May Flowers Without the April Showers

April showers bring May flowers.

But what happens if you don't get April showers? My lilacs decided to bloom anyway.

While my backyard lilacs have overcome the lack of moisture, our wheat crop is a different story. We did get a half inch of rain on Monday. The weather forecasters were saying that our area could receive 1.5 to 2 inches Wednesday and today. So far, that hasn't happened. 

The little bit of moisture has seemed to prod the wheat to begin to head out. It's a little late this year. For the week ending May 1, Kansas winter wheat jointed was 67%, behind 81% last year and 75% for the five-year average. The wheat headed was 10%, near 11% last year, and behind 17% average, according to USDA/NASS. In our area, I think it's further behind than that, but that's what the survey says.

We'll see what happens. My local correspondent at the Joan's Cafe says that more than one farmer has pulled out his crop insurance contract to see the terms. (Said correspondent has done the same.)

But, in the meantime, I'll enjoy my lilacs. They've been a favorite since childhood.

They're favorites for the bees ...

... and the butterflies, too.

The lilacs and spirea are familiar signs of spring.  

No wonder they are made-to-order for May Day!

I must admit the lack of rain has me worried. Unless we get appreciable rain today, I don't think the drought monitor map is going to improve. We are firmly in the "red" now (extreme drought).

But then I get reminders in things like email devotionals that remind me that God even cares about the flowers that are here today - and gone tomorrow.

Today’s Scripture

Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life? And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. 

--Matthew 5: 27-29 (NIV)

Prayer for the Week

Thank you, God, for sun and showers.
Thank you for each lovely flower.
Thank you for each stately tree.
Though all these, you speak to me.
—A Gardener’s Prayer

(I'm not a gardener, but I like the prayer anyway.)

 

Sign, Sign, Everywhere A Sign

 

Randy had a regular doctor's checkup not too long ago. We were escorted back to an exam room, and we ended up waiting quite awhile.

As usual, I had brought a book. I try not to be irritated by delays because I hope the doctor will spend the time needed for me, so why should I wish differently for another patient? If I have a book, I can pass the time and be happy. However, I also gawked at my surroundings.

There was a sign on the door, politely telling family members who were there during a loved one's appointment to keep their comments to a minimum. I didn't take a photo of that sign, though I did abide by the directive.

But I did pull out my camera to snap a shot of another sign that hung near the exam table:

10 WAYS TO LOVE

 

Listen 

without interrupting

Speak

without accusing

Give

without sparing

Pray

without ceasing

Answer 

without arguing

Share 

without pretending

Enjoy 

without complaint

Trust

without wavering

Forgive

without punishing

Promise

without forgetting

I don't always go to Randy's appointments, so I'm not sure how long the plaque had been a part of the room's decor. But I thought it was significant enough to take a photo. 

Was it hanging there before the Covid-19 pandemic? Before the last election? I don't know. But the sign seemed to have a message for me during this time when there are so many different voices, espousing so many different opinions, more often shouting than speaking conversationally.  

I could certainly hone those 10 ways to love. I do some of them better than others. I imagine most people do. 

These days, I sometimes censor myself, trying to avoid those uncomfortable situations. I have avoided posting photos to social media from K-State football games this fall, knowing there are people who will think we should not be in a stadium with friends, family and strangers.

  

Same goes for the Kansas State Fair, where we presided over a meeting ... but also enjoyed a grandstand show.

Before the vaccine was released, I even hesitated to share photos during the few times we gathered with our kids or granddaughters.

"What will people think?"

"Are they going to judge me?"

It made me think of the song from my teenage years:

Sign, sign, everywhere a sign
Blockin' out the scenery, breakin' my mind
Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?

The "signs" are confusing these days. Just like the Five Man Electric Band song said, "Do this." "Don't do that." We shake our heads (if not our fists) and shout, "Can't you read the sign?"

But the sign may seem like you're going past it at 75 miles an hour and viewing it through a dirty windshield. It's kind of blurry. There may not be a "right" answer. But it is very likely the answer IS "right" for you and your family. And that's OK.

 

Taken on our way home from the K-State game 10-2-2021. Most were blurry like this!

Signs don't have to just be ones that you can read. I've seen plenty of "signs" all around me as I continue my role as chief "go-fer" around here during wheat planting. Some of those signs don't make a lot of sense either. For the second fall in a row, I have a few lilac blooms on bushes that typically bloom in the spring. 

