Traditions

With Christmas over for this year, I appreciate again all of the times past and present spent with family.  Growing up, we always spent Christmas Eve with my Dad's family.  We went to Grandma and Grandpa's house for the evening; this included my Dad's two brothers and his sister and their families We did not gather for a meal on Christmas Eve, but Grandma baked sugar cookies and made candy, individually wrapped caramels, fudge, and peanut brittle, which she had spread out for all of us to enjoy.  My mother and aunts would bring other goodies including popcorn balls and caramel popcorn.  Grandchildren passed out gifts to each receipent. Cousins drew names to exchange gifts, all of the grandchildren and adults received a gift from our grandparents, and every family gave our grandparents a gift as well. Opening gifts happened silmultaneously with exclamations of delight. Having twenty-two people in Grandma and Grandpa's living room made for close quarters and a flurry of activity. The grandchildren began playing with their gifts and checking out what the cousins had gotten as the adults visited. Since most of us lived on the ranch, the trip home did not take much time. 

On Christmas day, we opened our family gifts in the morning after Dad had done chores.   Although Santa Claus was not a big deal at our house, there were stockings placed on the fireplace hearth filled with small items. We usually received one gift from our parents and one from each sibiling.  Christmas dinner happened again at Grandma and Grandpa's house.  The kids wore their new Christmas clothes and shared with each other about what they had gotten as gifts and adults visited.

 Occasionally, we had Christmas dinner with my mother's family, but since she was the youngest of seven children in a family who lost their mother when my mother was only three, there was not a strong sense of family gathering.  Mom's family was more spread out with her brothers living in a neighboring community thirty-five miles to the east and her three sisters all living in California.  I think if the sisters had been closer geographically, they might have organized family gatherings on special holidays.  The men were not so inclined.

Since my marriage, I have added my husband's family traditions, such as gathering on Christmas Eve at his parents home for dinner, opening gifts, and singing Christmas carols and Irish songs.  This year there were thrity-two for dinner.  Early in our marriage, Christmas day was spent at his grandparents with all of his dad's family--aunts, uncles and cousins for a gift exchange and dinner much like we had in my family.  Although there are some differences, the family gatherings were very similar.

When our children married, our daughter-in-law and now son-in-law have infused new traditions as well.  Both of our children live in New Mexico, and it is easier for us to travel to them, so we do not have Christmas at our house.  We open gifts one at a time starting with the youngest grandchild.  It is fun to see what each person receives and their reaction; although it is hard for the kids to wait their turn, especially for a two-year-old!

Marriage means sharing the holidays with two different families, but it also means adding new traditions and family members.  So each passing year enriches our holiday time with new in-laws or grandchildren.  These celebrations also make us appreciate the times that we have with our mothers and family members.  We remember fondly the times when our grandparents and fathers were also with us. Having family to share life with is a blessing and a privilege.  Praise God for his good gifts!

Memories on the Christmas Tree

Today we put up our Christmas tree.  Last year in the after-Christmas sales, I bought new strings of lights, so there were no frustrations with non-functioning bulbs, and a real Christmas tree skirt to put under the tree.  So the tree is up, fully lit, strung with a garland of looping gold beads, burgundy and green plaid ribbon rippling down from the crimped bow on the top, and ornaments.  These ornaments provide special memories of the richness of God's blessings in our life. 

Flat gold-plated ornaments from family travels bring memories of where we have been on vacations or our kids have traveled.  Jennifer's adventure to the Statue of Liberty, a family vacation at Mount Rushmore, and Dan and Becky's tour of Parker Ranch in Hawaii.   We picked up an ornament at the top of Pike's Peak after Jennifer hiked to the top and an one from our trip through the Colorado mountains from Quray.  Ornaments of The Liberty Bell from Philadelphia and Old Ironsides from Boston from trip of mine to present at a conference and Jennifer's trip with friends.  Others commemorate Jennifer's European trips such as the Neuenschwanstein Castle.

Angels provide fitting ornaments to celebrate Jesus' birth.   A crocheted lace angel, from a friend, glass angel heralding Christ's birth, a wooden angel, a whimsical angel, one with "Peace on Earth" from Kansas City while at the National FFA convention.  Crosses from family members remind us of Christ's sacrifice.  A Celtic cross from Ireland, a Jerusalem Cross made of olive wood from Israel.

Irish ornaments acknowledge the family heritage with Irish blessings scripted on the sides.  Ranch ornaments such as boots and barns  provide a more rustic reminder of daily life.  A Christmas tree ornament trimmed with sewing notions reminds me of teaching a niece to sew in the summers. Ornaments from former students bring memories of days in the classroom teaching.

Handmade ornaments tell stories of their own. Candy Canes and bells woven with stalks of wheat from friends in Kansas during our time there in vet practice.  Needlepoint scenes framed in gold from talented friends.  A folded ribbon pine cone, calico hearts trimmed with lace, satin balls topped with crocheted lace, bead candy canes and wreaths are all labors of love from friends and family members. A stained glass poinsettia, or bells from a missionary who stayed with us. Hand painted ornaments of little bears sledding and  one with bears riding a rocking horse painted by a friend of my mother's with the children's names painted on them.  Ornaments from the kids first Christmas with their names and dates.

