Hope and Irises

 

I'm always running across quotes in books that I like. I may jot them down. Or I take a photo of them. Most of the time, I don't find a way to use them. It's kind of like those recipes I see on Facebook or in blogs that I print ... then promptly bury in a "might make someday pile" on my kitchen counter.

But this one from Charles Martin's book, The Last Exchange, recently rose to the surface again:

I've been some places where there is no hope, and yet somehow, it swims through the cracks. Rises to the surface. I've found hope staring me in the face when reason screamed I had none.. ... Not in all of human history has hope ever been laid to rest. When we breathe in, it's the stuff that expands our lungs. It's the reason we're not just dust. ... If you press me, love is what makes us who we are. Hope is how we express us. Hope is love with legs. 

from The Last Exchange by Charles Martin

 

 

Maybe blooming iris are like hope, too. Earlier this month, the bulbs were tightly closed. There was little hint of the blossom that would later unfurl from the tight, cocoon-shaped bulbs. 

 

 

But, like a butterfly breaking through a chrysalis and unfurling its wings, the iris' colorful petals also broke forth into a riot of purple framing our front doorstep and the mailbox. It's kind of like hope in the book quote, isn't it? The bloom breaks through the cracks and arrives at the surface - just like hope.

 

This year has seemed a particularly good year for iris. As I've mentioned before, they always remind me of my Grandma Neelly. She had purple iris outside her kitchen windows.  

 

She had a much better green thumb than I do. In fact, Randy is the reason we have anything growing in our yard and garden. But even if I don't carry her strong gardening gene, I still imagine her standing at the kitchen window, washing dishes and seeing the purple iris through the panes. They must have given her joy and hope...

just like seeing the iris surrounding our country road mailbox brings a smile as I arrive home.

And I feel the span across time connecting me to their old farm house and sweet memories of homemade noodles, green apple pie, a plastic candy dish, a manual typewriter, sugar-and-milk-laden coffee at breakfast time, Lassie and The Wonderful World of Disney with Grandpa Neelly, gathering eggs from the chicken house and so much more.

It's like a mental bouquet of love and hope. And even though the iris will soon be gone for the year, there remains the hope for next year ... and an invitation to say thank you.

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.

Praying, by Mary Oliver

How Can You Not See God?

 

I don't have to travel 2,150 miles to find beauty. It is literally in my own backyard.

After a month's worth of blog posts from our trip that took us to Missouri, Illinois, Kentucky and Indiana, it may seem that I can't find anything noteworthy in my own backyard. Nothing could be further from the truth. For the past 13-plus years, I've been taking photos and writing at Kim's County Line. 

The majority of those thousands of photos and millions of words have celebrated my little corner of the world on the Stafford/Reno County line in south central Kansas. This Friday, my photography will be featured at the Nora's Gathering at the Nora Larabee Memorial Library in Stafford.

The library will be open from 6 to 8 PM for viewing the photos, listening to piano music by Anita Meschberger and eating goodies from the Wheatland Cafe. Kids can make a Father's Day card. If you're local, ride your bike to the library for a chance to enter a prize drawing. (I will not be riding a bike 15 miles to town.)

The photo display will stay in place at the library all day on Monday, June 12, when Stafford hosts Bike Across Kansas. That day, come and enjoy the air-conditioning, view the photos and eat homemade pies and Johnny-Pop ice cream.

None of the photos I'm featuring in this particular blog post are in the library show. But a whole lot more are. (I had more than enough without adding these!) But they represent the philosophy I've taken as I've photographed our life here in south Central Kansas. Here's my artist statement for the show:

Seasons - Photos by Kim Fritzemeier

To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.

Ecclesiastes 3:1

 

Those who don't live in Kansas may think we live in a so-called "flyover state." Kansas is just that place to travel through to get to the mountains, right? 

But it's my contention that beauty is all around us - whether it's as big as a Kansas sky at sunrise or as small as a butterfly sipping nectar from a flower.

While I've always been interested in photography, I've been more committed to capturing the beauty around me since beginning a blog called Kim's County Line in 2010. My tagline for the blog is "Camera Clicks and Commentary from a Kansas Farm Wife." It gives me the opportunity to share some of the photos I take while living and farming along with my husband, Randy, on the Stafford/Reno County Line. 

 

Photography takes an instant out of time, altering life by holding it still.

Dorothea Lange

As I worked on matting photos and preparing for the show, I've sometimes listened to Sirius radio's The Message.

One of the songs that has captured my attention lately is "How Can You Not See?" sung by Leanna Crawford.

After I heard it a few times, I looked up all the lyrics. It says, in part:

I see the sun rise in the morning
And a million stars at night
I hear the birds: They can't stop singing hallelujah
I see His goodness when I fall down
And His grace that picks me up
Every day, I can't stop singing hallelujah.

How can you not see God
In every little thing, in every little moment?
How can you not feel loved?
How can you not? How can you not?
'Cause He's in the middle of
Every little thing and every little moment
How can you not see God?
How can you not? How can you not?

