Moments and Memories: An Ode to Irises

Iris along the Zenith Road at sunset

Perhaps that great philosopher, Dr. Seuss, said it best:

Sometimes, you never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory. 

I had lots of moments in my Grandma Neelly's kitchen. Now, I wish I'd spent some of those moments asking Grandma her secrets for her homemade angel food cake or her Sunday dinner noodles. Too often as a kid, I was rolling my eyes at having to wash the aluminum foil and plastic bags to save for the next use. 

But I am sure my affinity for irises comes from Grandma Neelly. I made my Depression-era Grandma happy by standing at the sink and helping wash those "disposable" items. (She was a recycling advocate long before the "Recycle, Reuse, Reduce" message came in vogue.) But that kitchen window also offered a springtime view of purple irises. 

I sometimes accuse Randy of not listening, a common malady among husbands (and, if I'm honest, probably among wives, too.) 

 

 

But then he proves me wrong when he plants irises outside our front door and by the mailbox. This year, there are a few yellow irises nestled among the purple blooms.

This year, they have been prolific. Even though our wheat has struggled with the drought conditions, it seems the irises are thriving, despite the lack of rain.

Randy also watches the "secret garden" of irises along the Zenith Road with as much anticipation as I do, slowing down as we travel by, ready to see when the lavender-hued petals unfurl.

 

 

"My" Zenith irises are nestled under big cottonwood trees along the Zenith Road. It may be at an abandoned farmstead, though we're not sure.

This year must be a good year for the irises. Or I must have been at the right place at the right time to discover another "crop" of purple irises.

 

Just south of Stafford, the bed of irises brightens up an old building. I first saw them when I was taking Randy to Pratt to pick up the semi. I've been back a few times, trying to find a time when the blooms weren't swaying in the Kansas wind and when the light was right.

The fragile purple petals are a contrast against the weathered, rough wood.

 

I'm not sure who they belong to, but I figured I could beg forgiveness for trespassing. And nobody seemed to care except a barking dog.

Even though I may sometimes feel like I'm "too busy" to stop and smell the roses (as the saying goes) - or to stop and appreciate the irises, it's always turns out to be worth the pause.

 

It doesn't have to be

the (blue) iris,

it could be weeds in a vacant lot,

or a few small stones;

just pay attention

then patch a few words together

and don't try to make them elaborate,

this isn't a contest but the doorway into thanks,

and a silence in which another voice may speak.

From Mary Oliver's book of poems, Thirst

Looking on the Bright Side

April 21, 2022

We live in an instant gratification society. Information is literally at our fingertips. Wonder about something? Google it, and seconds later, the answer appears on your phone screen (or, at least, AN answer pops up on the screen.)

Forget those old cliches about stopping to smell the roses: We want to be down the road and on to the next thing at 55 MPH (or maybe faster). 

I was on my way home from meeting with three high school classmates. It was a beautiful spring evening at the park, and I was filled up from a brown bag supper and a healthy serving of good conversation.

But when I turned on to the Zenith Road, my way home was blocked by a train. And it was just sitting there. It was one of those days when I hadn't gotten my Wordle puzzle earlier in the day, so I had let it sit and marinate, so to speak. I hadn't taken time to come back to it, so I pulled out my phone and started contemplating five-letter words. 

But then, I noticed another five-letter word happening to my left: SHINE. The sunset was creating a free LIGHT show outside my driver's side window. The sunsets in recent days hadn't been anything spectacular. So this LIGHT show was a special TREAT. (I may have still been looking for five-letter words, at least subconsciously.)

I backed up, then pulled forward, then backed up again. (It was the Zenith Road, so there was no one behind me.)

I tried to position the beam of light through a gap in the elevator. It wasn't particularly successful, but it passed the time.

I drove down the lane for different angles. You can get a lot of different angles in 30 minutes, in case you were wondering. 

A string of locomotives eventually headed west, departing just like an old western movie cowboy into the sunset.

 

Surely this would be the end of my wait, I thought. I drove back to the Zenith Road. And then the locomotives came back toward me. And there it - and I - sat.

My camera's "eye" saw things more "pink" than my phone camera.

I finally decided it was time to drive a mile east and hope the train didn't stretch that far. (It was close, but the crossing was clear.)

The next day, my friend, Diana, posted a photo she had taken on her drive home, too, and I commented, along with posting a picture I'd taken from my spot at Zenith. She said, "We were hoping you would get the sun going down! It was a big red ball - beautiful! But the dang elevator was in your way!'

Diana's sunset photo posted to Facebook, taken from a car window

Yes, but it was beautiful from my angle, too. And I have a particular affinity for the Zenith elevator, since it's been such an integral part of our farming journey.

I know that trains aren't supposed to block a road for that long. I could get all "huffy" about it. But why let it ruin my good mood? It kind of went along with an email devotional I had saved:

A Time to Think

Flowers grow out of dark moments. 

 –Sister Mary Corita Kent, artist and educator

A Time to Act

Change your thoughts and change your life.