A few ornaments are ones that have caught my eye while shopping at Christmas craft sales or in stores.  A small wooden church, a tiny straw hat decorated with ribbon and fruit, a crocheted snowflake.  Shopping with Jennifer at Crate and Barrel resulted in a beaded snowflake and a gold loop wire Christmas tree.  A chunky pine cone held by a little bear or a half walnut shell cradling a tiny baby Jesus. 

The tree glows with warmth and memories of special times, special friends and memorable events. so many gifts from the God of the Universe who sent his Son and the eternal gift of salvation.

Birds on the Prairie

I spent much of my time as a child on the ranch outdoors exploring.  The pastures and windbreak curving around the barn and house harbored many birds.  As an aspiring naturalist, I searched for nests in the trees and wrote down where I found them and how many eggs were in each.  Every several days I checked the nest to see if anything had hatched yet and watched the progress of the new little birds.  There were crude twig nests of turtle doves with several medium sized eggs. I loved their peaceful cooing in the evening and the quiet swoosh of their winged flight. Even their muted soft brown plumage was soothing.

   Meadowlarks created tight grass nests in in the weeds. Their  beautiful liquid melody brightened the mornings on the ranch as they sat on the fence post in the pasture tipping their beaks to the sky spilling notes through the air. The black V blazed on the Meadowlark breast against yellow and white demands your attention as well as their song.  Meadowlarks would hop from the low step up at the front door into the sprinkler going in the front yard grass enjoying cooling off in the warm summer days. Diminutive black Bob-O-Links with a white splashed wings flitted in the pastures lighting on the barbed wire fences. Like the Meadowlark, these little birds nested in the tall grasses along the fence rows.  Their small light blue eggs are smaller versions of a Robin's.  Killdeer birds skittered along the ground in the corrals or in the pastures calling "killdeer--killdeer." These mother birds would drop a wing assuming a wounded posture to draw an intruder's attention from her nest precariously placed on the ground.  It is not surprising that so many birds nested on the ground on the naturally treeless prairie.

 The barn offered protection and many prime spots to nest for sparrows. Because these birds made such a mess on the sale seats, windows and pens in the barn, Dad wanted to discourage their nesting there by pulling the nest down as they built them. However, with their expansive numbers there were always nests to find and see the baby birds which are rather unsightly with semi-transparent skin covering bulging sealed eyes and throbbing blood vessels. Their mouths would open wide expecting food from a source they could not see.  Swallows were other unwelcome guest who swabbed their muddy nests under the eaves of the barn or the garage.  Their swooping flight in the evening sunlight created artistic silhouettes at dusk. Blackbirds drove away other birds that we enjoyed having around, so we viewed them as rouge intruders as well.  Finally, the noisy magpies annoyed everyone from the barn yard cats to humans

 Majestic golden eagles hunted the prairie surrounding the ranch.  Grandpa would take us in the spring to see their large twig nests built on rocky bluffs.  Hawks built nests high on the older trees around Grandpa and Grandma's house.  There was no chance of seeing into these nests far out of our reach, plus the dive bombing hawks kept us at a safe distance.  These birds of prey hunted the numerous ground squirrels and mice scurrying through the grasses, doing us a favor in the process. 

Life on the ranch provided opportunity to see nature in action.  My curiosity led me to observe and learn about these birds and books from the local library offered pictures to help me identify different birds as well.  I certainly appreciate God's creativity.

Cats

The large sale barn provided refuge for multiple cats.  For some reason my dad liked white cats, and the first one I remember was Snowball, a short-haired white female with blue eyes.  One problem with white cats is tendency for their ears sunburn, especially in the winter with the harsh sun reflecting off the snow. So, poor Snowball had sunburned ears that peeled and curled slightly.  Even though she looked a little rough, she produced yearly litters of precious little white kittens.  Many of these kittens were long-haired with blue eyes, looking  just like the an idealized toy for a little girl.  Another memorable cat given to us by someone in town was Leonard.  Now Leonard's rather unremarkable muddled colors did not distinguish her, yes her-- Leonard had a litter of kittens before long and continued to procreate quite effectively. Puss, a huge sleek black tom cat, was a favorite of mine.  He would walk along the top board of the alley pens looking for attention and leap onto my shoulder as I walked by.  I learned to be ready for his hefty impact, though he never used his claws to secure his perch on me.  As a result of cats like Snowball, Leonard and Puss, thirty to forty cats took up residence in our barn.  These cats hunted and helped keep the rodent population at bay protecting the sacks of grain stored in the barn, but even with success in hunting, they mewed longingly as Dad milked the cow, waiting for their share in a pan once he finished.  Mom insisted that we take any table scraps to the barn so the cats weren't underfoot waiting on the steps of the house for their handout.

