Holiday Time

It's the fullness of the season...undeniable.  The warm smiles from those who love.  Moments to be savored and never forgotten. The very breath that takes breath away in a moment of sadness and happiness, comingled and spread around as if meant to drag a toe through the hope of tomorrow.
The holiday season, so swelled with family and love.  It's as if the love that surrounds us is that of  a sponge and they were all here to water us. That's the swelling.  That's the fullness.  A knowing that the absorption is time spent. 


Thanksgiving began the season with fresh festiveness of Oregon family and local love.  Abounding.  The love knew no limits--thankfulness that engulfed, carried us through to the Christmas celebration with our boys and girls.


Our Arizona duo arrived late on a Saturday night.  Tired, road warn and hungry, they found our new home with just a few directions.  Trevor said "when I saw the wagon, I knew this was it".  Rachel, an excellent co-pilot, welcomed with these open arms.  Their warm weather dog, Cowboy, immediately made friends with the two home puppies and his new found independence, evident.


The first item on the agenda:  to harvest a Christmas tree.  The hope was for snow.  The reality:  10 inches of snow on the ground and falling rain drops at the top of Etna Summit.  Without hesitation, we waded through the snow to find a beautiful evergreen for our first Christmas together in so many years. 


Decorating the tree was always a family affair. Lingering thoughts of the many Christmas' gone by. As they wrapped the tree with colorful lights, it was as if our celebration was being wrapped within the arms of the reason for the season.  The Christmas boxes, with more dust on top than ever before, were opened and explored.  Remember this one?  A most notable memory came from Trevor "I used to put these all in my mouth".  Not really a memory a mom wants to remember but certainly made me chuckle.  The string of beads, more than a handful.  Yes.  That is what he used to terrorize me with.  Still makes me chuckle.  Goes to show ya.  Not all memories are tender and warm.  Some are just darn hilarious. 

So it went.  Trevor and I dug through the box.  Discarding purposefully.  Choosing carefully.  Handing to Rachel.  As I watched our newest family member carefully select a spot for each ornament, I couldn't help but smile when she found a spot at the front of the tree for a special ornament that Sawyer had made so many years ago.  A gift, made at school, for his mom and dad.  A gift intended to hang on our Christmas tree for always.

With the tree duly decorated, the following days were full of continual preparation and the arrival of our Bend group.  As usual, Reuger lead the way into the house, happily yipping and running around.  The arrival of Tanner and Michelle made the holiday feel much more complete. 

Let the festivities begin.  The days were full, as were our tummies.  Wish lists, check check.  The need for an absorption of family, done.  Traditions we hold dear, celebrated.  Within new surroundings, familiar feelings, rekindled. 


It was truly a time of love and laughter.  Moments of a knowing as eyes touched and moistened.  A time when winning the touch football game didn't matter as it was about time spent and no broken bones.  It was a time of visiting, while piecing together the puzzle, learning new games and hanging out by the warmth of the living room fire.  As always, family and friends welcomed and appreciated.

The house is quiet.  The puzzle, unfinished, still sitting on the "puzzle board" on the dining room table.  The stockings and other Christmas decorations still seen.  However, the lack of bodies in our home cannot take away the fullness of this holiday season.  The "new normal" goes on. 

Thanks for coming!  You're the best!

As we say goodbye to another year, we know there is much more life needing to be celebrated! 

 

 

Lucy Webb

So many years ago, it seems.   A little boy had a dream.  I couldn't tell you exactly what it entailed but I'm thinking it included wide open spaces, green grass and black cattle dotting the horizon.  So when the opportunity arose to begin the process of fulfilling this dream, he took it.   Buying a schleppy calf hardly seemed like something dreams were made of but he forged ahead with the small investment.   The years have flown and many seasons later the dreams of our youngest son must be carried on by his ever willing parents.

Selling our home made us think twice about the reality of keeping these very fine bovine.   One cow turned into two and this year were both expectant mommas. But so far so good.  As the drought has been in full swing, feeding our small herd hay began early in the summer.  The blessings bestowed upon us were eye brow lifting.  Given the opportunity to take these expecting mommas to a place where drought was but a word affecting someone else, blessings overflowed.  The apple trees among the lush grass, were heavy with apples. The apples became a tool used to settle "Sawyer's Cow" (really her name) and "Yos" to the point of approachability.  Okay.  I realize we are talking about cows but the big momma cow has been skiddish for quite some time.  The dog days of summer in the pastures of a place our boy loved, were certainly good for their disposition. 

Sawyer's Cow calved recently. The very first day of it's life, my "fine figure of a man" was able to put his hands on this small, long legged sweetie.  Making sure her mouth was warm, he petted her with welcoming hands.  Welcome.  So glad to meet you!  Momma stood back and let this happen as if to silently approve of the attention.  Never in the five years of calving has she ever allowed us to get anywhere near her little ones.

With winter setting on we knew it was time to relocate our two plus one, one still on the way, herd to papa and grandma's for wintering.

All I can say is I'm sure God was with us when we gathered and hauled them.   Because new grass creates a need for vaccination in the cow world, we held them in a nearby corral for a couple of days so we could accomplish this needed task.  As we attended to their daily needs, their ears could be seen from across the field, peering over the board fences, expecting us.

On day three we put them through a test.  Actually maybe we were being tested.  Tested for knowledge and emotional stability to run them through the chute and vaccinate.  Working cattle has been a way of life for both my fine figure of a man and myself off and on through our years.  Today we were officially adults.  Alone, together, in our task we knew we had to stay focused and push through. When the first pass didn't work out, we calmly recirculated them through the small pathway to the squeeze and got them the next time.  The highlight of our evening came when my sturdy man flipped the calf and checked gender.  The sweet little feminine face of our newest addition should have already told us what we confirmed at that moment.  We have another heifer.  Pleased. The dream continues and grows.

