Peace: Now There's a Label I Can Embrace

I don't usually like labels. Even when reading Kinley a favorite book, I cringe a little when the little dog identifies "fat, thin, short and tall" as some of the words he knows.

But, sometimes, the labels just fit.
Peace Creek? Yes indeed.

I zoomed over the bridge on 4th Street near our home at 55 MPH. (Really, officer.) And I noticed the yellow wildflowers dressed for fall and nestled against the meandering creek banks.

So I went back the next day for a longer look.

Sometimes, it pays to slow down.

However, there's no slowing down scheduled for some weeks in life, and this is one of those. After a weekend of helping to wrangle 21-month-old and 20-month-old flower girls, it's a week packed full to the brim. (There will definitely be more of Kinley's and Hannah's debut as flower girls, but here's a quick preview. Such a fun weekend!)

Cousins Hannah & Kinley - Rehearsal for Uncle Drew & Aunt Kate's wedding

This morning, I have to pick up Randy at Miller Seed Farms at 8 AM. I have a noon meeting in Pratt for South Central Community Foundation. I have oodles to do before I serve a noon PEO luncheon tomorrow. And I have to take Randy back to Miller Seed Farms to pick up the truck filled with seed wheat. There will probably be some other trips to the field thrown into the mix for good measure.

Whew! I will try to keep "Peace" in my mind, even in the craziness.

Jack Frost

Wheat crop on November 18, 2010, after a heavy frost


The leaves fall

The wind blows
And farm country slowly changes
From summer cottons
Into its winter wools

Henry Beston, Northern Farm

There was no frost on the pumpkin, a condition some poet once eloquently wrote about. (I did look at the pumpkin I had near the front steps, but truly - and surprisingly - there was no frost.)

However, last Thursday, there was frost on plenty of other things here on the County Line. I did need my "winter wools" - or at least a heavy sweatshirt - when I went on my walk.

But the nippy air was worth it for the beauty of the heavy frost. Like icing on a birthday cake, the frost decorated weeds and gave them a festive gleam.

It transformed them from boring brown to crystals glimmering in the faded light of the sun, which was shy to arise on the crisp November morning.

Summer or fall ... fog or frost ... There's beauty to be found among the weeds.

I think there's a lesson there.

August 18, 2010