I throughly enjoyed these cats.  In the spring, finding the first litter of kittens signaled the beginning of a delightful season. Newborn kittens with eyes sealed closed would hiss at my unfamiliar scent in the beginning, but I played with these kittens so much their fear dissipated quickly.  Kittens' acrobatic antics provided me hours of entertainment.  They would spring straight up into the air to pounce on each other and roll and tumble in pretend fighting.  Wiggling my fingers in the hay would entice a kitten to crouch and tackle my fingers.  My hands and arms would be streaked with red scratches from their tiny razor-like claws as a result of their tussling with me in play as I lay in the hay. Playing with the kittens instead of getting my chores done in a timely manner was a continual temptation.  I must confess that once when I had instructions to fill the water pails for the show bulls at midday in the summer, I let my attention drift from my responsibility to these playful kittens, until I heard my dad's pickup drive into the yard. In desperation, I hastily filled the buckets half full to make it seem like I had followed instructions promptly. 

I still like cats and I have two, the only two in the litter, a calico and a tan tabby.  My husband remarks that they are an added  dimension, which is not necessarily a positive comment in his opinion because they do sharpen their claws on things they shouldn't, mess up stacks of papers and throw up on the carpet, but he tolerates them for my sake.  Although cats have a reputation for being aloof, my felines keep me company constantly; nearly anytime I sit down at least one is on my lap. I enjoy their company and they remind me of many hours of playing in the barn in my childhood.

Books

I love books.  When I was growing up my mom took us by the city library each week when we were in town for groceries, music lessons or other appointments.  I remember being enthralled with The Secret Garden or beautifully illustrated books of fairy tales.  Animal stories of horses, dogs, wolves or other creatures gave me insights into life from an animal's perspective.  Living on the ranch, I could easily imagine these tales of survival and adventure.  I could envision becoming a naturalist who observed and followed various animals in their secret world. Over time, I graduated to reading every Nancy Drew mystery on the shelves, delighting in her various capers. The monthly Scholastic book orders offered opportunity to have my own copies of books as well. I decided to get classics like War and Peace, Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre and others to read as a sixth grader. I read and enjoyed these books, but looking back I realize that I only brushed the surface in my understanding, in part because of my youth and not having anyone to discuss these with.  However, at the time, that made no difference to me.  Growing up, I spent the evenings in my room reading rather than watching TV with the rest of the family. Being transported to other worlds through the printed page and letting my imagination paint the picture was much better than sitting in front of a black and white TV screen.

 English was my favorite subject in high school giving me opportunity to read and discuss great literature with others and get ideas for new books to read as well.  So English seemed the natural choice for a college major which further broadened my horizons to new authors and ideas. As a high school English teacher, I was the one choosing the reading list for my students and was able to revisit many books I had read as a student.  Each time I re-read a book, I gained a deeper appreciation for the authors' ideas and craft, and I read the books again each year I taught them so the ideas would be fresh in my mind as I taught.  I delighted in seeing my students enjoy and develop an appreciation for literature as well.  Getting a Master's degree in English continued the process of new authors and a greater understanding of their writings.

I no longer teach, but my love of books continues to grow.  Participating in a monthly book club pushes me to read books I would not have considered or known about without the input of others in my group.  I find it stimulating to branch out into new types of literature from what I would normally choose.  Hearing about what others think challenges me in my thought processes.  The University library has a used book sale once a month which is even better than the Scholastic book order.  I find some of the best books there, ones that inspire me in writing and model the craft I so admire.  Finding books about country life or those who pioneered in the West are my favorite finds because these are things I can relate to and understand well. I do love books!

Preparing for the Show Ring

Every evening in the summer, after chores were finished and supper was over, Dad would work with the bulls in the show string.  Once I started in 4-H, Dad included me in the practice sessions.  He brushed every bull every evening, while I brushed my first steer, Chip.  Then Dad would halter a bull and my steer so we could lead them out into the driveway area between the house and the barn.  We led them around with Chip and I in the lead and Dad following leading one of his bulls, urging my calf along if he decided to dawdle.  After a few trips around the loop, we would set the animals up.  This entailed getting each animal to put his feet squarely under him so he would look lengthy but not stretched too much so his back dipped.  A show stick helped to guide each foot to the correct position with a small bunt nail-like nub on the side tip of the stick hooked under the dew claw of each foot to move the foot forward. Pushing the tip of the stick between the hoof in the front motivated the bull or steer to move his foot back.  Once the feet were set square, the nail nub made for a good scratching tool under the brisket to encourage him to hold his head up or to soothe him while standing still. Another item to tend to was tipping the hocks out so the hindquarters looked wide and muscular.

 Once we had our animals set, mom would act like the judge and come to each animal running her hands over them and walking around them talking. This was good practice for what would happen at the fair in the show ring.  Dad usually had six or so bulls in his show string, and he worked with each one each evening.  I made the circuit with my steer as he took a different bull each round.  This meant that both Chip and I were well trained!  When we stopped, we both eventually learned exactly what was expected of us.  Chip set up square and I used my show stick to scratch him under the neck so he held his head high.  Dad was successful with his projects my first year in 4-H.  Chip was the grand champion steer at the county fair and I won the Junior Showmanship.  Over the years as my younger siblings joined me in 4-H, Dad's training intensity moderated, but he still made sure we were all well trained on how to show our animals.

