Illustrations for Living A Life

The first sunrise of summer took its own sweet time getting here. Though the newspaper listed 6:09 as the magic minute when night would officially surrender to day, there was not much to see as the witching hour arrived last Friday.

June 21, 2019, 6:09 AM

By 6:14, a tinge of pink colored the sky in a painter's pastel palette and teased that a sunrise was possible.

Still, the dew coated the air and the horizon with moisture. And unlike the windshield, the obscured view couldn't be wiped away with the flick of a switch.

By 6:23, the sun was starting to crease the stubborn cloud cover in the eastern sky. As I watched my farmer watch the sky, I remembered the words of poet Mary Oliver shared by a speaker at the annual church conference a few weeks ago:

Instructions for Living A Life:

Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it.

Perhaps this watercolor-hued sunrise over a corn field didn't have the drama of the full sun playing peekaboo with the horizon. But I was still glad to be there as the corn stalks rustled in the breeze and the birds greeted the morning with a "Wake up!" trill. The wispy, fast-moving clouds seemed to be playing tag with a jet that streaked across the newly awakened sky.

And we officially said "Hello!" to another day and the official start of summer. Perhaps we should not be surprised that summer began with cloud cover and dew. After a wet fall and spring, it should be a familiar guest.

The light splashed across the green field, kind of like a teenage girl dusting glitter on her cheeks before a high school dance. The morning just hinted at the heat that would have the thermometer climbing above 90 degrees on Friday.

The night before, June 20, I documented the final sunset of Spring 2019. Harvest is a slow-poke this year.

The golden hour was made for golden wheat.

But, in reality, the fields had quite a bit of green last Friday. Yesterday (June 24) my farmer told me the wheat was close to ready. The saturated fields are another story. 

The mosquitoes were my only companions as the day faded to darkness like the end of an old-time movie.

The seasons that came before Summer 2019 were like an obstinate toddler, throwing a temper tantrum and crying buckets of tears which filled our fields - and our basements - with its wrath.

 ***

The weekend brought even more moisture. Friday night, we got 0.30 inches of rain here at home but had as much as 2 inches on other farm ground.  Then, we got up Sunday morning to a rain gauge with 2.30 inches in it. Just two miles away, we had a total of 4 inches over the weekend, and one of our landlords dumped 4 inches out of his rain gauge several miles away, too.

Thankfully, these spectacular clouds over the Stafford golf course only produced a sprinkle of moisture on our Sunday evening excursion.

 

Those sprinkles through raindrops produced a rainbow. And, yes, I made Randy pull over so I could take a photo.

The leftover clouds created a spectacular sunset later Sunday evening.

Sunset over a CRP field

When I saw the red bleeding into the sky above the kitchen window, I grabbed my camera and drove down the road.

I sometimes watch those Beach Hunters episodes where people want a view of the water. We have lakefront property in our corn fields.

 I don't think that's what they have in mind.

I suppose there is always hope in a sunrise or sunset. 

Let me keep my mind on what matters ... 

which is mostly standing still 

and learning to be astonished.

Mary Oliver, Poet

A Reminder at Dawn

A whisper of color lightened the dawn sky as I filled my coffee cup. It reminded me of a Chris Tomlin song I'd heard on K-LOVE.

Morning, I see You in the sunrise every morning
It's like a picture that You've painted for me
A love letter in the sky

Nobody Loves Me Like You by Chris Tomlin

During Lent, Pastor Nate has been preaching a sermon series, Reconnecting with an Unhurried God. I admit it: Too often, I grab my cup of coffee and march down the stairs to my office to start the work day.

But yesterday morning, I took time to peruse God's "love letter in the sky." So I drove to the sunrise tree. Then, as the sky shifted for the grand reveal at sunrise, I stood in the cool breeze, with the birds singing, and the sky changing moment by moment. And I was again reminded of that call to an unhurried life during this season of Lent.

Last Sunday, Pastor Nate left us with this benediction:

Blessing for the Unhurried Life

May you notice creation around you

and how effortlessly it passes the time.