After running them across the road to their wide open spaces, we regrouped.  This would have been a moment when we would watched them find their favorite spot in the big field and linger.  But cold had overtaken us and home seemed appropriate. Our mission, complete.

 Knowing my man hadn't thought about a name for our new babe, I started communicating my thoughts.  Yes, he always loves that (LOL).  Because both cows have a name associated with their previous owner, it seemed natural that the new one follow suit.  Sawyer's middle name was Hayes.  And he could tell you the presidents in order because he loved memorizing facts.  So my thoughts were if it was a bull calf to name it after our 19th president of the United States, Rutherford B. Hayes, but calling him Rudy for short.  However, with this new information we needed a new name.  "What was Rutherford B. Hayes' wife's name?"  Turns out...her name was Lucy Webb. So there ya go.  Welcome little Lucy Webb!

Happy Birthday~

Happy.  It would indicate great joy.

 Elation.  Birthday.  

The day of birth into this world.  Right?  

The indication of celebration.  Gifts.   Cake.  Candles. Singing perhaps.  

It all fits.  

But what do you do when the birthday doesn't signify one year older.  

When the birthday is simply a memory of the one celebrated.

"The plan" wasn't all I thought it would be.  Maybe it was a half hearted way of patching together a day to make it look doable.   So we worked because it seemed right.  Our lunch was at a place marked acceptable and maybe even fun for our loved one.   Sipping coke in the parking lot seemed natural.  The haphazard dinner plans were warm and fuzzy.  Even the quietness of our new home seems to have taken on a whole new feel.

The words of family and those who loved him are like a cloak of sweetness.  Covering with the warmth of love and prayers.

Today presented itself with a unique opportunity.  Maybe today was the day Sawyer asked God to give me a special gift.  Perhaps.  To give me a taste of why I am on this earth.  To remind me that heaven awaits and I need to bring others with me.  And so it went...given the opportunity to witness His love.  That was the gift on this special day.   This was the gift that replaced the "happy birthday Sawyer" gift I usually buy for myself.

He really was a wonderful child.  Why?  I guess it's not a question I spend a lot of time asking.  The memories.  They are sweet and ones I'm so happy to have.   Do I miss him?  Every day.  Always and forever. Happy Birthday my sweet boy!  Till we meet again!💜

Reflection On High

Darkness covered the morning on this early Saturday.  We left the warmth of our home and set out to meet the hunting crew.  The roads and mountains, finally open after the long months of closure due to the brash of forest fires.

The destination.  One of our most favorite spots.  One of tall timber, steep mountain faces and an abundance of mulch from years of growth and the cleaning of trees that comes with each season.

The extra quiet morning brought an awareness of noise within the forest.  The chirping of the birds.  The scurrying of the chipmunks.  Errant patches of snow held promise for winter weather.  The fresh moisture in the air and the coating of the vegetation from the recent rain soaked these undeterred hunters.  The fog, settling amongst the trees, hindering visibility in its usual patchiness.

Being in the high mountains sings to my soul and brings thoughts of reflection and spiritualness.  The debris that covers the forest floor reminds me of the cleaning of our souls.  The tree, standing so erect and true has no use for the occasional dead needles and branches.  As this shedding of these living trees gives way to a healthier tree so it is with our own baggage that is so desperately unnecessary to tote.   But as the debris lands on the ground, over time it becomes mulch for that tree, so our own sordidness gives us a mulch to grow and stand tall in Christ if we chose to let Him use it.  Further, the process can lend itself as fertilizer that can be used to help others.

So while the day was about the heart of the hunted, I love it when the clean, fresh mountain air acts as a filter for feelings that arise. The stillness of these high mountain places works as a healing salve on the deep crevices of my sorrow.

The Caring

When the enemy rails against the very goodness of your soul. When the grasp you thought was firm is shaken loose.  When your teeth rattle and feel like the jarring is tearing them apart. That's when a whisper.  Just a whisper of hope in the name of Jesus is uttered.

The charge was not caring.  Not caring if the pain was too much.  Not caring if the journey makes for weary bones. Made me stop for sure.  Did I care?  Did I care that the depths of her soul were ripping.  Did I care that the depth of her pain seemed unreachable?  At what cost does a person lend their own selves to the assistance of others. At which point do we protect and guard our souls against the pain others are feeling?

It's risky. The caring for others.  The risk of injury.  Injury to the soul.

Dealing with injured souls requires insite.  Insite that at times comes from the depths of your own journey.  Your own pain.  Comes in broken prayers when the unseen pain brings all sensory to the skin in a mass of feeling pushing it's way to get out by any avenue possible.

But He sees all. No detail left undone.  The teacher close by. Cell service where there should be none.  A cry for help from the professional equipped to assist--heard.  Those He sent by sheer "coincidence".  I know He holds my hand.  And when I stop and breathe deep I smell the sweetness of His aroma.  A hint of love, grace and mercy mixed with the tenderness of the one who has known me since the time I was fearfully and wonderfully made in His image.

So I'll stand upon the promises so explicitly laid out for us in His word.  Move forward and not be discouraged for He is with me.

The body is weary.  Oh so weary on this day but with a knowing that this too shall pass.

Hearts Rushed

It's that sort of a day that presses.  Presses through to the very inner part of the soul.  A day that says, don't leave me to my thoughts.  The wind is felt.  Passing through at a rate of speed too quick to comprehend.

He caught the door for me.  He rarely looks me in the eyes.  If he does, it's fleeting.  I asked him how he was doing.  "Good".  Standard answer.  That's what I asked him, if it was his standard answer.  He knew what I meant.  He agreed that it was indeed.  Our eyes met and I told him it was mine too.  The loss in his life is no doubt fresh.  I wondered if he has anyone he could talk to. Talk about how it really feels to be without. 