Not the "Typical" Cowboys

I enjoy reading books that focus on life in the West or in the country.  Willa Cather, one of my favorite authors, captures the essence of life on the Nebraska prairie in the days of the early settlers. I  recently discovered an author from our area who has written about ranch life.  Her graphic description of a difficult calving situation startled me with its genuineness.  Having been around my husband in his large animal veterinary practice and on his family ranch, I have had opportunity to see and hear about similar situations. I was curious to know her background and discovered that her family had a small herd of cattle, so she indeed had firsthand experience as well that she translates vividly to the written word.   There seems to be a stereotype of ranchers, or cowboys being "rough around the edges," and I am sure that some people are like her characters; however, her characters did not match to my experience growing up on the ranch.

The language of the stereotypical cowboy can be rather rough, but I never once heard my father utter a cuss word, or for that matter any of my uncles, which is amazing to most anyone who works with cattle since they can be quite obstinate at times.   Actually, it is amazing in any situation. But the fact that no one swore, raised the expectations for our behavior as well. We laugh at the incident my sister's Sunday school teacher related to my mother years ago.  My sister observed that her dad never swore; he only said "knuckle-head" or "bird-brain"! I realize that times have changed, but I cringe at the language I hear in casual conversations these days.  I appreciate the examples that I observed in the men of the family which provided a path for me to follow.

Alcohol frequently plays a big part in "cowboy" portrayals with many a scene in the local bar or downing liquor at home to drown life's problems .  Here again, my experience provided a stark contrast. Nobody in my extended family drank at all, and no one in my husband's family either.  In previous generations, each side of the family had members who had their lives disrupted or ended prematurely because of alcohol.  So in part, so our families made conscious decisions not to let that happen to them. But the result on the extended family was that alcohol had no part in our daily lives even though society around us accepted it. I am thankful these values encompassed me in my formative years.

The stereotype of the hard drinking, tough talking cowboy is just that, a stereotype.  Ranchers and cowboys exist who live their lives quite differenty. I am sure that many others do not fit the mold as well.

Bulls

Though my childhood experiences with horses left something to be desired, my experience with bulls is an entirely different story.  On the family ranch, one uncle did the calving, another uncle oversaw the breeding, and my dad took care of the sale bulls, so we did not have any calves and cows on our part of the ranch when I was growing up.  Weaning took place after the fall bull sale in October and all the bull calves were brought to our part of the ranch.  My dad sorted these bull calves into different bunches of 10-15 bulls each looking to have groups  that had similar characteristics that would show well to visitors, such as his best bulls in a group or a sire grouping.  These bunches of bulls varied over the course of the year based on how bulls progressed or if they began fighting and endangering a bull's well being.

The best bulls were close around the barn in small pastures where they could be easily gathered, or brought into the corrals to feed. Dad chose the very best bulls for the show string and brought them two to a pen in the barn to be fed.  All the bulls were fed twice a day.  Once I started in 4-H as a nine-year-old, I was out in the barn morning and night feeding my steers and helping Dad with the rest of the chores. Dad would send me into each pen to get the water bucket at the back corner so he could refill them. These burly red and white Hereford bulls stood much taller than I and  had horns as well.  Though Herefords are noted for their quite disposition, these adolescent bulls jostled each other and I was intimidated by the possibility of getting stepped on or whacked with a horn. However, being around these animals twice a day over the years and growing myself, I became very comfortable in working with them.

As I got older, I would feed the bulls around the barn while my dad went out to the pastures to take care of the bulls there.  I had to mix up the feed in the cone shaped mixer, putting in buckets of the determined amount of corn, oats, barley, and beet pulped soaked in molasses. A string pull-switch operated the motor on the mixer that thoroughly combined these grains.  The mixer would tip to empty the contents into a rectangular wooden trough where I could measure the right amount of the sweet smelling grains into a tub to carry to each bunch of bulls. My method of carrying these large tubs was to hook one edge on my hip and stretch my arm across the tub to hold on with my right hand.  None of the guys ever carried the feed the feed this way, but I did not have the upper body strength of the men.  The rowdy hungry bulls no longer intimidated me;  I just pushed through them to the feed bunk and spread the feed all along so they could all get their fair share.

These bulls were quite tame because my dad made sure that they were all halter broken early on, so they were used to being handled.  Every evening after the show bulls finished eating, Dad would brush their hair with a soft brush training it to go up and increase the appearance of thickness. He expected me to brush my 4-H steers every night as well.  The bulls thoroughly enjoyed this brushing especially on their backs  or under the neck, showing this by stretching their necks up and licking their long rough pink tongues over their nose, just like a cat or dog would let you know they enjoyed being petted or scratched on the back.  The show bulls were almost like pets, but Dad could also walk up to most any of the bulls out in the pasture to scratch  him on the back or run a curry comb through his coat.  I never had a bull threaten me nor did I feel endangered even when they were full grown weighing 1200 plus pounds.  As a girl, there was a definite satisfaction in feeling confident around these massive animals and being able to handle them. Though they could easily over power anyone they chose, I was very comfortable with these bulls. They were an integral part of my daily experience grown up on a registered Hereford ranch. 

