Success Is Relative

If you equate number of fish caught with the success of a fishing trip, we didn't have a whole lot of luck last Thursday evening.

The bend in the fishing pole didn't mean a big fish. Instead, the line was caught on a rock or some vegetation. Randy ended up breaking the pole. It was one that he'd purchased right after high school. I told him that he had definitely covered the cost per use for that pole and then some, if he'd been using it for 40 years.

He actually did have a big catfish on another line, but it thrashed itself free and went on down the Ninnescah River to live another day. I promise it's not just a fisherman's tale. I saw it, though I didn't get it captured on camera either.

So, if you think that a fishing trip is measured in fish, we don't have much to share.

But, if we measure the trip in beauty, now that's a whole other story.

And if I measure it in time spent with my best friend, it is indeed a treasure.

The rush of water on the spillway and bird calls provided the background music. The air was scented with a light perfume from blooming trees.

 

A rain shower teased us with a little bit of hope for moisture.Though it was over too soon, it provided diamond-studded accessories for prairie wildflowers and added that unmistakable springtime fragrance.

 

These delicate little flowers seemed to overcome the odds, growing from an earthen gash carved by runaway water long ago.

While Randy fished, I looked for hidden treasure, hiding in the prairie grasses.

Splashes of purplish-pink appeared amid branches ...

... and was hidden among green foliage.

Even cattails leftover from last season's crop provided whimsical decor on a perfectly cool spring evening.

Nature shares its splendor, if only we open our eyes and look closely.

I don't know the names of these prairie treasures. And it doesn't really matter. Sometimes, it's more important just to appreciate the view.

A few curious cattle came to check out what we were doing. The calf ran circles around its mama, frolicking in the cool of a springtime evening.

And the pasture's trio of silent sentinels waved goodbye as we again left for home. We left with no fish in our bucket. But we did not leave with empty hearts.