Snow Glow

The wonder of a single snowflake outweighs
 the wisdom of a million meteorologists.
–Sir Francis Bacon, philosopher

The meteorologists actually got the forecast right last week. We had between 5 and 5 1/2 inches of snow that fell February 2 and 3.

We are thankful for the moisture. Our thirsty wheat fields were glad to soak up a little moisture after a dry fall and winter. 

With the temperatures climbing this past weekend and as we begin the new week, the snow is fast disappearing. But Randy and I did get out for a snowy cruise last Friday afternoon. 

Neither of us was sorry that we didn't have to venture out to feed cattle or check for new babies when the wind chill was sub-zero last week. I do miss having the heifers and their new babies practically in my backyard. 

But we still have a liberal "visitation policy" in place with Tye and Todd, who are calving out the heifers and cows this year as our first piece of the retirement plan. (At least, I hope they don't cringe when they see our pickup coming.)

Baby calves may have been the cutest things to photograph. But there were other snowy stops on our sightseeing tour. 

Before we ever got out of the farmyard, we saw evidence of other creatures. Randy thinks these tracks were made by a rabbit, rather than our cats.

Snowdrifts made for interesting art installations. 

A stop at the Peace Creek Cemetery north of our house provided another backdrop for snowy landscapes.

This angel would have been shivering like me, had she not been made of stone ...

 ... or plastic.  

The little lamb was snuggled in a blanket of snow. When Jill was little, we always had to bring flowers at Memorial Day for the little lamb marking a child's grave.  

Peace Creek looked like an Andrew Wyeth painting ...

whether in color ...

... or in black and white.

True confessions: I changed it to black and white to avoid the dirty tinge to the snow on Peace Creek at the Zenith Road. With the wind whipping and our dry conditions, the snow looked like it could use a good spring cleaning. 

After this week, the snow will be just a memory.

Ice Breaker

"Now it's time for an ice breaker!" Usually the words are uttered by a perky individual at the front of a meeting room. About that time, my heart starts beating a little faster, my throat gets dry and I surreptitiously scan the room for the closest exit.

I'm not wild about playing games among family and friends. Put me in a room full of strangers, and "ice breaker" is akin to torture.

This photo was taken on Sunday. The bulk of them were taken on Monday.

This week, "ice breaker" took on a whole different meaning. After our weekend ice storm, the temperatures started warming. As the thermometer went up, the ice on the trees around the house started falling down onto the roof, sounding like artillery rounds. After reading about a massive tree limb going through a roof in Hutchinson, I figured we were in the middle of a combat zone.

The ice caused cancellations and reshuffled schedules. It made feeding cattle a more time-consuming job. It did a lousy job trimming trees. And it is still causing power outages across the state, though we were fortunate this time around. This "ice breaker" was about as fun as one of those meeting types I dread.

But it also created undeniable beauty. When I saw this ice-coated "3" in the weeds, I thought about the Count on Sesame Street.

Use a little imagination, and this icy weed looks ready for Valentine's Day. 

The red berries looked like holdovers from Christmas decorations. 

 This one looked like it could form lace on a dress or a necklace dripping with diamonds. 

The ice and the overcast day made everything monochromatic (though I helped this one along by making it black and white.)

After checking the bulls, I asked Randy if we could stop at the Peace Creek Cemetery to wrap up my morning-long photo foray.

I had been seeing ice-encased farm fences all morning, but this one was unique - the delicate ice contrasted against the rough brick wall. 

One of the finials on a gravestone had a little extra decoration.

These little angels provided a fitting reminder to the morning: It's good to find the joy, even when conditions are less than perfect.

That's an ice breaker that always applies.

Happy Birthday, Kansas!

You probably wouldn't think about having a birthday party in a cemetery. But as Kansas celebrates 153 years of statehood today, I am thinking about those pioneers who settled this land I now call home. On January 29, 1861, Kansas was admitted to the Union and became the 34th star on the American flag.

Peace Creek Cemetery is just a mile from Randy's boyhood home. Some of his ancestors rest in this quiet plot at the edge of a wheat field. Maybe a visitor or two who take the wrong road to Quivira National Wildlife Refuge might happen across it. But, for the most part, it's off the beaten track. The chilly silence may be broken by the growl of a tractor or a pickup traversing the sandy road. But most often, the sound is just the breeze through the trees that stirs the music of a wind chime near one of the graves.

As we drove by one January evening, I asked Randy to stop. I watched the sun sink into the horizon of the western sky, and I thought about those pioneers who came before me. They may have marveled at a similar sunset sky, the velvet blue lightened with pinks and yellows and oranges - the vibrant colors that come only on a cold January night.
There were probably fewer trees then, but the same sun and the moon still hung from the sky. These celestial bodies defined their days - probably more so than they do mine since they would have lit their homes with candles or kerosene lanterns on dark January nights.

I wonder about the people buried there, some as long ago as 1879. There are mothers and fathers, babies and toddlers, neighbors and friends.
Were they adventurers? Were they dreamers? Were they looking to improve life for themselves and their families? Under the Homestead Act, any person older than 21 could choose 160 acres of land on which to farm or ranch. If the homesteader could live and farm on the land for a period of five years, they could own it.

Clearing the land of the tall, tough prairie grass was back breaking work. They had to figure out what crops would grow, often a process of trial and error. Droughts, thunderstorms, bitter winters, prairie fires and grasshopper invasions stood in the way of fulfilling their hopes for a different way of life.
The dreams they planted on the Kansas prairie took root like the trees they planted to block their homesteads from the unrelenting wind.

And they worked hard. They planted churches and schools along with the winter wheat.
They raised their families. They lived and they died on the Kansas prairie.
And as we celebrate 153 years of statehood, I am thankful for my ancestors and those of my husband who had a vision and worked hard to provide a future for their children and their children's children and beyond.
Kansas is celebrating its birthday. But we got the gift.

This is updated from a 2012 blog post on Kim's County Line.