Horses

Horses were not a large part of ranch life for our operation when I was growing up.  The rolling Wyoming gramma grass prairie is treeless, perfect for grazing cattle and easily navigated in the pickup truck.  Our pastures were small to accommodate small groups of registered Hereford bulls, which needed to be separated into groups to keep their fighting to a minimum.  When Dad fed his bulls twice daily, he would hook the feed bunk to the back of the truck and drag it to where the bulls were in the pasture, or he would send us kids out on foot to bring the bulls into the corrals around the barn to be fed.  So we did not have horses around that we rode to do the daily work.

My grandfather gave me a horse when I was five years old.  My two older cousins got matching white and red paint Shetland ponies and mine was brown with black and a little white named Shorty. Dad kept his mane shaved except for a handhold at the base of his neck giving him a bristly look.  I am sure this made keeping his mane tangle and burr free easier, but it meant no mane for a little girl to brush through like the toy ponies in the store.  Shetland ponies are just the right size for a child; however, their temperament is anything but child suited.    My dad would saddle Shorty and get me settled on his back.  I am sure that Dad did not just turn me loose to ride Shorty in the beginning, but  most of my  memories are ones riding by myself and are not pleasant ones.  I did not have fantasies about horses like many young girls; I had realities of scrapes and bruises.

Shorty seemed quite determined to dislodge any child-sized person off his back  before the end of the intended ride was finished.  Windbreaks of caragania trees, scotch pines, juniper trees and Chinese elms protected the house and barn from the stiff Wyoming winds.  These trees offered Shorty a convenient means of scraping me off his back.  I was not strong enough or big enough to convince that child-sized  horse that I was in charge, so when he decided he had enough, that was it.  If the trees were not convenient, the clothes line was a possibility as well.  Out in the pasture the barbwire fence could be quite effective as a deterrent to continue the ride.  Having several kids on his back bareback could prompt him to rear up and dump one rider off the back and then kick up his heels to dump the other rider off over his head.  I did not look forward to riding Shorty, but Dad seemed certain that I could make Shorty behave.  By the time I was confident and strong enough to show him I was boss, Shorty was not a big enough horse for me. 

There were other horses on the ranch over the years that I had good experiences on, but horseback riding was never a favorite pastime for me.  I am sure those early memories did not help my perspective.  My husband's family ranch is rugged with hills, rocks and trees that requires riding horses to work the cattle on a regular basis. All the kids started riding young on old trustworthy horses and had mostly good experiences to build on. Our grandsons ride a gentle horse that our son has ridden for years. Our daughter-in-law gives the boys riding lessons, making sure that they know how to handle the horse and how to handle themselves on the horses. Thankfully, their experiences will be much different from mine. 

Barn Adventures

The barn  offered various options for entertaining me and my cousins as children.  The hayloft filled with hay provided a wonderful place to let our imaginations soar. A ladder on the center partition was the only way to reach the loft from the ground level. With the only light provided by the windows below in the barn, the dimly lit space was secretive.  Protected from the Wyoming wind the hayloft offered a warm space to play on the bales when the weather outside was less than hospitable.  We would rearrange a few bales to make a cozy spot to crawl in and pretend it was a secret hideout.  The stacked bales also made it possible to access to the air vents in the roof which turned with the wind. We were on top of the ranch world from that vantage point.  The hayloft was open on each side to the cattle pens down below so bales could be tossed down as needed throughout the year and giving a bird's eye view of the activities on the ground level. When we had cousins visiting from out of state, one of the cousins did not catch on to the fact that you could not go down off the side at just any point and ended up hanging off the edge yelling for help. He was rescued in time to prevent an injury from falling from that distance.

The hayloft took up two-thirds of the upper level of the barn.  The other partition was a boarded up the sides to make an oats bin to store oats raised on the ranch. This bin had a lever in the ceiling of the ground level in the center of the alley which could be opened over the bed of a truck.  When the bin was fairly full we would jump from the top of the wall into the grain below, which shifted and slid when we hit it.  Depending on how full the bin was, it could be quiet a jump and took some courage to make the leap.  The itchy and dusty oats made a bath before bed a necessity.

The south side of the barn had two rows of pens separated by an alleyway where dad kept his show cattle.  Made of 1 x 6 inch planks, the top board of the pens was ideal for perfecting the balancing act of walking the entire length of the barn without falling off. Each pen had a hay manger next to the gate into the alleyway with a feed box on each end to feed individual animals.  These hay mangers were favorite spots for the cats to have their kittens.  They could tuck the kittens in under the feed box and yet have a safe place for their babies to scamper about without being trampled by the bulls.  In the spring we enjoyed the treasure hunt of finding the new litters of kittens.

The barn was used to store feed in sacks until my dad would need to refill his feed box, a  long wooden bin divided into multiple sections covered with a hinged lid.  Grain draws mice, so in addition to the multitude of cats in the barn there was a mouse trap.   This specialized mouse trap consisted of a metal box with a tunnel through the center.  When a mouse scurried through the trap, it flipped the mouse to one side of the box or the other--alive.  We checked it frequently to see if an unfortunate mouse was imprisoned.  On more than one occasion, we would find a mother mouse who had birthed her babies in confinement.  These hairless babies fascinated us and we even tried raising some with a dripper.

