Beauty Shot: In the Eye of the Beholder

Dried up grass isn't the first thing you think of when you think "beauty shot."

But not long ago, my friend, Debbie, asked if I had any photos of prairie grasses in the fall. I'd mailed her one of my photo cards for a special occasion, and she was curious. She said she loves driving in the countryside at this time of year, seeing the subtle beauty and colors of prairie grasses in autumn.

I take a lot of photos, but nothing immediately came to mind. I did find a few photos scattered through 10-plus years of blog posts. Some of my favorites were taken several years ago at Quivira National Wildlife Refuge, just a few miles from our house.

But having her mention this "favorite thing" had me looking at my surroundings a little more closely. On one of my many trips as "go-fer" to the field as we cut fall crops and planted our 2022 wheat crop, I noticed a bright blue sky punctuated with puffy clouds. It was nearing "golden hour" and the scene really was "golden" with the prairie grasses reaching toward the sky.

After my appointed duties at the field, I took time to try to capture the scene with my camera lens. 

A Time to Think

The miracle of gratitude is that it shifts your perception to such an extent that it changes the world you see.  

—Robert Holden, Ph.D

It seems society today is entranced by the shiny and new. But there's beauty at every age and stage, and this time of year gives us visual cues all around.

 

 

Those prairie grasses may be old and dried up, but they are beautiful, especially when kissed by a setting sun.

 

 

It's kind of like that shiny new penny compared to the one that's been circulated repeatedly - in a toddler's pocket, giving exact change at the drive-through or pushed into a gumball machine. And, in actuality, the old penny may be worth more than the new one - think Indian head penny, Lincoln wheat head penny, etc. (There's probably another analogy about the value of older people in society, but now that I'm on the downhill slide myself, that probably seems self-serving.)

 

There is intrinsic beauty in the mundane. The message was reinforced with an email devotional:

 

 

The trees are about to show you just how beautiful letting go can be.

 "Letting go ..." It's good for more than just leaves on trees. I am struggling with a situation in my own life, and it's hard to just let it go. I've lost more sleep over it than I should have. It happens more than I want to admit. It appears to be a lesson I need to keep learning.

Recently, an Omaha pastor posted something to his Facebook page about "letting go." As I mentioned in last Tuesday's blog post, it sometimes seems that a "theme" develops for my week. This week appears to be no exception. 

Rev. Craig Finnestad serves The Water's Edge UMChurch in Omaha. (It's the church where Jill & Eric belonged when they lived there.) Here was his list:

 

Photo & thoughts by the Rev. Craig Finnestad, The Water's Edge UMC, Omaha, NE

 

My Guideposts devotional had these words:

O God, give me the wisdom to know 

when to hold on and when to let go.

Kim's County Line file photo - Dillon Nature Center, Hutchinson, KS

 

A Time to Pray (From Guideposts)

Dear Lord, when I am focused on my problems, 

and most likely making mountains out of molehills, 

guide me to go outside, look upwards 

and have faith in Your omnipotence.

Amen.

Now ... just to live that.

Take Me Home, Country Roads

"Painting" filter from my camera

Come and find the quiet center

in the crowded life we lead,

find the room for hope to enter,

find the frame where we are freed:

clear the chaos and the clutter,

clear our eyes, that we can see

all the things that really matter,

be at peace, and simply be.
From a hymn/poem by Shirley Erena Murray
Words copyright 1992, 2005, Hope Publishing Company

Sometimes, going along for the ride is just the destination I need.

Randy wanted to drive down to the Ninnescah pasture to make sure his fence repairs were keeping the cows from exploring the old adage, "The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence."

Randy's favorite part of the trip was finding that the cattle were where they belong. My favorite part was a side trip on the way home through a tunnel of majestic old trees with the evening light playing hide and seek with the canopy of green.

 

I got out of the pickup and walked down the road, enjoying the glitter of light on century-old cottonwood trees and their octogenarian neighbors.

It's hard to capture on the camera, but a special filter shows the pinpoints of light streaming through the lush ceiling of green.

It reminded me of a hymn we sang not too long ago at church, which tells us to "clear the chaos and the clutter ... and simply be."

That's not a natural state for me with my to-do lists and expectations. There seems to be this stereotype of a laid-back lifestyle and attitude permeating farm country. But with weather concerns for the past year, employee problems and the farm economy, I'm not feeling that mellow feeling at the moment.

Instead, it feels more like trudging through the sand (or mud) and just trying to slog my way through it.

So stopping on top of the old wooden bridge at the Ninnescah and getting out to watch the water gently ruffle the grasses lining the banks was a quiet diversion.

So was looking up at the backlit green leaves against a blue and white puffy "quilt" of a sky.

I can find that quiet center in God's beautiful canvases painted in evening skies - if I just take the time to go out and look.

