation.

High. Country.

Much of the first snowfall has melted.

What will we find there this time?

 

 

First Taste

 

First taste of snow this season.

 

While it is most definitely orange and yellow autumn in the low country, an early storm dropped a foot of winter across the mountain tops.

And we went to find it.

 

And play in it. Stomp through it, roll around in it, and throw it.

 

Yes. Throw it. Definitely. Gotta take the opportunity when perfect snowball snow is there, right at your feet. Crazy fun.


And it's just a taste of what's to come!