When I had guests from town, I always showed them the barn.  Unfamiliar with the smells associated with animals, they would usually wrinkle their noses at first, but when we began exploring the hayloft, the oats bin and other areas of the barn, they usually forgot their discomfort and reveled in the new experience.  The barn provided a place of adventure, learning, and discovery for me and others.  We did not need to have someone provide entertainment, we just let our imaginations lead us.

Filling the Hayloft

The barn on the ranch  was at its peak on sale day, but it was fully utilized all throughout the year. Situated above the sale ring, a large hayloft brimmed with bales stacked high from the summer crop. Most of the haying was done on our part of the ranch and it was a family affair. My dad and uncles ran the machinery that would cut the hay, rake to pull it into rows after it dried to the optimum level, and then use the baler to to form individual bales, which it plopped out at regular intervals onto the field. Two lengths of yellow baling twine tightly held each grayish-green rectangular bale together. Loading and stacking these bales from the field to the hayloft provided plenty opportunity for my boy cousins to build their muscles and deepen their tans as they stuck each  fifty-plus pound bale from the field with a hay hook and tossed them to the truck where other cousins would stack the bales.

 Then the loaded truck went to the barn where the transfer to the hayloft transpired.  A long elevator angled from the ground up to the hayloft doors pulling bales from the truck up to the loft where the guys began stacking at the back of the barn from the hayloft floor to near the roof.  Each layer of bales was stacked perpendicular to the previous layer providing stability. In the summer, the hayloft air was dense and heavy with the sweet grassy smell intensified by the heat under the roof and lack of air movement. Stacking hay in the loft was hot and dusty work, and the guys frequently joked that they needed to remember how warm this was when they were dealing with the bitter cold in the winter. Because there were three men and four boy cousins big enough to help, I never had to drive a tractor or stack bales.  This was the men's work. 

My mom and I were responsible for keeping them fed. We baked cookies and took the guys a snack and cool drinks in mid-morning and again in the afternoon out in the field or at the barn, which was a welcome break from the kitchen for me.  We provided a substantial  meal at noon  such a meatloaf, scalloped potatoes, jello, green beans, a dessert and gallons of iced tea. And we washed lots of dishes. One summer for my 4-H bread baking project,  I had to make two loaves nearly every day of haying to meet the project requirements.  The guys ate both loaves each day.  My dad observed that the boys were so full that they were not nearly as much help after lunch as they were as before.  Mom even left me to do the cooking for the haying crew one summer when I was twelve while she went to a cousin's wedding in California.  I learned a lot about cooking for a crew in those days!

Times have certainly changed on the ranch.  It does not take a family crew to put up the hay because there are machines designed to do most of the work.  The hayloft sits empty and big round bales stacked by a forklift line the edge of the field.  There is no need for a big noon meal to feed a crew of hungry guys, and any dishes used are loaded into the dishwasher. I doubt that the guys miss the hot, dirty work, and the women do not miss spending all day cooking and washing dishes. But many good memories remain  of a family joining efforts to accomplish a big project.

Sale Day

Every year on the family ranch we had a sale to market the bulls that my dad and uncles had raised.  My cousins, siblings and I enjoyed the event for many reasons,  never really understanding all the effort and stress our parents experienced to make it happen.

  Preparations began in early September with transforming the barn on our part of the ranch into the sale ring.  The large barn had two distinct partitions to it.  The south side had an alleyway lined with pens for two animals each where my dad kept his show cattle and a feed pen.  On the north side was a large open pen using two-thirds of the area with the rest used for storing equipment and feed sacks.  This side had bleacher-type seats pulled up to the bottom of the hayloft above and an auctioneer's stand raised above the ground level of the pen below.  For the sale, the large pen was cleaned out and the  auctioneer's stand set at the back wall and the seats were lowered to form a semi-circle.  The men built a wire grid fence for the sale ring. This provided a fantastic venue for us kids to play, especially a game of team tag.  We would dash up and down the seats chasing each other, ducking through the seats to avoid being caught. If  tagged, we had to go into the sale ring and wait until someone else on our side came to free us. Amazingly enough I do not remember anyone getting hurt with this wild and crazy chase.

 Daily after the school bus would drop all of the cousins off at our house, we would play tag until our parents finished for that day. The women cleaned the seats where the sparrows had roosted for the last year or washed the barn windows. The men were fencing, fixing and getting things in order for the big day.  To the adults, sale meant intense preparations.  To the kids, sale was fun and games.  One time, when we were younger, we decided that it would be fun to pound the knotholes out of the bleacher seats.  Though this was quite entertaining to us, my dad was not amused as this made sitting on seats with holes less comfortable.  Unfortunately for me, I faced the discipline for this caper after my cousins had gone home.

We got to miss school on sale day, which was delightful from our perspective.  The day began early in the morning before sunrise.  The men brought the bulls in from the pastures and put them into various pens outside the barn to feed them and to start getting them groomed for the sale.  We kids were the errand runners taking homemade cinnamon rolls and coffee out to the workers and getting anything else that we might be instructed to accomplish.  Prospective buyers began arriving shortly after daybreak to look over the different animals and begin making decisions on which bull would be the best fit for their herd. 

