Putting cows on the front page since 1885.
Putting cows on the front page since 1885.
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Since winter still has a tight grip on us, we keep seeking warmth to chase away the chills that would plague us. My husband faithfully feeds our hungry woodstove which keeps the cold at bay and sometimes the oil furnace blows hot air up from the basement when the wind comes cold from the north, but this winter I have also come to appreciate a heater that I call my buddy. It’s easy to cart with me wherever I go, at the sewing machine, at my desk, or at the counter where I make cards and pages. Although it stands almost 3 feet tall, it is s...
The sound of breaking ice was loud under the steel tractor wheels on Tuesday morning as my husband and I went for an unusual excursion across the ice-encrusted, snowy fields. The bright sunbeams reflected off the snow and into our laughing eyes as we headed for the hills that were calling me. Unyielding ice covered everything on the ground and unlike the tractor wheels, our feet could not break through, much less take confident steps. Jagged ice pieces lay in the wake of the wheels as we headed...
"Just living is not enough," said the butterfly. "One must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower." When I found this little saying by Hans Christian Andersen, I was pleased. Not only are butterflies one the favorite things in my life, I agree that 'just living is not enough'. I believe that "the joy of the Lord is our strength," as in Nehemiah. We can "rejoice in the Lord evermore, even when darts of the tempter are flying, for Satan still dreads, as he oft did of yore, our singing much mo...
Since outdoor flowers were nonexistent last week, I was more conscious of them in other places, even though they were not real flowers. Monday's warm sunshine on Feb. 4, enticed me outdoors for a walk but even though the temperature was warm enough for flowers, I found none. My boots went "swish" through the snow or "slosh" through the mud. In the afternoon, I folded my naturally dried laundry on my patio, but there were no flower planters there, only snow piles mingling with pine needles,...
The week of winter weather seems to be gone. No ice was in the calf buckets on Sunday evening and the water bowls for the horses weren't frozen, even though their door was wide open. While we worshiped in Piney Creek church the sun shone brightly and snow melted slowly. When we came home at noon I was dismayed to see that the disappearing snow had uncovered the dirt on my patio. My doorstep didn't really look like I had prepared for company. But I had. Besides my weekly cleaning, I had even wash...
Doing laundry for loved ones isn't a new thing for me. Being the oldest in a family of 10 children, I learned at a young age how to sort clothing on piles according to color or soiled condition. In a small concrete-floored room with a drain, to the side of the kitchen, my mother taught me how to wash clothes. In a tub we soaked laundry before we wrung it over into the wringer washer filled with hot, sudsy water. From there, the garments took two more trips through the wringer because my mother...
As is his habit, after finishing in the milk house, my husband surveyed the western skies. In the summer, he usually steps outside the door but on Saturday evening, it was dark wintertime, so he stood inside. Peering through the window, he watched the traffic on Piney Creek Road travel through the predicted snowstorm. Suddenly a man appeared into his scope of vision and ran toward the milk house. He seemed to disappear so my husband moved to the window around the corner and saw him sitting in the snow against the milk house wall. As my husband...
The rotary cutter in my hand stopped rolling along the square patch of fabric as I held it suspended in mid-air. What was I hearing? Was our neighbor scraping his lane? But the sound grew louder. The flapping and banging of metal intensified and I surmised that a flat tire (or something similar) wasn’t stopping a traveler on Piney Creek road. My quick move to open the window to peer into the dark evening was too late. Whoever was obliviously running a wheel to the rim was past our farm, but the sound was still here. The heifers stampeded out o...
The first drops of rain on Monday forenoon, Dec. 31, splashed into my face when I was biking home with a box full of groceries. I was thankful to be home before the showers poured down but not surprised that it rained. It only seemed right for the last day of 2018 to have rain. Since then the new year has been trying to buck the trend and bring us sunshine, but it seems hard to accomplish. Mud still prevails as do the mild temperatures. But "I care not today what the morrow may bring, if shadow...
If we imagine the Old Year as a person, he has only a day, a little bit more, till his life is over. His last breath is imminent, meaning that it is ready to take place, with death hanging threateningly over his head. Then he’ll be gone forever, irretrievable. I imagine him wearing boots, muddy ones, that is. Although he is old and has white hair, his steps are not slower. Sometimes the Old Year is portrayed as stooped and using a cane, but I question that imagination. Like the tick tock of t...
After a day filled to the brim, an early bedtime would be tempting but hopefully I can stay awake until I finished my little letter. Although Christmas hasn’t been here yet, our little family celebrated it at our house today. Our middle daughter and her family went with us to Piney Creek church with Reeses and the buggy. Back in my kitchen at noon the potatoes waited, covered with a sleeping bag, hot and ready for mashing with butter and hot milk. There was plenty of food for the 25 people (...
"Consecrate me now to thy service, Lord, by the pow'r of grace divine; Let my soul look up with a steadfast hope, and my will be lost in Thine. Draw me nearer, nearer, blessed Lord, To the cross where thou hast died; Draw me nearer, nearer, nearer, blessed Lord, To thy precious bleeding side." – I sang as I washed dishes. "What does consecrate mean?" came the question. "Well, I think it's like harnessing one to some work with a little ceremony to mark it," I answered. But I ran for my d...
The book I’m reading these days used to be on my mother’s book shelf and was written by Willa Cather in 1918. “My Antonia” is the story of an immigrant farm girl triumphing over hardship in pioneer Nebraska. Willa’s vivid descriptions help me envision the state with the most farms, in a time before my own. Here is the beginning of Chapter VI. “Winter comes down savagely over a little town on the prairie. The wind that sweeps in from the open country strips away all the leafy screen that hide o...