My "fine figure of a man" proposed a "coffee date" this morning.  Ya know.  Leave earlier than early and grab a coffee drink on the way to work.  His intentions were sweet.  He was hoping to start this day in a special way so as to help alleviate the sting.  Today was probably a sit on the couch, photo albums in hand, day.  Instead, we pushed through. Knowing that grieving seems to be easier when in full motion.  So as not to be sedentary with thoughts that overwhelm. 

We sat at the kitchen table that same evening. We had dished our tacos and there we sat.  For a moment, the sadness overwhelmed us.  The depth of our pain was shared, as were our tears.  For me, it was an unexpected anniversary of our "heart day".  The unexpectedness of the overwhelming feeling of loss rushed our hearts.  

We've learned so much.  We've learned that the ebb and flow of grief will never leave us.  The waves that wash the shore are at times gentle and lap at the soul in light motion.  We've learned that the habits we have during those days can help the days when the relentlessness of the pounding surf crashes our hearts over and over.  We've learned that talking about what we're feeling is painful yet in many ways acts as a cleansing agent.  We've learned to be patient and kind during these especially tough moments.  May sound crazy but I feel blessed that we learned on that anniversary date to cry together. 

A few days later, at work, I had a conversation with a young lady who lost her dad about a year ago.  The conversation was deep, encouraging and sweet.  This same polite, sad, look you in the eye fleetingly boy, was about to meet with her.  There we were, three people with loss so deeply embedded in our lives.  We quickly came to he conclusion that the journey is long but it is encouraging that there are others walking the same path. Others who know but say little.  And through a brief contact of the eyes, it is felt. And in that same moment I realized, again, that God puts people in our lives for a reason and the patchworkness of life may be unseen to the untrained heart but these divine moments are important.

Remember....

She remembered.  It had been over a week since she had been to school but she remembered.  As she approached my desk I looked up with a smile.  Because I remember too.  What I remember is not what she expected.  My memory takes me to a place of knowledge that all children are precious and need to be cherished.  A place where God's grace and mercies are new every morning.  A place where each day is a fresh start.

I remembered to tell her that I was happy to see her and so glad she was back.  I remembered to tell her that if she gets the feeling she needs to run she could come see me and I would do what I could to help.  She looked me square in the eyes.  Searching for truth. Truth that the person talking was genuine and trustworthy.  Her answer was confirmed with her words.  "I like your necklace" was all she had to say.

On a day full of remembrance, it's a good reminder.  Love often, laugh with the ones you love and keep a song in your heart. 

;

;

No More White

The soreness in my legs tells me they are getting stronger. This weekend a friend and I took advantage of the clear skies by going on a long bike ride.  She wanted to discuss the route.  I didn't really have a definite destination in mind.  Just ride, pedal, enjoy the fresh deep summer air and get tired.  Being physically tired is a craving fueled by the extra energy it creates.  It really makes no sense but it truly works.  When the sun went down on the weekend, my pedal miles made me smile.

Maybe those miles lended themselves in an attempt to sooth the soul.  Perhaps if the feet are busy, the heart forgets the day and the activity done by others.  Maybe.

On Saturday night, in Scott Valley style, we loaded up the dogs, Grandma and Papa and headed to Dotty's for an ice cream.  The intention, to take the Eastside Road and to see the big bucks we had been hearing so much about.   Thankfully they did not disappoint us.  There were big bucks, little bucks, doe and fawns.  In the clear evening air, they were mostly lounging in the alfalfa or grazing on the green goodness. 

Fast forward a week.  That's where we are.  The days seem to rush past with very little accomplished.  Seriously I am thinking a lot about Christmas.  Sounds odd perhaps but with both boys and our daughter-in-law and soon to be daughter-in-law coming home for the holidays, I know that with the way things go these days, I'd better be prepared.  It will be our first Christmas all together without our much loved boy and as Florence says "you gotta have a plan".  So as of today, my plan is to have a plan.

Labor Day Weekend.    Tanner and Michelle were visiting.  It was a great way to end the summer season.  Tanner, a groomsman, looked quite dapper in his suit on a smokey August evening.  The wedding couple, delightful with their smiles and "sticky eyes".  

Sunday was declared BCD day!  Michelle and Tanner were anxious to "Bake, Can, Dry".  With a five gallon haul from Grandad, we returned home to Can.  Dill pickles, hot peppers, dilly beans in a few different varieties of spice.  The summer score was up!  A lunch of hamburger, jalepenos and fresh moserella cheese sliders was hardily consumed between so many tasks.  A sighting of our "Afganistan" boy on FaceTime was a highlight.  The baking consisted of five loaves of zucchini bread and two scrumptious pizzas shared with Grandma and Papa.  We didn't accomplish "Dry" except to dry a few dishes and my eyes once in a while.

As all the mornings of this three day weekend went, our day started slowly.  Today was a day of less smoke and more sunshine.  A day of less activity.  A day of another farewell.  The "kids" left after a lunch on the town.  Hugs. I love you's and off they went.  As I know I've said before, "it's fun to spend time with these fun folk".

Last spring a girl came up to my desk.  She wanted to see the Principal.  While waiting, she asked me "what's the holiday you can't wear white after". I'm sure she had no idea what the look on my face meant.  Really.  I was trying not to break out in a chortling laugh.  "You mean Labor Day?"  I asked her.  That was exactly what she meant.  So when I put on my newly purchased white pants for the Labor Day Wedding, I couldn't help but remember this conversation and think that these light colored trousers would need to be put away for the season.   Then again, maybe not.  I've never been a fashion keeper. 

God Bless

As the smoke continues to be a part of our very breath, it occurred to me today that life just goes on.  The news is only the news for so long and then it gives way to new news.  Because everyone knows, old news is just that.  Thick smoke blankets our valley and cuts visibility to counts less than 100.  It permeates and causes coughing and hacking.  And life continues.  It may slow a day and cut down on activity but life still goes on. 

It's the way it is.  Might as well get used to it.  Some days the smoke lifts and gives a bit of relief while other days start out with this heaviness and mid-day the sky appears to give hope that the fires will someday end.