The women served lunch to everyone before the sale began at one in the afternoon.  Our mothers fixed barbecued beef sandwiches, salads and a dessert.  There was a soda dispenser for drinks that we kids thought was awesome, never realizing that our parents had to pay for all that we were drinking as well.

At the end of the day, everyone was exhausted.  We kids had played ourselves out and filled up with soda.  Our mothers had fed over a hundred people and cleaned up after them.  Our dads had seen the result of a year's hard work.  Sale day was the culmination of their efforts and the majority of the ranch income for the year--a big day for all of us.

Make It Do

One of my husband's favorite sayings is "use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without."  This quotation reflects an attitude that both of us grew up with on our respective family ranches. We were conservative with resources because they were limited or not easily accessible.  Most ranchers do not choose to ranch for the money or the ease of the work, but because they enjoy working with the animals and the lifestyle for raising a family.  Town was twenty miles away for me growing up, but we only went to town on Sunday for church and one other day for groceries or other commitments like music lessons or a doctor's appointment.  This meant that if you did not have the ingredient for a recipe, you either figured out a substitute or didn't make it. This also encouraged creativity to come up with ideas of how to use what we did have to meet our needs.  It is amazing what you can fix with baling wire and duct tape!

  Now, even in the city, we try use our resources efficiently. I hang clothes out on the line to dry rather than watching the electric meter whiz around, plus I like being outside in the yard. I love the fresh smell of line-dried sheets and I'm willing to deal with towels that are not quite as soft as those from the dryer because it saves so much energy. I smile and nod when I see current magazines recommend going green by hanging clothes on the line.  I save the buttons off my husband's old shirts finding opportunity to use them again on other projects.  I mend his work jeans multiple times so he can continue to use them for tough jobs.  I like to make use of what we have if at all possible.
 Our pantry is well stocked, a habit from days on the ranch when the store was many miles away. I stock-up when items are on sale and plan menus for a week at a time so that I can shop once a week and have what I need for meals.  I can fresh garden produce, make jelly, bread, and usually make things from scratch rather than mixes.  All of these things are a reflection of the self-sufficiency and independence required on the ranch.  Yes, it is easier to buy things, but there is great satisfaction in seeing the fruits of your own labor because you realize  what it takes for the end product.

 I was raised with this is the perspective of using resources sparingly, and it is one that I continue to value many years later and in a different circumstance.

Ranch Roots

I have lived in the city for the last 20 years. During this time I have adapted to city life-- the ease of shopping, going out to eat, dealing with traffic and neighbors. Working on a college campus around young adults, I am aware of the current fashions, trends and issues. Yet, even surrounded by these influences, my foundational outlook on life harks back to being raised on a Wyoming ranch during my growing up years and our experiences with my husband's ranching family since my marriage.

The living room decor in our city home clearly reflects this ranch heritage.  Above the fireplace is a trio of pictures: three Hereford calves sunning themselves; a rider on horseback navigating a rocky path in the canyon; a mare and her colt. These were drawn by an artist we knew as a high school student just playing with his talent.  Now he is a professional and these pencil drawings clearly illustrate his talent for depicting ranch life. Flanking the fireplace are a horse collar, stirrups from my husband's saddles as a child and young man, a bit, and an old tin replica of a Stetson hat box filled with rattles our son collected from the rattlesnakes he killed as a teenager.   Propped against the wall is ladder with decorative throws from Wyoming and Colorado Cowbelles edged with brands of local ranches, including our families' brands.  On the lower rungs we have hung a horseshoe, hay hook, foot nippers, a bit, and part of a horse harness.  On another wall we have pictures of our fathers both on horseback, my grandfather on a horse he sold to the US Calvary, my mother-in-law with her horse she roped calves from as a young woman, and our son holding his six-week-old son on his favorite horse.  A deer antler from the ranch holds a Mexican riata our son gave my husband one Christmas and a spur. Pictures of our three grandsons in their cowboy hats sit on the bookshelf.  Lamps made of gnarled tree roots found on the ranch sit on the end tables. Our son and daughter found the wood and made the lamps when they were in junior high shop class. A basket fashioned out of a lariat holds an African violet on the coffee table and an Indian blanket is draped over the back of the couch.  Ranch memorabilia abounds throughout the house, but these are just surface indicators of the impact this way of life has had on me. 

Life on the ranch grounded me in reality because life is lived so close to the natural rhythms of life.  Animals are born, thrive and multiply, but they also get sick or hurt or die.  The first thing our six-year-old grandson asks when a new calf is born is, "Is it alive?" because he realizes that is the first and most important factor.  The snow and rain come and the grass grows to feed the cattle, or drought stunts the grass and animals must be sold or extra money invested to buy feed.  You realize that you are not in control, you cannot make it rain. There is no set paycheck coming each month and unexpected expenses are common--a vet call, a broken-down piece of machinery, a flat tire.  These realities cause me to look to the one who created all of this, including me and to trust him for the outcome.  This is equally true in the city or on the ranch, but in the city it is easier to forget how dependent we are on God's gracious provision.