Sunset over my folks/brother's circle of corn - Pratt County

Silence is a friend who claims us,

cools the heat and slows the pace,

God it is who speaks and names us,

 knows our being, touches base,

making space within our thinking,

lifting shades to show the sun,

raising courage when we're shrinking,

finding scope for faith begun. ... 
More from the hymn/poem by Shirley Erena Murray

Taken in Pratt County, just north of my folks' house

An update: Our trip to the Ninnescah to check on the cattle last night was not as successful. It was still pretty, but four pair were on the wrong side of the fence. We got two back in, but we'll leave in a few minutes to try and shepherd the rest back to our pasture. 

Tomorrow, the National Master Farm Homemaker Guild convention begins in Manhattan. I'm in charge of the Hospitality Room, so my to-do-lists have their own lists (so to speak)! Here's hoping our visitors from Iowa, Kentucky and Colorado glimpse some of Kansas' beauty during their visit to the Sunflower State. 

Hills and Valleys

A song has played in an intermittent loop on my mental soundtrack for the past couple of weeks. It momentarily gets bumped to the background by a hymn we sing at church or a song on the actual radio dial.

But, if there's no music playing, it's a song that keeps resurfacing on my internal radio feed. It started on a trip to South Dakota.  Randy had gotten a phone call that his brother, Lyle, was in the hospital in Rapid City, so we hurriedly finished some obligations, then got in the car a couple of days later for the 12-hour trip.

We traveled across our Kansas plains, skirted the Nebraska sand hills and arrived on the plains of South Dakota. But as we got closer to Rapid City, the plains gave way to the Black Hills. It was dark by the time we arrived that first day, but I could still see the faint outline of hills as we drove west. And I first began thinking of Tauren Well's song, "Hills and Valleys," a song that I've heard quite a bit on K-LOVE, a contemporary Christian radio station.

Hills and Valleys

(Find all the lyrics at this link)

Find the story behind the song at this link

Sung by Tauren Wells

On the mountains I will bow my life to the One who set me there
In the valley I will lift my eyes to the One who sees me there
When I'm standing on the mountain I didn't get there on my own
When I'm walking through the valley I know I am not alone
You're God of the hills and valleys, hills and valleys
God of the hills and valleys
And I am not alone

The next few days, we spent most of our time in the hospital ICU, but we also went to Deadwood to retrieve a few things from Lyle's apartment.

  

Painted Lady butterflies danced and swirled in the flower gardens in front of his apartment building, reminding me of their "cousins" I'd left behind in Kansas.

There's beauty everywhere, even when your mind is swirling with other concerns. On the way back from Deadwood, we made a wrong turn and ended up in Wyoming.

But our "wrong" way transported us to the "right" place all along. We saw glimpses of a small stream as we drove. Finally, there was an extra-wide shoulder and we pulled off to explore.

Before I ever reached the clearing, there were more butterflies.

 

And then we stepped into the stillness of the pine trees. It was quiet. Just the rush of water flowing over a small waterfall hidden in the trees marred the silence. The water was enough to mask any sounds from the highway, though it wasn't busy anyway.

The tall pines and their shorter neighbors provided a maze of light and shadows.

Light and shadow ... our little oasis of beauty and pleasure in a sea of illness and shadow and uncertainty. And I remembered more of those lyrics ...

I've walked among the shadows
You wiped my tears away
And I've felt the pain of heartbreak
And I've seen the brighter days

And I've prayed prayers to Heaven
From my lowest place
And I have held Your blessings
God, You give and take away

No matter what I have, Your grace is enough
No matter where I am, I'm standing in Your love

Later, after Lyle was transferred by ambulance to a hospital in Montana, we drove to Mount Rushmore.

It was overcast, and the rain clouds blew in, causing pine needles to pummel us as they fell from the trees surrounding the monument.

And, again, the words from "Hills and Valleys" came to mind:

Father, You give and take away
Every joy and every pain
Through it all, You will remain
Over it all ...

And I will choose to say
Blessed be Your name
And I am not alone

Yesterday, we started planting wheat. My trip to Zenith to get a load of fertilizer was on the flat landscape of our Central Kansas home. There were no literal hills and valleys to traverse. But as tragedy unfolded on television screens and on radio stations yesterday from Las Vegas - and in real life for way too many people - those words again resonated.

And I am not alone.

Light and Shadows at Quivira ... (and elsewhere)

He has made everything beautiful in its time.

 Ecclesiastes 3:11

We were chasing butterflies at Quivira National Wildlife Refuge. It was just a bonus that I got to chase the light and shadows, too, as they danced across prairie grasses and goldenrod near the Kids' Fishing Pond.

Dried up grasses and weeds aren't the obvious choices for beauty shots. I can relate: I have to make myself be on the other side of the camera lens.

There is beauty everywhere - even in dried up grasses and grandmas ... especially when LIGHT is applied.

¹² Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”

John 8: 12 

 

A Time to Think

The simple act of stopping and looking at the beauty around us
 can be prayer.
 –Patricia Barrett, author

A Time to Act

Today notice the little things that make your day special.

A Time to Pray

Thank you Lord, that however small or seemingly insignificant our gifts,
You can weave them into Your glorious symphony.

Devotional in blue from Guideposts. Photos taken by me during the golden hour at Quivira National Wildlife Refuge.