This past weekend my "fine figure of a man", our friend Suzie and I decided that Saturday night was an evening for adventure.  We loaded the dogs and headed for the local hamburger joint.  We didn't stay long as we headed "down river" to see what we could see.  The road was long, the conversation good but we didn't see what we intended to see.  Bill was camped on the mountain (a huntin' we will go) with his son and grandson.  We had intended to visit for a brief time while fulfilling our need for the high mountain air and dusty roads.  Maybe even hoping to get out of the smoke.

What we saw were multiple groups of hunter's camps and a fire just a couple of ridges over.  We explored unknown roads, chatted with a random hunter and survey'd the scene.  All in all, we arrived home a little tired and ready to be out of the pickup.  Jessie, our old blue healer, can attest to that as she headed for the brush upon arrival.  Poor thing, we hadn't even let her out of the pickup once.

The smoke never left us while we were on our journey.  It didn't stop us but perhaps it slowed our senses while giving us a constant reminder that things were just not quite right.

I couldn't help but remember a conversation I had with a friend of a friend after our loss.  She described her visit as having finally found the courage to come and see me.  As we sat, chatted and talked of our mutual loved one, I described my grieving as a forest fire. 

"It is like a very hot fire has come through the forest  --  devastating everything in its way. 

I can smell the hot, burning smoke in all the aftermath. 

The trees, charred beyond recognition, are stubs of coal."

 

That was a moment of realization that our loss was so big and so deep.   Realizing that the char was vast and not likely to recover all that quickly.  Being realistic in the knowing. 

 

In the very next breath, to this sweet young lady, I began to speak of the hope of the growth that eventually springs forth after a fire of great magnitude.  The sprout of grass or small tree, the deer finding its way back to the blackened forest in search of new life.  The birds of the sky circling around again, hoping the bugs are once again present.  Life.  It was a moment when life was on the forefront and the knowing was different.  All in the same breath. 

 

So as the news of the fires changes daily and interest wanes, there is hope that life will again spring forth in the charred forests of our beautiful world.  But as we wait, it is vital that joy be found in the little blessings of life.  God bless the firefighters and keep them safe.

Unsettled Skies

The smoke was just billowing as I crested the hill from work today.  There is no denying it.  This isn't going away very soon.  The feel of rain in the air was brief.  The smoke pushing toward the heavenlies, entertwined with the clouds while the sunshine shone through an opening.  It was a magnificent sight. 

When I drove in our driveway, I remembered my "fine figure of a man" saying I could park in the garage.  It was a welcoming sight and made me thankful.  Maybe I'm spoiled but there is nothing like a garaged car when winter comes.  My hubbie worked hard today and it was evident.

I think a lot about the view.  So I thought I'd share part of my special view.  On Sunday I rolled out of bed in time to grab a cup of coffee and head out to the back yard to enjoy the cool morning air.  About half way through my steamy goodness, I noticed a hummingbird low to the ground.  It was doing its thing about the bushes.  Soon it switched to the dogwood tree.  My interest peaked as to what it was up to because there are no blooms on the tree at this time.  So I watched.  What it did next was so sweet.  It was bathing between three leaves.  The water had come from the early morning sprinkling that is lavished on our backyard daily.  The hummingbird was enjoying the small puddling amongst the trio of not just one but multiple clusters of healthy, green leaves.  As I enjoyed the "filling of this vessel" moment, I thanked God for the sweetness he lavished upon me on this particularly tough Sunday morning.

The fair was on its last day.  It was one of those weeks when the activities of some of the most fine families around Siskiyou County get together and celebrate some of what this county is about.  Livestock and tradition.  Acutely aware of the day, schedule and activity of this special little county fair, there were many moments replayed and missed.  One day I'm sure we will go and watch and smell the memories with a smile on our faces. 

We have a couple of gray squirrels who live among our trees.  Today they were working together to gather the acorns.  First they had to get them out of the tree.  So in squirrel like fashion, they were knocking as many to the ground as possible in one afternoon.  I'm sure they intended on gathering when the time was right.  Foiled.  They did not factor in the "blow and go" that my "fine figure of a man" planned for the yard today.  I'm thinking that if the squirrels are gathering acorns early in August that God has a wet, cold Fall planned for us here in Scott Valley.  On a day like today I'm just going to hang on to that thought.

Motion is Lotion

The building of thunderheads was gradual but steady.  Half our week of vacation was gone before the fluffy white, unproductive clouds turned angry with wind and pelting rain.  At least that's how it was at our house.  Out of the North came the winds that rattled the blinds and as we scurried to close the windows, we laughed.  The clap of thunder let us know that the recent clouds weren't fooling around.  They intended to show their greatness.

Hence the fires.  The local smoke of summer becomes one with your very breath.  No escaping.  It's here to stay until a different act of God calms the blaze.  The sun, red.  The horizon visible at times.  The summer evenings transformed, hot smell of smoke and fire. 

It was a week of sisterhood.  At least one sister.  We arose in the am at no particular time, shared coffee in the great outdoors.  Talked about what the day would look like.  Our goal, if there was one -- to move.  Our 96 year old Granny always says "motion is lotion".  So we set our feet in motion upon the pedals of our bikes.  We saw beautiful views and a few deer.  We met people to talk with and yes, we sweated.  We were pretty serious.  Serious yes but not so much that we couldn't enjoy an ice cream at the local jolly cone.  Not so serious that we couldn't stop and visit and even share dinner with parents and friends.  The seriousness of life would skirt away at the most unexpected times with laughter on its tail.

Hoping to catch up with sister #1, we stopped mid day by Granny's.  It was a hot day but Granny was nice and cool in her big house.  We interrupted her mid day nap but she was happy to see us.  We toured her garden and yard before settling into a visit.

Generously, she filled a couple of bags with fresh veggies and invited us to eat from her strawberry patch.  In fine Granny fashion, she spoke of family and smiled her smirk when she didn't want to say what she was thinking.

