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.

Peace Creek? Yes, Indeed!

Peace Creek: At first glance, it seemed so aptly named.

But then, as mama cows bellowed and their babies answered, there wasn't much time to enjoy the view. We were there to do a job. It was time to take the cattle off that pasture and transport the majority of them to their summer home-away-from-home, the Ninnescah Pasture.

This was taken this winter, but it shows the wooden bridge, even though it's not "dressed" in green for spring.

Our tires often clickety-clack over the wooden bridge atop Peace Creek on our country road. It becomes second nature as we travel in feed truck, car or 4-wheeler. As I hurry from place to place and back again, I sometimes don't take time to glance at the creek or the surroundings as they shift from season to season.

And, from the road, some of these serene portions of the pasture are hidden, enjoyed only by the beavers who build a dam and the cattle who graze there and find refreshment in its clear waters. 

I clicked a couple of photos, stopping only momentarily as I bounced over the rugged pasture on my 4-wheeler before I tucked the camera back in my pocket. I didn't want to have my pay docked. Oh wait! It can't be docked much more than zero, which is the going rate for this farmer's wife.

But, after the work was done, I requested my payment - a trip to the same hidden oasis during the golden hour and into sunset. This time, we took the 4-wheelers and chased the sunset instead of cattle.

A view like that? I'd say the pay was pretty good.

There's a reason that real photographers call the time just before sunset "the golden hour."

And, as I turned my attention toward the sunset, the light seemed to multiply like fireflies as it danced along the creek's calm surface.

Birds sang a goodnight song as they darted among the cattails and into the trees lining the banks.

 

The glass-like surface of the water was marred only momentarily by ripples caused by passing fish and frogs.

It was a beautiful end to a busy day. I am blessed beyond measure.

A view like that? It's priceless.

The Road Home

The road home is as familiar as the back of my hand. I've driven it thousands of times. Most times, it's at full-speed-ahead mode as I'm late to the next thing on my list. Sometimes, I'm moving at a snail's pace in a filled-to-the-brim wheat truck. Once in awhile, the shakes and rattles of a cattle trailer hitting the pavement form an unintended bass line to whatever is playing on the radio.

Early in our marriage, we lived in a house right on the Zenith Road. But in all those north and south trips, we've never noticed the irises until this year. I must give credit to my sharp-eyed farmer. He's the one who saw them first, and he earns major brownie points for sharing them with me. 

It was an added bonus that it was at the "golden hour," that time when real photographers say the light colors the world in magical ways.

The irises are a bit incongruous. Maybe they are at a site of a long-ago farmstead, but there is no falling down barn or cement foundation that gives us that clue. These days, they are flanked by a CRP field, the dry, brown grasses of winter a sharp contrast to the brilliant colors and soft petals that form the old-fashioned spring flowers. As we examined them more closely, we noticed several of the stems devoid of their blooms. They were likely food for the deer that flash in and out of the same trees and have been the source of more than one close call on our Zenith Road travels.

Irises remind me of my Grandma Neelly, who had them in her backyard. As I stood at her kitchen window, the purple blooms would make dishwashing less of a chore.

And I was blessed by memories colored purple.

The flower offered of itself
And eloquently spoke
Of God

In languages of rainbows
Perfumes
And secret silence...
~Phillip Pulfrey

 from Love, Abstraction and other Speculations

Seaching for Gold at Quivira: Wordless Wednesday

Coronado is said to have come to this part of the world to search for golden treasure.

According to legend, he didn't find it.

He must not have been looking to the heavens during a fall sunset.

The golden treasure is there for the taking.

(Photos were taken Sunday evening, October 19, 2014, at Quivira.)