A Final Patina

The boots sit there a life unto themselves. And until she moves them they will stand guard, at the door. Many fences have felt their weight. Livestock lifted their heads to familiar steps. And a little girl knew them as the ride across the dance floor. Character graces the leather. And a character they carried for many years. 

His boots came to mind when watching the old priest rubbing his worn black book. It had carried him through life, just like Jonas’ boots. Both mellowed by tears, scarred by loss, and forged by burdens few saw. All said and done, love, a passion for what they believed in, graced the leather, a final patina. 

Patience, Tenacity...and a Flock of Crows

Patience, that’s the best word to describe farming. Impatience, the second best word to describe farming. For days watching the stalks, grown from the golden seed, reach to the blue sky. Fickle is the rain, true is the sun, patient…and impatient is the farmer. They dance the waltz year after year. And despite how fast, or how slow, they return, year after year, filling life’s dance card. 

Dancing…that’s how the season ends and she’s home again this year…many wonder if she’ll come.

“Is she brave enough?” That’s what they are chirping at coffee each afternoon. 

Brave? Heck, it’s tenacity, that’s what gets her through, pure tenacity. It galls them, how she keeps going despite years of gossip.

I better be polishing my dress shoes, wouldn’t want to miss those birds eaten crow come Saturday night. 

Patience, tenacity, and a flock of crows…this should make for a good whirl on the dance floor.

Well Traveled

That road led everywhere and nowhere. Funny, how the tick of the clock changes your perspective. Dust, wind and the heat of an Indian summer becomes less of an irritation and more of a treasure when another season comes and you’re there to enjoy it.

This road has seen three of the McCabes come and go. 

A twister danced over it while time stood still. We all held our breath that day. 

How many vet calls have resulted in that Jeep or his old pickup kicking up a trail of country road smoke left hanging in the humid fall air, until well out of sight?

And it was the hardest road traveled the day she went home to the empty place.

  

Trips down this gravel path will continue. I just pray they will get easier with time. On goes the ticking of the clock…

Who am I to say

Matthew drives the same tractor his grandfather did. Fits him, just like the old man. He seems most at peace on that old thing. Like he’s almost conversing with him. I see he’s calling it a day, early. He saw the lights on in the distance. She’s surely there. But I don’t know if it’s where he needs to be. But who am I to say?

Blame the Squirrel

The apples are ripe and the kids are just as guilty as the squirrels…or birds, if they aren’t picked in a timely fashion, one of the culprits will have that tree cleaned of its fruit. 

Two of the biggest apple thieves used to sit on that branch to the left. She and Steven would spend the good part of an afternoon, picking, eating, talking, and joking. Like cinnamon and sugar. Not that one was sweeter than the other. Hardly.  

Cinnamon and sugar… back to the issue at hand. The apples are ready. Sauce, pie, bread, or right off the tree.  Yes,… right off the tree…I’ll just blame it on the squirrel.

They Still Bloom

He lost her in the blink of an eye. The flowers, over thirty years old in that same spot, still bloom. They sow themselves each fall, independent, determined…just like her. Some years they are thick, some years shy in their display. But always there…just like her. As they wave in the wind I think of her smile...her warmth. No matter how long she has been gone...the memories, sometimes heavy, sometimes a wisp on the late summer breeze, always return. 

Great Care Taken

Fresh out of the garden. Hannah prides herself on serving nothing but locally grown at the cafe. You wouldn’t dare suggest anything “out of the can”. The only thing more stubborn than that woman…I’ll have to think on that.