 

She warned us to avoid the low flying clothes line as she motioned with her index finger what it could do to a person.  I stooped and thought of the many pieces of clothing it has held over the years.  I have always loved a clothes line.  I told my sister once, it's quiet at the clothes line because none of the kids want to go there.  So during our peak kid years, if she was at my house, I knew she would always hang the laundry in the great outdoors.  One, because it made the clothes smell good, two because she loved the view and three--it was indeed quiet.

 

The apple and pear trees at Granny's, loaded with fruit, amazed at the ability of these old trees to set on a harvest.

 

 

 

Going in Granny's back door, the entry shows the wear.  The wood, tattered with many nicks. The white handle, one of my favorite old things.  The door handle has been opened many more times than I can comprehend.  The generations.  The trips from the garden, woodpile, milking the cow.  Grandkids that have opened this handle with youthful quickness.

 

Our visit with Granny was sweet. 

Our visit with Carla was sweet.

Here's to sweet moments that turn into hours that make up a day. 

It's the thankfulness that is important.

Our week ended with Carla boarding a plane.  The things that remain are feelings of satisfaction from time spent together, the need to continue moving and yes, the dreaded smoke. 

 

Rich Days of Summer

Rich.  The rich days of summer.  Today was one of them. 

The sprinklers came on in usual fashion at 6:00 a.m.  There is a startle among the sheets at the sound of the air rushing from the system.  When water becomes airborne and the sound of the sprinklers fills the air, there is a settling.  Such a comforting sound in the early morning air.  A sound that means summer saturation and growth.  Growth that wouldn't be possible without the daily love of coolness.

We lingered at the breakfast table for only a bit.  We had plans.  Plans that included sweat and scenery.  Because, Carla's in the house.  Today was a day in the memory bank from "Camp Carla" where no one lingers too long in one spot, where the day is planned and fully executed.  Where memories are active and the smile doesn't fade. 

It was off to Hamlin Gulch where we began our trek.  Strava.  With the help of Strava we would find out how far our trusty bikes took us and all the other important information needed to be a good cyclist.  So with clean frames and unused helmets, we set out on an adventure.  There is no doubt that my biking skills need improvement but I felt very encouraged by the "catch up little tomato" attitude from my co-exercisers. 

It was an amazing morning and as we crossed over and headed back by way of Scarface Road, the view of the valley is just short of breathtaking.  So between the deep pants of this new rider, the view was once again on my mind.  So many beautiful places in this valley we call home.

The day proceeded with a quick trip to Fort Jones to the Gallery and the museum.  Home for a quick clean-up and off again.  The traffic was bunched up, indicating the possibility of road work on Forest Mountain.  Yep.  But it was further complicated by a fire on the top of the mountain.  Looked like the emergency vehicles were looking for a way to the top of that hill that my dad says contains "about a bucket full of dirt on the whole mountain". 

We headed south at Yreka.  Destination....McCloud.  Carla commented that she hadn't been in McCloud since she was in high school.  Was there where she showed her stud-li-ness in basketball with the box and one?  Could have been.  I'm pretty sure she did that more than once.

We checked out the mercantile in this small, sleepy town.  Christmas shopping.  Yeah.  I really was. 

We headed back to Yreka where my "fine figure of a man" had a hair cut.  We shopped a bit, visited a bit and had a good time with friends.  Our plan was to take Florence (you know, the lady with a plan) to dinner.  Treat her.  Love on her and see how she's doing. 

It was an evening of catching up.  How's the family?  Turns out Florence had been on a two week vacation.  Glacier National Park.  It was on her bucket list.  Made me smile just thinking about her and the things she wants to do before she joins her hubbie in heaven some day.  But for now, she's living life in wonderful fashion.  Filling her days with activities, puppy love and a 13 year old she adores.

The herd of ten bucks that crossed the road on our way home was a surely a treat. 

We stopped at one of our favorite spots in North Kidder Creek to say hello to some of our most favorite people.  Mom and Dad.  Dad was rototilling the garden because it needed to be done but soon came in to check the Giants game.  Mom was chillin' from her active day.  It was a nice end to a nice day. 

So after chatting with Trevor on Facetime, I think it's time to give this fine day a rest.  After all, tomorrow's another day.  And as our good friend Mr. Wilkins told us, "the sun rises every morning" and I'm thinking we need to be ready for it. 

The View

The summer heat lays upon an unrested soul when consecutive nights of still air waits.  The waiting.  It never goes away. 

It has been a couple of weeks since the big move.  The move that took us from the roots of Eastlick heritage to a three bedroom, two bath.  As if turning back the clock, we moved to a five acre piece with plenty of trees to obscure the view.  There's a new view.  Gone are the sweeping fields, the far away trees covering the vast hillside.  Gone is the never ending chatter of cattle.  Gone are the night sounds filled with frogs and coyotes.  My sister once told me that a yard is great but the view is really beyond the blossoms within the borders of the yard.  The view, certainly unsurpassed by none.

It was white when we moved in over eleven years ago.  The garage doors were broken down and quite dangerous.  In the overgrown yard, my "fine figure of a man" found a lawn mower unseen from the back door.  Granny had lived there.  After she got along in years, her priorities changed.  Her goals for the day seemed to be eat the things she enjoyed, stay warm and live in a smaller space. 

It was a grand ol' house in its day.  The large front room had matching green and brown furniture, a large fireplace and the ever favorite "mat" that was used by all for lounging.  The stories told in this family favorite room, were adventurous and never lacked.

Granny was less than 5 foot tall, enjoyed a good rodeo, grew a heck of a garden and loved. 

With mixed emotions, we spent quite a bit of time at the big house during our last week as owners of this vast property.  We watered, hosed off, walked through.  Seemed like it had been so long since this house was our home.  Our family grew in the space that was never small or crowded.  Family.  Many family get togethers were hosted within the boundaries of this ample property.  Family dinners and slumber parties were center in our lives.  The pinochle games were played in the front room while dinner was being cooked in the kitchen.  The house was filled with laughter and so much love.