A Time to Pray

Dear God, help me always to see beyond my fears (and frustrations) to the beauty of Your creation.

It seems like a good philosophy for life.

 

No Hunting: Beauty Found

The sign said "No Hunting."

And, if you don't know they are there, it would be easy to miss the annual springtime visitors.

But because I look forward to the annual visit, I really didn't have to "hunt" to find my Zenith road flower garden.

 

For years, I've awaited the blooming of the irises at an old abandoned farmstead north of Zenith.

 

 By the middle of April, Randy was already keeping watch with me, too. I reminded him that May was usually the magical month.

And May it was again! With the news channels full of more coronavirus news, an evening visit to "my" secret garden was just the medicine I needed.

As you can see, my trusty companion went along, too. (That royal blue in the background is not a nattily-dressed deer. It's my wandering husband. Neither he or I realized he was in the shot that moment.)

Last year, the ground was marked with "For Sale" signs. Earlier this spring, a "SOLD" sign appeared on top of the real estate sign. We still don't know who the buyer is. But I am thankful for another year of appreciating the beautiful blooms.

(And to the new owner: No ground was harmed in the photographing of these irises, which I'd like to believe bloom for my enjoyment. But - true confessions - I did venture off the road and a few yards into the field.)

I love going to the spot as the sun is on its way down. It streaks across the dried CRP grasses in the background and contrasts with the deep green of the spring blooms.

The lights and shadows provide texture, as do the pieces of bark shed by the mighty trees who've born silent witness to the blooms for years.

We lived as newlyweds in a house just a mile north of Zenith. And, as I've shared before, I don't remember seeing the irises back then, even though they are less than a half mile away. I was speeding past them on my way to and from Hutchinson to work each day. That singular focus gave me tunnel vision, I suppose. At that point, I was likely gathering speed for the daily dash to The Hutchinson News offices. Or, after a long day away, I was ready to pull into the driveway and relax for a few hours before the merry-go-round began again the next day.

 

A trip to the Ninnescah pasture on Saturday afternoon included a detour to another of my secret gardens.

 Some of those blooms were only beginning to stretch out their petals for the spring show.

 The little caterpillar-like beard seemed to begin the metamorphosis into the beauty of spring.

Others were ready for their close-up.

While Covid-19 has interrupted our lives in ways we'd never dreamed just a few months ago, there may be a silver lining.

 

Or maybe the lining comes not in silver, but in the form of purple veining streaked like Crayola washable markers along paper-thin petals and the bright yellow beards of an old-fashioned flower.

And it comes with a realization to appreciate the little things. 

²⁷ “Consider how the lilies grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. ²⁸ If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you—you of little faith! ²⁹ And do not set your heart on what you will eat or drink; do not worry about it ... But seek his kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well.

Luke 12: 27-31

Bloom Where You're Planted

My secret garden isn't so secret anymore. And that's all right with me.

For the past few years, I've written about and shared photos of irises that bloom along the Zenith Road. That's the blacktop road that takes us part of the way home, so it's as familiar as the back of my hand.

They are just a hop, skip and a jump away from the co-op elevator at Zenith, where we haul our grain. (You can see the elevator on the horizon in the photo below.)

This year, one of my friends asked me in late April, "Are the irises blooming yet?" At the time, they weren't. But they are now. She grew up in the neighborhood, so she can claim them, too.

 

Since we discovered them blooming under the shadows of old cottonwoods, we've wondered who planted them. There's not a stone foundation there.

But Randy noticed some old pipe sticking out of the ground this year. So these purple blooms may have bordered a gate or walkway toward a long-forgotten farmstead.

The ground where they bloom is for sale. I hope the new buyer keeps them around.

These days, the irises are flanked by a CRP field, the dry, brown grasses of winter a sharp contrast to the brilliant colors and soft petals that form the old-fashioned spring flowers.

 

As we examined them more closely, we noticed several of the stems devoid of their blooms. They were likely food for the deer that flash in and out of the same trees and have been the source of more than one close call on our Zenith Road travels. 

Irises remind me of my Grandma Neelly, who had them in her backyard. You could see them from her kitchen window, where she cleaned up the dishes after poaching eggs for breakfast or serving Sunday's homemade chicken and noodles after church, followed by her light and sweet angel food cake. Seeing irises stirs up those memories as deftly as Grandma stirred up her rhubarb pies each spring.

There's another hidden patch of irises near the Ninnescah Pasture. With some poison oak and weeds camouflaging them, they aren't as pretty. And, just like with the Zenith irises, you have to know where to look.

As we left the pasture after our fishing trip last week, we drove by the small patch and found them blooming again.

They weren't the only "secret garden" we found on our way home. A field of canola bloomed vibrant yellow against an overcast blue sky.

The field is nestled at the end of a dead-end road where we had to turn left or right. Instead, we parked the pickup and trailer and walked up an old field road to get a close-up look. Beauty is all around us, there for the taking.

Nature gives us lots of reminders to bloom where you're planted.