Thanks for Sharing
What a lovely
almost-fall-summer-day. The wind is strong enough to restyle my hair; the sun
is bright, but temperate. I find myself overwhelmed with gratitude. I was
graced with the most lovely, healing weekend and feel compelled to thank
everyone who contributed.
Thanks to Bonnie,
for squash and tomatoes, and sandwiches and water for the road. Thanks to
Carlie for sharing her family. To Andy for sharing honestly the amazing young
man he is becoming. To Lars for sharing a life so few will ever see, and the
memories I hold in my heart forever. And thanks most of all to Bonnie, for
sharing her daughter.
What a weekend.
Did I say that yet? The drive after work yielded two hawks, a deer, a
spectacular sunset and seven-hundred-eighty-thousand-three-hundred-forty-two
fireflies in the fourteen miles between Kansas and Nebraska. The next two days yielded
so much more.
We began the next
morning with a jeep ride to count and feed cattle, admiring the Snow-on-the-Mountain
decorating the landscape.
Then by fording
one creek, and climbing one fence, we could cut through the sunflowers to hunt
golf balls next to the city course. Not adventurous enough to climb down to the
gully, I found only four and then reverted to taking pictures of butterflies.
When we had thirty
or so, we headed back, only to notice that Lars left the gate open and 25 head
of cattle were congregating near the backyard. Back over gutter bridges, over
hill, over dale, and we managed to catch up to them AT the gate.
They know Lars
though, and wandered back where they belong. They were happy to take the corn
silks and husks and some less-than-optimal watermelon. Then we had a lunch and
headed to Hardy so Bonnie could take care of church errands. Lars, Carlie and I
had less spiritual tasks – to taste a few grapes from each row of the small
vineyard in town. It took up one block, but boasted of at least seven varieties
of grape, many already ripe. Carlie and I decided to walk off some calories,
while Lars opted to join his friends in the Do Drop Inn. They let themselves in
each day, make coffee, solve a couple problems of the world, donate their
dollar and lock it back up. I’m not sure how long it’s been closed, but in a
small town, that isn’t enough to keep out old friends. Carlie stopped to pick
up her dad, catch up with people she hadn’t seen, and then we collected her
mother and headed home. After stopping to check on the new farm truck repairs,
Lars and I took it home and Bonnie and Carlie stopped at the Pamida for $4 wine
and a few necessities. We returned to relax before getting ready for friends
and relatives to gather for the evening meal. Nothing is as lovely as sharing a
meal with old friends and relatives to celebrate the daughter, back home, from
back east.
A few games of
speed scrabble and we called it a lovely day.
We woke the next
morning to Lars’ story of the neighbor’s charolais (blonde) bull having hopped the fence
to beg some grain. So while Carlie chatted with our other aunt, Lars and I took
the ’53 Willy’s Jeep to see if we could talk him into going home. It would be a
loose interpretation of “we”, as I stayed happily in the jeep and took
pictures. Lars waved his hands as if someone might notice, but the bull and his
little punk forehead curls were just fine with his new best friends.
Just then, Carlie
came jogging up the highway to join us. Bad news for us, the jeep decided his
three farm errands were done. We
switched out the fuel filter, we tested the fuel pump, it appeared the jeep was
done for the day. Again, “we” was a bit of a stretch, but I am very good at holding
up the hood and taking pictures. We hiked home, caught a ride with the farmer
who owns the Mohawk bull, just in time to take Bonnie’s lunch to the lake.
Oh, what a day for
the lake! Just close enough to gale force winds to chase away the crowds. A few
waves this side of white caps, but warm water on healing silt clay, and the
cousins hung out and chatted shoulder deep at the edge of the swim area. I
marveled at the miracle family, created from an amazing couple who adopted an
angel. It’s a story all its own that won’t fit here. I was lucky to watch and
enjoy. Lunch was sandwiches and watermelon and all the amazing salads for which
my family is known. It only took one young man to begin the seed-spitting
contest, for everyone to join.
Back home for a
nap on the couch, while Carlie helped Lars tow the jeep home. Either the jeep’s
nap helped him too, or sitting level unlodged a pebble over the fuel tank
intake. Regardless, having been towed home, he started just fine.
That night, we
celebrated the Oregon Trail in Oak, with pulled pork sandwiches, a beer garden
and more of Carlie’s old friends. Once home, Carlie, Andy and I played some
more speed scrabble, then went outside for a most amazing show of the Perseids
Meteor shower. Three good ones, taking off across a fourth of the sky, and we
opted to walk a lap around the house to look for where the moon and Orion were
hiding, then called it a night at 11. One more night of uninterrupted quiet,
broken only by a symphony of rain, and it was time for breakfast and the drive
home.
After such a
healing couple of days, I found myself with the courage to think too much for the
seven hour drive. I took a call from a friend, mourning the malicious end to
her marriage. That was in contrast to the approaching evening when I was
meeting a friend in a loving marriage, who was so much smarter the second time.
In two weeks, I would fly to New York to celebrate another strong marriage, ten
years young. My familiarity included a handful of marriages that were nurturing
and positive, another handful where one spouse had lost twenty years to hope
for what would never be.
To celebrate, or
to mourn, that was the question. With renewed strength in my heart, I had the
courage to look forward. My focus was to thank God for the insight, for the hope,
for the stories and for the time. I was so lucky to be related to these amazing
people who were willing to share their weekend. I am grateful. I may not
celebrate a fifty year anniversary this lifetime, but I know they exist. That
is my gift: an appreciation that many may never understand. So I live for now.
I love for now. I cherish a weekend on a Nebraska farm.
From two years ago, this year's essay to follow next week. Thanks for reading!!! xxoocj