Summer time donned nights on the deck and walking the pigs or heifer, watering the large garden and the even larger lawn and blooming goodness.  Walks down the lane were met with sweet smells, a mixture between summer heat, water and growing pasture.  There is a longing for those smells.  There is a yearning for the touch of family through the slow, warm summer days.

The "big house" was yellow in color when we moved out.  It had been greatly remodeled but still held the lingering stories in the big front room.  The kitchen, where Granny cooked many meals for many, was still producing many meals for many.  The yard had changed some over the years but the view had not.

So how do you ever match the ultimate view when life moves you along? 

Our new view is tall trees shading our home but if you look carefully beyond from the kitchen window, there is a stretch of Scott Valley that tells its own story.  There are fields of goodness being irrigated.  Intended for cattle of this great valley.  The sprinklers making the chew, chew sound as they intentionally moisten the ground.

The back yard, amazing.  Lush.  But beyond the borders of the finely manicured lawn area are the same mountains could see from Mugginsville.  Comforting.  Makes us know that we are still home and are still enjoying the view.

Celebrating Many Years

The left overs......

If the left overs from a long family weekend look this good, imagine what the original was like.

It was a family affair.  Camping.  Celebrating.  Cooking.  Eating.  Rodeo.  Did I say rodeo?



We were a little light in numbers.  Missing a few loved ones here and there.

In fine celebratory fashion we pitched tents, shared duties, stirred supper, created plenty of trash, watched movies by moonlight.  We "turned in" at night under the starry sky, snored, yawned as we woke in the early morning sun.  The stress of feeding the crowd was passed around as we all took turns as the preparer. 

The Open House was a large success with relatives and friends driving many miles to celebrate with this 60th wedding anniversary couple.  Gathered.  We all gathered.  Six daughters coming together to let these wonderful parents know that we appreciate.  Appreciate their commitment and longevity.  Appreciate the legacy handed down.  Appreciate the ability to take us as we are, to love unconditionally.  Appreciate their love for our own children and our one true God.

So you remember when I said "rodeo"?   There was a lot of hesitation in this small crowd.  Distrust?  "Gonna make me look foolish" hesitation.  But opening ceremonies came off without a hitch and everyone participated.  The rodeo. 

The intention of the silly fun was two fold.  Matthew 18:3(NIV) says:

And he said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become
like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven"

So in childlikeness, we played, laughed, competed and clapped for winners and losers because placing didn't matter.  Memories.  It's about memories and knowing we will speak of this event in the future.  Improvement?  Pretty sure we can improve upon the First Annual Lewis Rodeo.  Challenge.  Just throwing it out there.

 

 

 

When the rodeo event was concluded, red team vs. blue team faded as the visiting ensued and pictures from the day were viewed in life size manner against the house. 

Sunday morning was warm, really warm.  The breakfast, courtesy of the Waters' family--enjoyed.  Tents busted down, cars packed, and families preparing to depart.  The hardcore pinochle players finally called it a weekend.  Some satisfied, some not so much. 

My regret?  Why didn't we sing Happy Birthday to our big sister?  So here goes Wanda~

"Happy Birthday to You,

Happy Birthday to You,

Happy Birthday dear Wanda

Happy Birthday to you"

Sorry it's a day late and not in person but I know you can hear our wonderful serenading voices.  You are loved and cherished!

Another Lewis event in the books.  So thankful it was to celebrate a very happy event.  Love you Dad and Mom~

The Unspoken

The Flower Shop lady came in the front door with her grandson and a large vase of flowers.  She told me they were for me.  I'm sure I covered my heart with my right hand.  I know I winced.  "They're gonna make me cry, aren't they?"  She nodded in agreement.  We were both right.

The card read "You are often in our thoughts and prayers.  We just wanted to honor your son this week".  Love....  It's so nice to feel loved.

It was a tough week with the light at the end of the tunnel illuminating the metal chairs carefully set for celebration. 

The plan was in place.  Mrs. Wilkins told me "you gotta have a plan".

Each graduate held a string full of hope, love and sadness.  The remembrance represented with a color he loved.  As if coming full circle with their loss, they looked towards the mass of balloons as they were quickly airborne.  Their unspoken thoughts, still unspoken.

The words-formed in the cleft of my soul.  Unable to form at the tip of my tongue.  Those words stuck in my throat and faded like a sunset over Big Meadows.  What I wanted to say, unspoken.

What I felt was:

My son should have been on this stage tonight. 

He should have received awards that showed his talent, his love for learning. 

His grin should have beamed and made this momma's heart swell.

Sawyer should have been there.

And this is what I wanted to say:

The same God Sawyer loved and worshipped is the same God who has gotten me through each and every day since our loss. 

 

If you knew my son, you aren't likely to forget him.  Sawyer's ability to light up a room with just a smile will be missed forever. 

 

I thank the Lord that I have hope.  Hope for eternity and a knowing that our family will be together again in Heaven.

 

But instead, I decided that all my words were better left unspoken.  Or better yet, spoken by a tall, handsome man.  Tanner.  He was the man.  And yes, he covered the family through his well spoken way of representing.  Proud.  This momma's heart swelled.  Same emotion I thought I missed.

 

 



 

 

 

 

Barn Art

The sounds heard in the early summer morning air could possibly be the most precious on earth. 

• The chorus of calves calling to their mommas due to the separation that must happen in the weaning process. 
• The return call of the deeper momma voice like it comes from the depths of her soul. 
• The inconsistent chirp of birds in flight looking for that sunny spot to perch in anticipation of a busy day of grubbing food for their wee ones back in their carefully constructed nest. 
• The choral of the Ladies in exclamation that they have fulfilled their purpose and the cockiness of the rooster as he chimes in with great pride. 

