I Never Promised You A Rose Garden

At first, the yellow flowers were the ones that caught my eye as I delivered lunch to the field. But then, when I got out of the car, I realized that the white "flowers" along the ditch mimicked the white clouds in the sky. (Randy later told me that he thinks the white plants are ragweed. My eyes may like them, but my nose definitely doesn't.)

Yellow flowers wave and bob a greeting from the ditches and fence line as the Kansas wind blows more hot air than a know-it-all. I wonder if the yellow blooms were part of the prairie landscape as this area was settled? I imagine that a pioneer woman would be encouraged to see a splash of color in the sea of grasses. Maybe it would even make her think she could settle here.

In 35 years of living in the same area and traveling the same roads, you'd think I would have seen every indigenous wildflower. I suppose the timely rains throughout the summer have nourished some extra beauty. Or maybe it's just being at the right place at the right time. It's enough to send me to the Kansas Wildflower website to try and figure out these latest specimens by color. "The Color Purple" is more than a book and movie - at least on that site!

But, even with online resources, these purple beauties are still a mystery guest in my peripheral vision.

They are as pretty as any mixed bouquet.

Who needs a game of "Name That Tune" when you can play "Name that Wildflower!"

I guess I need an in-house botanist. If anyone can name the prairie wildflowers today, please share!

But wildflowers aren't the only beauties along the roadways. A milo field changing hues as it ripens toward harvest provided a beautiful "bouquet" against a stormy summer sky.

And, for just a moment, a glimpse of rainbow hue dipped toward the horizon, just above the colorful field.

Just like an ever-shifting sunset, the landscape changes colors hour by hour and day by day .,, sometimes, even minute by minute. And I'll appreciate God's handiwork - whether I know the flowers' names or not.

The Long Way Home

I took the long way home from Topeka on Saturday. As I said yesterday, three weeks makes a huge difference in a baby's life. The same can be said of the Flint Hills. Three weeks ago, the prairie was still "wearing" its drab, brown winter garb, with just a hint of green beginning to peak through. Many of the fields were freshly burned, and the blackened landscape held no hint of the springtime yet to come.

But, during this trip, the lush green grasses outside the car windows were just daring me to pull over for a closer look. Since I was by myself and didn't have a timetable on my way home, I decided to take a short detour to the Konza Prairie overlook just south of Manhattan on K-177.

I barely beat the rain, but the contrast between the vibrant green grasses and the heavy blue sky spoke of springtime in eastern Kansas. Honestly, I wasn't happy with the landscape photos I got. I should have just pulled off on some random road, but I didn't really want to get stuck in a downpour in unfamiliar territory.

While the Flint Hills are often described as a blanket of green, there's more to the picture than that.

Even in just a short time at the overlook, I saw colorful prairie flowers dotting the landscape.

The wind was whipping around from the west as the storm blew in, so capturing the flowers in focus was a bit of a challenge.

But it was worth the wind-whipped hair and flying skirt to capture these small beauties. 

 

I was going to have to drive through heavy rain at some point anyway. I might as well bolster my spirit with a little beauty first!

The skies had cleared by the time I reached the Lindsborg exit, so I decided to take another short detour. I had read that the city had corralled its Dala horses into one spot near the new convention center. The last time we were in Lindsborg, they were scattered throughout the downtown.

 

Unfortunately, a huge RV was parked right next to the display, so I didn't have many camera angle options. Still, it was a nice little diversion and a place to stretch my legs.

This music-themed Dala horse was my favorite - by a nose!

I also went into the Small World Gallery, but I didn't have a Jim Richardson sighting. But I did get to wander through the National Geographic Photographer's work on display. I chose to feel inspired rather than jealous.

Wild at Heart: Sunflower Version

Sometimes, you just have to STOP and appreciate the little things in life.

Like sunflowers.

A couple weeks ago, Kansas wildflowers was the subject for Snapshot Kansas, a Facebook photography group I'm in. Each week, there's a new photo challenge to try.

In the hustle and bustle of harvest, I didn't get many posted to the Facebook page, though the one above was a favorite that got lots of "likes."

Whether the sunflowers are in full bloom ...

or the beauty is just beginning to unfold ...

I appreciate the splashes of "sunshine" along the ditches as I head toward home.

I just need to open my eyes - like the sunflowers have!

Yesterday, I gave equal time to the non-sunflower wildflowers. Click here to see those favorites from my files.

Wild at Heart: Snapshot Kansas

It's easy to overlook the beauty in everyday life. If I just glance down the Zenith Road as I turn the corner toward home, it's a pretty-enough rural landscape. The road seems to stretch into the infinity as dirt road meets blue sky.

But, look a little closer, and the blue of the sky seems to have spilled over onto tiny erect day flowers, like an artist's palette has made dollops of blue in the ditches that line our country road.

Look even closer and each yellow center forms its own sun.

A couple of weeks ago, the Snapshot Kansas photography challenge was Kansas wildflowers. I was so busy with  wheat harvest that I didn't post many of my wildflower favorites.

But, I didn't have to dig very hard to come up with some of my favorite shots. In fact, I had so many that I'll feature a sunflower-themed post later. 

I may not be a gardener.

Thankfully, God is.

 

And I'm glad to recognize His handiwork.

 

I may not always know the name of the flower ...

or the weed, as the case may be.

Just like we humans, the wildflowers are designed to bloom where they are planted ...

or where they are scattered.

There's probably a lesson for us in that, too.

Success Is Relative

If you equate number of fish caught with the success of a fishing trip, we didn't have a whole lot of luck last Thursday evening.

The bend in the fishing pole didn't mean a big fish. Instead, the line was caught on a rock or some vegetation. Randy ended up breaking the pole. It was one that he'd purchased right after high school. I told him that he had definitely covered the cost per use for that pole and then some, if he'd been using it for 40 years.

He actually did have a big catfish on another line, but it thrashed itself free and went on down the Ninnescah River to live another day. I promise it's not just a fisherman's tale. I saw it, though I didn't get it captured on camera either.

So, if you think that a fishing trip is measured in fish, we don't have much to share.

But, if we measure the trip in beauty, now that's a whole other story.

And if I measure it in time spent with my best friend, it is indeed a treasure.

The rush of water on the spillway and bird calls provided the background music. The air was scented with a light perfume from blooming trees.

 

A rain shower teased us with a little bit of hope for moisture.Though it was over too soon, it provided diamond-studded accessories for prairie wildflowers and added that unmistakable springtime fragrance.

 

These delicate little flowers seemed to overcome the odds, growing from an earthen gash carved by runaway water long ago.

While Randy fished, I looked for hidden treasure, hiding in the prairie grasses.

Splashes of purplish-pink appeared amid branches ...

... and was hidden among green foliage.

Even cattails leftover from last season's crop provided whimsical decor on a perfectly cool spring evening.

Nature shares its splendor, if only we open our eyes and look closely.

I don't know the names of these prairie treasures. And it doesn't really matter. Sometimes, it's more important just to appreciate the view.

A few curious cattle came to check out what we were doing. The calf ran circles around its mama, frolicking in the cool of a springtime evening.

And the pasture's trio of silent sentinels waved goodbye as we again left for home. We left with no fish in our bucket. But we did not leave with empty hearts.