I love perennials. They come back every year, well mostly. Some just don’t work for me. I can’t get daisies to grow in my garden, yet they grow wild in our ditches. Daffodils never return to bloom for me no matter what I do, same with alliums. Good thing I do have others that don’t hate me.
It looked like my grandmother had alliums in her flower garden. She never told her neighbors what she grew. Of course, she told me. The big round heads were onions gone to seed.
This week my bridal wreath is blooming. Last year it didn’t do so well. Half of it seemed to be dead. This year it is full–I have to look close to see any of last years deadwood.
Bridal-wreath closeup eliminates any view of weeds.
Too bad it won’t bloom all summer long. Since it won’t, I will appreciate its beauty now.
Today Bob and I drove down to see our daughter Rachel and our grandchildren. Rachel reminded us that we hadn’t been there since last September. Of course, the reason was that her dad had been so sick. Now that things are better we are able to get around more–this was our farthest trip from home this year.
During our visit, we were entertained by two piano recitals.
Eli played first–notice the ball on the pianoArianna played second–usually you find a book in her hand. Eli’s a reader, too.
It was great to hear them play. Before lunch, we tackled a board game which also included Wyatt. Afterward, we talked all three grandchildren into taking a photo with us.
Susan Wyatt, Grandpa, Arianna, and Eli Rachel snapped us having fun.
It’s so nice to know we can travel, even if we did have to have an alarm on so Bob wouldn’t miss his chemo pills at 11. We will probably do some more visiting this summer…but maybe not outside of Wisconsin.
Bob is taking on some chores he hasn’t done in months. One chore that he won’t do again is collect chicken eggs. That’s one thing he is not volunteering to do again. It’s all up to me now.
Today, I only found one egg in the nests. Since I had to toss out chicken feed before leaving, I put the egg in my sweatshirt pocket–I should have taken it right to the house.
Something distracted me. Instead of tending to the egg, I started pulling weeds by the barn.
After working for half an hour, I felt something liquid on my upper leg. The egg had smashed in my pocket.
My next chore was to wash my sweatshirt.
When I told Bob about my mishap he smiled and said, “At least, it wasn’t me this time.”
Eggs that made it to the kitchen, including one supersized one.At least the double joker didn’t break in Susan’s pocket.
I will try to remember not to do this again, but I can’t guarantee I’ll always do the correct thing. Such is life.
During the early years of writing my column, if I didn’t have a subject idea, all I did was wait around a little bit. One of our kids was bound to do something either crazy, interesting, or cute. After they grew up and moved out I have less opportunity of using them–but I still do now and then.
These days when I’m scrounging around for an idea I look around at critters. They could be wild or domesticated. Our dog, Sunny often turns up in these writings. I think that happens because he’s the closest animal we are related to. Also, he’s handy to photograph, though sometimes he doesn’t want his picture taken and turns his head away.
Sunny enjoying a roll.
I try to take him for a walk every day and most times he starts our adventure by rolling down the ditch. Most times he looks cute, but once he rolled in something disgusting and smelly. That day ended with a quick scrub at home and eventually a trip to get a professional dog shampoo. Ugh!
I’m sure Sunny will appear here in the future, but for now, that’s my blog for the day.
The beginning of many years writing a weekly column – printed in the Farmer’s Friend and Rural Reporter.
What’s rotating besides crops?
January 17, 1980
It’s always silent.
Not a word is ever heard. It’s the heart of every man or woman concerned with
crops out in the field. It’s the farmer’s prayer.
My heavenly request
started in midwinter. I was trapped indoors with three children and a man
crazed with the cabin fever. The one who could end our imprisonment was reached
only through prayer.
“Oh, God, let
the sun warmed the hills and valleys. Let the green spring come. And let my
nervous husband sit once more on his tractor to till the soil…. His winter
pacing has a 10-foot path worn across the living room rug…. Amen.”
My prayer was answered… finally, spring arrived. A little late, in my opinion, but it arrived. Was it my fault that came as a wet, rainy spring? Did I forget to say I wanted a dry spring?
“P.S. God,
thank you for the glorious spring. I appreciated it very much. But I do have to
ask you to hold back the rain. My husband’s still in the house. Now that living
room path is 15 feet long…. Amen.”
Well, He heard my
prayer again in our crops found their way into the ground. And there they sat
high and dry…. I must have forgotten something again.
“It’s me again…. I’m sorry to bother you, but remember that rain you so graciously turned off? Well, it would be greatly appreciated if you could turn it back on again…. Please?”
This year my prayers were answered tenfold. The rain came and gave life to failing fields. But again, I didn’t want to stop. So humbly I approached the Almighty once more… after a while, the weather changed. The clouds remained, but they were dry. Only trouble now is the slight shiver threatening an early, killing frost.
“God, I know winter has to come. I’ll even welcome its white beauty and time. But would you mind holding the cold off until we get our crops out of the field…. I promise not to complain… much… about a long, cold winter, if only you let fall continue warm and dry a little longer…. Amen.” I’m not sure what the answer will be to this last prayer, yet. But I know it won’t be my last request.
Susan a budding author
2019–Things have changed over the years, but praying continues for good weather and a lot of other things, especially good health.