 But mostly there is the stillness of the time of year when things automatically slow down because hurrying about makes no sense.  The hurriedness of seeking the warmth of home-foregone.  The coolness of the morning air, embraced for the time it lingers.  It's almost like Island Time. 

Last evening we were in the barn.  This is no ordinary barn.  It is old and it is large.  When you walk in the door, first instinct is to look up and make sure there isn't a large barn owl above, lying in wait to make you his next target.  Once you decide the coast is clear, the entrance opens to a whole new world.  The light that shines through the separations in the barn boards on the south side gives a glimpse of the scenery beyond the old. 



The construction of this merry ol' barn is told by the lack of hardware.  The lack of iron to hold it together.  Hand hewn.  There is a picture in my minds eye of horses bringing large timbers.  Skidded and molded for a perfect fit.

The many cows who have stood in the stanchions, waiting to be relieved of the heaviness of their utters.  At the mercy of the milker.  The hay gleaned from the fields and stacked to the beams.  There are many memories in this old barn.  Many generations of family who hold these memories close to the heart.



I recall a Easter Sunday when the rain came down in unforgiving sheets of coolness.  Because the tradition was hunting eggs in the calf pasture, we felt the need to regroup.  We headed for the barn.  The rain on the huge roof was loud and adventure began.  No one will forget the cat that was found.  It had gotten caught while scaling one of the tall walls in the interior.  We found the skeleton. 



Last night as we opened the barn door into the milking side, I noticed something never seen before in these shaded parts.  Barn Art. 

As if to tell a story, the pictures whisper truth.  Truth about much family and the silent echoing of the big barn that could tell more stories than Grampi Gene.



Thank you Bishop Family for being a part of this old barn's never ending history. 

Life is a Wash

In the early morning hours we stood shoulder to shoulder at the kitchen window.  With a knowing, we stood in silence.  At almost a mumble, we talked about what it will be like to close this chapter in our lives.  The financial piece of our life, coming around.  Full circle.  "Life is just a Wash" was my comment.  We looked at each other.  "Yep" seemed like an accurate statement.  Reflecting that you go out of this world with as much as you have upon arrival.  Now there's a wash. 

I've spent some time today pondering the statement. Is it true? Is it negative?    Is it heavy with emotion? I think about the rain as it washes, beginning in the clouds high above, cascading down, washing impurities from the air and off trees in a downward spiral.  All the pollen, washed.  All the leaves, cleaned to freshness.  Hoping for saturation and enjoying the brief but relentless rain.

The day, uneven in mood and even more unpredictable.  The happiness--seniors of the class of 2014, who have finished all their requirements, save the senior project day.  The hurriedness of those students who are still working toward the "goal" that is within reach.  The emotions of students with goals left on the table, frustration, with slumped shoulders. 

The rain.  It finally came.  The rain, bouncing on the cement slab out the back doors.  The metal roof, calling loudly to the gray skies above as if heavy with a thankful heart.  I follow a blog of a woman in Canada.  Today her blog read " Storms can come out of nowhere —- pain out of nowhere."  It seems as though there are days when the cloudless sky is meaningless.  When the sun can shine but the storm can rage.  Those are the days for much preparation.  Preparing for the storm comes from His word, His voice.  Easy?  Not even.  Necessary.  Most definitely.

"All sun can kill us and there are storms that bring the rains we need to survive."   Aaaarrrggg.  I'm still waiting for those results.  The thankfulness after the storm I can see.  The thankfulness for the storm.....that is going to take time.

The Deep

 

It was on my desk when I returned from an unexpected day off.  The rose, such a beautiful yellow.  Made me think of my mom because yellow roses are her favorite.  Made me think of my daughter-in-law because I wished I could send her a truck load of yellow goodness.  A yellow so bright ~ no lights needed, radiating from the inside out.

My friend.  We were talking.  Her burden was heavy, hard to tote around.  Peace.  The lack of peace was perturbing.  Something just didn't feel right.

 

So, where does lack of peace come from?  As I posed the question, I thought of my own journey.  So we decided that peace comes from the Lord and lack of peace does not. 

 

Exploring further....we agreed that you don't have to like everything to maintain peace.  The key is to trust.  Trust God when circumstances are contrary to your own heart.  A trust that surpasses all understanding.  A trust that gives peace when peace seems impossible. 

 

Maybe we redefined peace.

Redefined what we felt.

Through the ability to share.

 

The girl.  She wanted to say hi. She mostly looked sad but her smile oh so sweet.  A lot on her mind that she is told to rest.  I love those conversations that are quiet and peaceful.  Full of knowing.  Eyes questioning.  Questioning how a day is navigated.

A knowing that the missing of a friend is deep.

 

 

Do you Remember When.....

As I feel the chill of the Monday morning air, I fight the urge to start a warming fire.  The cottage is 65 degrees.  My brain tells me a spark, followed by warmth, is unnecessary I'm pretty sure my heart is looking for something to fill the empty space.  The space that housed tall bodies and silky long hair as recent as yesterday. 

It was a Easter Vacation filled with so much giving, taking and being.  With giving hands and feet my "fine figure of a man" and I volunteered at a ranch just a short distance from Bend.  For four days we "showed up".  There's no denying that this place plays a part of our healing through a long journey that seems to have no end.  The giving of our time when we scooped horse poop for hours and helped in gardens with the spring cleaning and summer preparation, was a time of reflection, stillness and fellowship.  Overlooking the "Sisters", in full view of the Cascades, the air, crisp with a full time breeze, seems central to our hearts.  The chatter of the new group of kids coming up the driveway in all their excitement was greeted with smiles from these volunteers.  Such peacefulness amongst the busyness of the day.

The time spent in Bend was two fold.  Spending time with Tanner and Michelle was delightful, fun and comforting -- as always.  Their hospitality comes from within and is genuinely given.  Always amazing to be embraced within our family walls and loved without borders. 