May you see the passing of time

as a friend, with all its fast and slow.

May you find delight

in the season of “right now.”

And may you be reacquainted each day

with an unhurried God

who is calling you to dive deeply into love.

Later in the morning, Randy and I walked down our dirt road. The fragrance of blooming shrubs decorating the ditches filled the air with fragrance.

Today, winter is set to give a final hurrah ... or what we hope is its last gasp.

So the blooms on the trees and the tender spring flowers will likely fall victim to the freezing temperatures that blasted into the state with a northern wind overnight.

You do not ask us to go back to some yesteryear,

but to take time to smell the roses, savor the twilight, bask in the sun.

We are your children, created to flourish along with all of creation.

From Reconnecting with an Unhurried God

So, I will enjoy the blossoms as they bloom.

 

And I'll celebrate the beauty that is there for the taking, if only I invest the time to see it.

It's a reminder to treasure the small blessings every day.

 Check out this song by Chris Tomlin.

Goodbye Winter, Hello Spring!

Winter left quietly on Tuesday night. The sky was not a vibrant kaleidoscope of color. Though at times, our winter season roared with wind, snow and rain, winter bid adieu unobtrusively. There was a slight, biting breeze, but it was more a wave goodbye than a hearty shout as it departed for another year.

Our roads still bear the mark of a wet fall and winter, and the waning rays of sunshine reflected in the stagnant water in the road by my sunrise tree. This time, I traveled beyond the tree and gazed toward the west. The sunrise tree witnessed the daylight's end and winter's surrender.

Toward the east, a moon rose above wispy clouds. I wish my camera could have captured its size and brilliance, even in the light of dusk.

Thirty minutes later, the light was bleeding from the sky, like a patient on one of the TV medical shows I like to watch. Winter was taking its last gasp. The power poles seemingly marched their way to the horizon as the sun gave up its hold for another day.

Goodbye, winter!

And, 12 hours later, it was hello spring!

 

 On Wednesday, the sunrise tree again stood vigil as pink tinged the blue of night.

At the silo, the calves and their mamas said hello to the first day of spring.

Without full sunshine and the warmth of the day, the calves weren't yet ready to romp and play. They were more curious about a pajama-clad human standing by the fence, I suppose.

At first, I thought the low-riding clouds would obscure our first spring sunrise. But the sun broke through, bringing a promise of a new day ... and a new season.

Gardeners and farmers alike turn the page from winter and spring with great anticipation. Their fingers practically itch to touch the soil and begin planting seeds. And that's what my farmer did on Wednesday. He planted oats. (More on that later.)

Despite the calendar, will winter have a final hurrah? Like that patient on the TV medical show, will it refuse to take its last breath and make a recovery, sending another snow or plummeting temperatures? Time will tell. For now, we celebrate spring's homecoming.

The Song That Nature Sings

On Palm Sunday, a foreign exchange student who's attending school at Stafford High School sang a song at a community worship service. Even though I accompanied soloists at the middle school for many years, it wasn't a song I'd heard before. But I loved it and have listened to several versions on YouTube since that night. Here is "The Song That Nature Sings," with photos I've taken this spring around The County Line.

"The Song That Nature Sings"

Words and music by Ruth Elaine Schram

Copyright 1997 BriLee Music Publishing Co.

In everything there is beauty

A hint of love

A form of grace

Though it may be hard to see

Even harder to believe

Everything in nature has its place.

And in everything, there is wonder

A mystery to be undone

New discoveries to find

Simple pleasures redesigned

All things old and new beneath the sun.

 

Have you ever chased the wind

Can you tell where it will go or where it's been?

 

If you could see the earth through its eyes

Do you think that it would come as a surprise

That in everything there is music

A melody, a bit of song

Though it may not meet your ear

If you tune your heart to hear

You will recognize and sing along

The song that nature sings.

The song that nature sings.

Here's one version of the song. There are others on YouTube.