My Little Home

Today  I am thankful for my home…..

August 23, 2015:

Longing for something to do, to get out of the house and enjoy the cool breeze on my face and warm sunshine on my back I ventured through the unkempt recesses of wilderness contained in my little 2 acre patch of land my family and I call home.  With my trusty flips nestled between my toes and under foot I trudged through the tall, crisp tan grasses for a glimpse of some beautiful wild flowers.  Sticky cobwebs seem to be everywhere right now, including all over my arms and occasionally, my face. Winter is coming and the creatures of this realm can tell.

The light is golden at this hour of the day and tints everything it touches with a tinge of gold. The greens are a little greener and the pale windswept stalks of the grassland are a smidge more golden. I can hardly resist the temptation to capture its beauty with my meager iPhone camera. One thing being a Mennonite has taught me is that it’s usually the simplest things that radiate the most beauty. The Kansas prairies are no exception.

 As for me, I think I will enjoy the coming days of cooler weather.  It’s about time for a poemfest, too.  None have matched the memories I have of the first one that took place in the barn of some dear friends: the blankets, the distinct smell of hay, dirt, and work from years gone past mingled with fresh coffee, hot tea, and hot chocolate. The songs, the pumpkins, the gleaming smiles on the faces of the children!  The cold that nipped our noses and numbed our toes.  And most of all, the togetherness, the love, the warmth of friendship and family.

My PippaAnn thought she needed to join me and chase after grasshoppers.  She’s an obedient little thing, eager to please, and loving, oh! So loving…like that aunt that just wants to kiss you over and over and leave her lipstick smudges on your cheeks as trophies of proof…who knew we would luck out so well with a pound puppy!  Busy as she is, it’s amazing that I got her to sit at all for a photo.

Crickets are chirping and cicadas are humming in the distance. Flies keep buzzing by and grasshoppers leaping from the shortgrass to the leaves of the gourd vines that have entangled through the arms of the ancient seeder.  Occasionally my neighbor’s roosters crow and a group of doves coo to each other in the trees.  Off in the distance the cattle are grazing down in the creekbed.  The flies must be bothering them because I can see the swish and swat of their tails across their backsides even from this distance.

As much as I grumble and groan about the roads and the neighbors and the cattle and the dirt, there is a certain beauty about this place and a peace I feel deep inside when I am surrounded by it.  I am blessed to have such a home and live in such a place, though I won’t often admit it.

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