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

Lilacs, Bird Nests and May Day

 

To find the air and the water exhilarating

To be refreshed by a morning walk or an evening saunter

To be thrilled by the stars at night

To be elated over a bird's nest or a wildflower in spring.

These are some of the rewards of a simple life.

John Burroughs, American naturalist and essayist

May arrived on the coat-tails of April showers, causing the backyard lilacs to gleam with delicate dew. The lilacs' fragrance mingles with the aroma of raindrop-tinged earth on this May Day morning. It's as though the Earth is celebrating May Day with its basket overflowing.

Though it may not feel like spring with cooler-than-normal temperatures, the backyard flowers and shrubs are waking up from their winter's nap. American naturalist and essayist John Burroughs said it better than me:

Oh, spring is surely coming!

Her couriers fill the air. 
 

Each morn are new arrivals.

 Each night her ways prepare.
 

 I scent her fragrant garments. 

Her foot is on the stair.

John Burroughs, American naturalist and essayist

A bird's nest holds the promise of new life amid spring flowers.

A single robin's egg is a splash of blue in an old evergreen bordering our backyard fuel tanks.

And the bees buzz with excitement, gathering nectar from the lilac bushes.

The smell of moist earth and lilacs hung in the air

 like wisps of the past and hints of the future.

Margaret Miller

Today is May Day. When Jill and Brent were little, we made and delivered May baskets. They are traditionally filled with flowers and treats and left hanging on a friend's or neighbor's front doorknob. Once the basket is in place, the deliverer rings the doorbell and runs off to hide and watch the recipient's reaction.

Randy's folks lived just two miles north of us when Jill and Brent were small, and we often delivered a May basket to them. Their over-the-top reactions always thrilled my little cohorts. It wasn't long until Jill and Brent couldn't contain the "surprise" and burst out from the bushes to greet Grandma and Grandpa.

I suppose I have photos of these events ... somewhere in one of the tubs full of photos. But without a full-blown reconnaissance mission, I didn't locate one (though here's a cute one from that time period).

This year, the lilacs under the old windmill in our backyard are blooming in time for May Day. Some years, they are past their prime by May 1.

The lilacs are not the only nod to spring.

The spirea bush looks like miniature bridal bouquets in a sea of green.

Though we wouldn't have thought about needing rain after 15 inches fell in a month last fall, we are grateful for the 1.70 inches of moisture we've gotten this week. It should knock the dust down as we sort and move cows and calves this afternoon and tomorrow. And it's good on the corn that was just planted, too.

Happy May Day!

Hurry Up and Wait

Hurry up and wait.

That seems to be the theme around here. Randy spent part of his Sunday afternoon driving around and checking farm ground and pastures, trying to figure out where they could get in the field this week. Water covered half of northbound road to the Rattlesnake Pasture, and he was thinking he should have skipped the trip. But he made it without getting stuck, thankfully!

But, after another 0.40" of unexpected rain Monday morning, we are back to a holding pattern. Even with cooler-than-normal temperatures and excess moisture, the wheat is starting to turn. 

I hope it will hold out until after June 13. I am supposed to be our church's representative to the Great Plains annual conference of the United Methodist Church. It includes all the UMChurches in Kansas and Nebraska. Back when it was just the Kansas West conference, we met at the end of May. It's obvious that those planning the conference have no connection to rural Kansas or Nebraska or to rural life in general.

The rain may have again slowed down farm work. But it provided some pretty window dressing for our backyard blooms.

Do you like the HDR treatment above or the non-altered version below?

I kind of feel like the eye doctor, asking questions like that: Is this one better (HDR version of the lavender by the wash house) ...

... or do you like this one better?

Pretty either way, don't you think?

There's no question which of these "pictures" I like best. The new Kansas drought map, dated May 26, shows marked improvement on drought conditions in the state.

Here's the map from just a month ago:

It's been one of the wettest Mays on record. Wichita, with 11.77 inches, and Great Bend, with 10.36 inches, both tabulated the second wettest May, while Kanopolis Lake, Tribune and Colby had enough to make it the third wettest.

And while more raindrops on the forecast map make it hard to decide whether or not to put down our first cutting of alfalfa, it's been a long time since Kansas had so few counties affected by drought. 

When we compare it to March 2013, we definitely should count our blessings along with the raindrops.