I see the sunset and I wonder
If He paints it just for me
Nobody else could make a world so beautiful
How could I question His love when it's everywhere I go
Wherever I look, I find another miracle ...

There are miracles all around us. They may not come with tongues of fire or a holy wind like we just heard about at Pentecost. Instead, they arrive in the miracle of everyday things like irises and bird nests. It's just a matter of opening our eyes to see.

Give the song a listen, if you'd like. 

I'd love to have you come and view my photos at the Nora Larabee Memorial Library. The stained glass window featuring the library's namesake is at its most beautiful in the evening as the setting sun enhances the colors.

The library board and committees, along with library staff Gerry Ann Hildebrand, Denise Dickson and Sandy Gere, are working hard to make the library one of THE places to be in Stafford! Check it out. (Pun intended!) Click HERE for a link to a blog post with lots more photos and information about our amazing library!

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. 

Detours: Secret Gardens

"The last job of the day is cleaning out the trailers," my farmer joked.

"It's not part of my job description," I answered quickly. "You don't pay me enough for that job!" (Even if he doubled my pay, 2 times 0 is still 0!)

The hired man had called in sick, so it was Randy and I who would get mamas and babies moved to the Ninnescah Pasture and then bulls deposited at various locations. I was already on the crew; it just shifted from a three-person job to a duo. 

(He got a lot of mileage from my refusal to clean out the trailer from his breakfast buddies at Joan's Cafe. However, some of them said their wives wouldn't have helped with the cattle to begin with, so I guess I did OK with the public opinion poll from small town Kansas.)

We got it done with no bodily harm to man, woman or beast, though we had a few moments of frustration when cattle didn't cooperate. By late afternoon, all of the bovines had their annual "change of address" - moving from lots and pastures closer to home to their summer abodes. 

And, as it turned out, the "last job of the day" did end up being a fragrant one. But it didn't involve manure. I may not have gotten a bouquet from my hubby for my efforts in the cattle pens. I got something better: He gave me time with two secret gardens.

A few years ago, we discovered two spots where purple irises grow. One is along a road near the Ninnescah pasture. The other spot is along the Zenith Road. Maybe they are at a sites of a long-ago farmsteads, but there is no falling down barn or cement foundation that give us any clues.

Was it home to someone long forgotten? Did this patch of purple mark a farmstead mailbox long ago? Did someone plant the bulbs, knowing that springtime would bring majestic purple blooms and smiles? They don't seem to belong to anyone, but I will gladly claim them. 

After we took the bulls to the Ninnescah, Randy stopped the pickup and let me take photos of the purple blooms.

Next stop was along the Zenith Road, where only one car had to go around the parked pickup and trailer during our "photo session."

Those blooms are purple, too, but they are a different variety - a paler, more translucent hue. For years, we raced by those blooms just off the Zenith Road and never saw them. Then three years ago, my sharp-eyed farmer saw them, and now we anxiously await the time when they are in full bloom.

Just like the other location, we don't know their history. Early in our marriage, we lived less than a half mile from their location, and I don't ever remember seeing them. They, too, were likely part of a long-ago farmstead. However, Randy grew up here and he doesn't ever remember a house at that location. They are nestled under old cottonwood trees.

These days, they 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. 

I took several photos while Randy waited patiently in the pickup that day.

Then, on the way to choir practice the next evening, I stopped again as the sun dropping toward the horizon gave golden-hour light to the scene.

It was just me and the mosquitoes that night.

Irises remind me of my Grandma Neelly, who had them in her backyard. Maybe that's why I love them so much.

The flower offered of itself
And eloquently spoke
Of God

In languages of rainbows
Perfumes
And secret silence...
~Phillip Pulfrey

 from Love, Abstraction and other Speculations

The Road Home

The road home is as familiar as the back of my hand. I've driven it thousands of times. Most times, it's at full-speed-ahead mode as I'm late to the next thing on my list. Sometimes, I'm moving at a snail's pace in a filled-to-the-brim wheat truck. Once in awhile, the shakes and rattles of a cattle trailer hitting the pavement form an unintended bass line to whatever is playing on the radio.

Early in our marriage, we lived in a house right on the Zenith Road. But in all those north and south trips, we've never noticed the irises until this year. I must give credit to my sharp-eyed farmer. He's the one who saw them first, and he earns major brownie points for sharing them with me. 

It was an added bonus that it was at the "golden hour," that time when real photographers say the light colors the world in magical ways.

The irises are a bit incongruous. Maybe they are at a site of a long-ago farmstead, but there is no falling down barn or cement foundation that gives us that clue. These days, they 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. As I stood at her kitchen window, the purple blooms would make dishwashing less of a chore.

And I was blessed by memories colored purple.

The flower offered of itself
And eloquently spoke
Of God

In languages of rainbows
Perfumes
And secret silence...
~Phillip Pulfrey

 from Love, Abstraction and other Speculations