Sometimes it’s a struggle to sit at the computer and write, especially when it’s a beautiful day. My writer friends think I should be working at my writing, no matter the weather. My gardening friends see it differently. They think a day working inside is a waste.
I try to do both sometimes. When that happens there are too many weeds in my flower garden and not enough words on the page.
It’s a good thing some flowers bloom, with or without my help. Writing is different. If I don’t put words down and say what I want, no one else can do it for me–at least not exactly.
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.
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?
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.
2019–Things have changed over the years, but praying continues for good weather and a lot of other things, especially good health.
Today’s weather started with a chilly rain. When it stopped after lunch I decided it was a good time to take our dog Sunny for a walk.
Sunny loves our walks. He would love to run free, but I keep him close to me on his leash.
Our walk this Thursday went a little slow. The pace wasn’t because of Sunny wanting to sniff every blade of grass. This time it was my fault.
Every few feet I stopped to rescue a worm.
When I was a kid, Dad would take us outside after a rain to gather worms for fishing. Since I wasn’t going fishing, I became a worm rescuer.
As we walked, I stopped, picked up a worm that was heading across the road. Some had already perished as the blacktop dried, but the ones who were still wriggling on the gravel shoulder could be saved.
I saved about 30, sending them on to higher ground, away from the road.
My good deed for the day.
A couple of years ago, when I was also rescuing worms, I had the idea for my picture book, Up and Down Twins. One of the twins always looked down like I do when searching for worms. The other twin always looked up. Isn’t it odd where stories have their origins?