 Last year, I used a different analogy. Here's just a snippet from that blog post:

It's a mad, mad, mad, mad world. 

I realize that statement can be taken a variety of ways. It certainly seems plenty of people are "mad" in 2020. It's true whether we're talking about anger "mad" or chaos "mad" during this year that everyone is calling "unprecedented." From a pandemic to a hotly-debated election, there's plenty of madness to go around.

So I guess I wasn't surprised that our lilacs are going mad, too. Not a single one bloomed this past spring. We figured that a frost had nipped them in the bud - literally. 

However, last week as I returned to the farmstead after umpteen trips to the field as go-fer, I noticed a few purple blooms among the greenery.

Taken October 6, 2021, after my second trip to the wheat field that morning.

Not much has changed. People still seem mad. And one persistent purple bloom in the lilac bushes south of my driveway is bravely brightening my day as I drive in and out on yet another farm errand. 

Even in this world that often seems awfully dark and full of vitriol, there are prisms of light. 

 We just have to slow down and see it.

And even more important, share it ...

 To live and LOVE in new ways.

Diametrically Opposed

 

It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept, and celebrate those differences.

Andre Lorde

I love staying connected with people via Facebook. It's a way to interact with people from my past and present in a way that wouldn't be possible from a solitary dirt road in south central Kansas.

But a friend and I were talking on Tuesday about the contentiousness we also witness on Facebook. There are people who feel strongly about lots of things - whether it's the current occupant of the White House and his second in command (yay or nay)... Covid and vaccines (yay or nay) ... racism ... the thin blue line. The list - and the "sides" - go on and on.

Of course, it's the beauty of America that we can disagree - even with our own government. But my friend and I were lamenting the seeming inability to objectively listen to another's point of view ... and then perhaps think about something in a new way.

I don't understand the animosity often witnessed if a Facebook friend or acquaintance disagrees with a post - or with a commenter who has a different opinion than the one they just shared. Most often, I mutter an opinion under my breath and then scroll on by. But there are plenty of people who will share their opinion ...and share it loudly and clearly and often.

 

 

I thought about this inflexibility as I wandered around my farmhouse yard this week. On Monday afternoon, I ventured out to take photos of the blooms that punctuated our yard with springtime color.

 

 The purple and white lilacs were just beginning to bloom.

Most were still tightly holding onto their blooms in their buds, but a few were peeking out to enjoy the sunshine.

 

Our redbud tree lifted its "arms" toward the bright blue sky. 

Colorful tulips were poised to greet any guests who might arrive at our front door ... and give us joy in the meantime.

 

I knew that if the weather forecasters were right, the overnight hours might spell a premature end to the riot of spring color.

 

My pear trees loaded with bountiful blooms would likely be wearing a white "sweater" by morning. 

 

And they were.

 

But the beauty was still there. I had an 8:30 AM district church meeting via Zoom, so I hurried with my radio report and blog post so I could venture outside to snap a few photos before the snow melted away with the forecasted sunshine. 

 

 

There was plenty of beauty in the pre-snow and post-snow landscapes. (I can find the beauty as long as it didn't hurt the wheat crop either Tuesday or Wednesday morning with the dip of the thermometer below freezing.)

 

But, the snow-covered blooms were undeniably pretty - even if it caused me to lament a possible outcome for my pear crop and the wheat.

And it again made me think about looking at things from a different perspective. 

 

We don't get harmony when everybody sings the same note. Only notes that are different can harmonize. The same is true with people.

Steve Goodier

 

As an amateur musician, this quote rang true for me (so to speak). I love hearing harmony. When I'm singing along to the radio in the car, I often harmonize with the singer. A few weeks ago, during a Palm Sunday service, I led the congregational singing from the lectern. It had been a year since the community's ministerial alliance had gathered for a joint service. The wave of four-part harmony coming toward me from congregation members from several different churches singing "All Glory, Laud & Honor" literally gave me goosebumps. 

 

Those congregations don't have the same views about every aspect of theology and polity. But you sure couldn't tell that as we sang those familiar songs in harmony.

It's something for me to ponder. I know it's a simplistic analogy. But maybe it's a start.

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!