As quickly as the week began, the weekend was upon us.  Back to "the valley" for more family time.  We scooted into town just a mere 45 minutes before our Arizona boy and Rachel, the beautiful gal he brought for introducing.  He had plans to introduce her to the valley he calls home.  The valley, in all it's mountainous glory.  The valley, and all the people who mean so much to him.

Let the fun begin.

Tanner and Michelle left work early so they could begin the weekend in the light of day.  We all met at the Etna Brewery for a dinner out in the cool April air of our home town.  There's many folk to visit when eating at a local restaurant.  "How's your folks?" or "Whatcha been up to?" can be heard often in an effort to "catch up". 

It was a weekend of many suitcases, air mattresses and wall to wall family.  Even the large family next door wondered how we all fit here at Camp One Bathroom.  A bit crowded?  Probably.  Did anyone seem to mind?  Didn't seem like it.  Will we ever do it again?  I guess time will tell.

The Easter Egg hunt at Sawyer's Place was named "2nd Annual".  The day ~ perfect with just a hint of coolness in the partly cloudy sunshiny day. 

We took family pictures where familyness had been before.  Different this time with a hint of grown.  Grown by sheer possibility.    Grown through laughter and sadness, trials and abundance.  Grown because it is just supposed to happen that way.

The family makeup is changing.  We miss but we like.  We like because of the joy family brings.

 

 

 

Easter Sunday.  Just those two words bring images to mind.  Images of bright sunrises, dewy grounds, chocolate bunnies, sour gummy worms and the Hope that comes with His resurrection.  As all these images dovetail into our day, we change course and headed due North.  North to take Trevor and Rachel to the airport and bid sweet adu to our Bend couple.  But before we all part ways, we share a Easter meal.  Yep.  Pizza.  Just another memory to add to our "do you remember when" list. 

Thanks for the visit kids~  We love you more than ever!

Such a Process

The text read "you haven't blogged in a while".  Thoughtfully I looked at the message.  Knowing the insight.  The journey has been long.  Not always pretty.  Knowing, so well.

The morning after, she was there.  Throughout the week.  There.  She made sure the baton was passed before going home to get her family.  The pain she felt was unmeasurable.  The strength she drew from could only have been from our Maker.  Our God.  Our one true God. 

I would go into the kitchen, where she held her post, and fuss about.  Saying there was too much food and I would wonder who I could give it to.  We can't possibly eat this much food, I'd say.  So gracious.  She just let me fuss.  Then she'd feed the multitudes.  The people who needed us.  Who needed the warmth and strength from this house, from the only one who could give it.  God was found during this week long process.  He was present.

Her second text said "you process so much when you blog".  The quiet.  The unsaid much more alarming than many words.  I shook my head, just like there was someone in the room, listening.  Just like a knowing was present.  I know.  I actually thought "I know".  With chin to my chest I said a prayer that was understood by the only one who matters.  The healing that comes from writing and expressing must be done continuously.  Must continue. 

The last month has been busy.  Filled with many new memories.  Many events that now make up the past.  They are as follows:

Easter vacation.  It was always a fun vacation.  There were always a variety of plans.  Every year seemed a little different but there were always commonalities.  Trips to the coast were frequent.  Yard work came around every so often.  Baseball dominated a time or two.  We even got stuck in Hawaii once.  No matter the year or the event during this break from school and work, we were most always together.  The memories will always be cherished and never forgotten.

This week my "fine figure of a man" and I loaded up and headed for Bend, Oregon.  Our trip, two fold.  One we get to stay and spend time with our oldest and his terrific wife.  We can't forget to mention Reuger, the little pooch who gets so excited to see "Grandma and Grandpa".  So off we ventured to spend a few days within the snow capped Cascade Mountain range.  The views from this destination spot are pretty much unsurpassed by none.

There was a feeling of purpose.  Of having a purpose this year.  So we made plans to bless with working hands and feet.  The recipient...Crystal Peaks Youth Ranch.  This place, built upon a cinder pit, holds special meaning.  Within those reasons and probably the most powerful.  God has blessed us with friendships from mere ashes.  Ashes that will some day be a rose garden of long stemmed yellow goodness.  Ashes that will some day make sense.   That will some day make us leap for joy and once again validate that hope is in the Beholder. 

Today as we did volunteer work at the Ranch, the wind blew.  A day of volunteering is a satisfying feeling and  makes me think when my boy spent two weeks volunteering, helping others.  The camp, paid for through his own labor, was what he wanted to do that summer.  Returning home with a renewed sense of love for Jesus Christ and a zest for the future there was clarity.

Working hands, humble heart.  God loves them all!

 

 

The idea.  Born from the need to smell the high mountain air, to get a much needed stretch of the legs and enjoy friends on a Saturday evening.  They had a busy Saturday with life celebrations in two different ways.  One a memorial service and one a 70th wedding anniversary party.  Both lives, equally acknowledged.  Both families blessed.

Bill and Suzie showed up about 5 pm.  My "fine figure of a man" and I, groggy from our naps but eager for an adventure.  We left our cottage behind as we took Quartz Valley Road to Scott River Road to a favorite spot.  The truck was equipped with dinner and dogs.  A fine combination. 

As we neared our destination, it was evident that snow was in the air.  The chilly temperature and white flakes mocked our Aprilness.  It felt more like a January day for sure.  Undeterred, we took out on the BCT with Suzie in the lead.  She was ready for a good look of mountain views and rugged terrain.  We went as far as the visible trail could take us.  The mountainside did not disappoint these eager trail walkers.  The deepness of the colors, accented with the whispiness of the recently fallen snow was a treat for all.

 

 

Back at the pickup we headed off the hill with supper intentions.  BBQ'd chicken and potato salad.  The first picnic of the season.  The fire we gathered for was warm as we huddled and ate.

 

So, if I "blog" and it remains unpublished, is it still processing?