 

Crabapples

To most people when you mention crabapple trees, the image that comes to mind is the beautiful flowering trees in the spring. Fewer people are conscious of the little fruit on the trees in the fall, which are a messy nuisance for the most part.  However, on the family ranch there are old crabapple trees that not only have beautiful spring blossoms, their red fruit reaches much larger proportions which makes them worthy of canning. This last week while we were at the ranch, we went to check the trees to see if crabapples were ripe yet.  This early spring with no frost brought on all sorts of fruit earlier-- apricots, chokecherries and the crabs.  When we got to the garden, the red fruits peeked between the leaves in abundance and littered the ground as well.  We were not the first to check out the fruit as it was evident that deer and bears had already feasted on the bounty of the season.  Thankfully on this morning we were alone to harvest some of the prolific crop.  As we gathered the fruits into buckets and a large cooler, apples pelted us as they fell to the ground, ripe and ready for consumption.  The sweet fruity fragrance wafting in the air prompted thoughts of  fall.

 Crabapple jelly used to be the end product of apple picking, but what I enjoy the most now is making applesauce from these tart gems.  The Victorio Strainer squeezes every usable portion of the apple out producing a tantalizingly rich colored sauce into one bowl and pushing the seeds and peel out into another. This bold flavored and colored sauce makes a vivid contrast to the bland pale commercial sauce.  I freeze the sauce and add it later to the regular applesauce I make from Jonathan apples in the fall.  This mixture makes a beautiful rosy red sauce with an extra zing that my family loves. A by-product of making crabapple sauce is the extra juice drained from the cooked apples before putting them through the strainer.   This deep vibrant red juice with a sharp tang makes for beautiful flavor-packed jelly.

 With gallons of crabapple sauce tucked in the freezer for future use and jars of sparkling jelly on the counter cooling, I felt the satisfaction of making good use of the fruits and providing enjoyment for my family.  Although I was weary from the work of making the applesauce and jelly, I made biscuits for supper that night so we could taste the fruits of our labor--delicious!

Backyard Sanctuary

Over the years we have been able to create a backyard atmosphere of serenity and seclusion.  The fences are covered with a vine that adds height to the fence and added privacy.  The deep greenery cools the air and keeps the city noises at bay.  In addition to the two original trees planted seventy plus years ago along the edges of the yard, we have added trees for shade.  The biggest tree in the middle of the yard, a  volunteer sapling which had to come out, was growing up between the house and the air conditioner. So my husband determinded to dig it up, but it came with no root ball.  Although we were not optomistic about the tree's survival, we planted it in the middle of the yard.  It has thrived and now provides abundant shade throughout the yard offering a shady spot to settle in any time of the day.

 The focal point of the yeard, a small fish pond nestles under the shade of this tree edged with flagstone, planted with water lilies, water hyacinth and a water grass.  Gold fish in varying sizes and colors ranging from pure white to liquid gold dart among the floating greenery.  A watering can with a begonia and a tipped bucket spilling out impatiens brighten the edges of the pond. Large red bolders tumble in groups of two and three for additional accents at three curves of the pond.  At the water's edge a ceramic cat lounges, dipping its paw into the water.  A small table with a luxurious Boston fern and white Andrionack chair sit by the pond inviting a moment of repose. 

Flower beds fill the edges of this shady retreat with color, a feast for the eyes.  Watering cans of various sizes decorate the yard.  One can hangs for a shepherd's crook overflowing with pink and burgandy impatiens.  Others sit amongst  flowers ready to supply a refreshing drink to the flowers at any time. I located one in my mother-in-law's garage, long out of service and showing years of use.  We have found others at antique stores for a total of six.  White iron plant stands of different sizes and shapes hold flower pots up above the greenery to increase impact. Driftwood from the ranch provides a change of pace from the rocks and foliage. Two windmills, one a wooden dutch replica and one a minature ranch windmill signal the changing breezes.  An Indian Trail of Tears weathervane anchors the west end of the pond,  An old red barn birdhouse hangs from a large arch in the corner of the flowerbeds.  A victorian house birdhouse sits sedately on a white iron stand near the hydrangea and an old barnwood bird house hangs near the back door. The steps into the kitchen through French doors from the back yard are loaded with pots of flowers and house plants bringing the beauty of the backyard  right to the kitchen as well.

All of these points of interest and beauty offer a refreshing spot for daily lunches in the yard or for time to unwind at the end of the day while watching the fish in their evening feeding frenzy.  In the quiet of an afternoon, reading is a perfect activity. The beauty, coolness and quite of this space provide so much enjoyment.

Not Flawless but Perfect

We celebrated our daughter's wedding Saturday. She had waited patiently for God's best for her and when they met, it was quickly apparent to both of them that his blessing was on their relationship.  Two months after their engagement, they are husband and wife.  Two months to make wedding arrangements is a rather short amount of time, but with God, nothing is impossible.  I think he has delighted in lavishing his blessings on them.  The charter school where she has taught since its inception held its first graduation in a beautiful chapel on a Bible school campus with a spectacular view out to the Colorado mountains.  At the time she commented that this would be an awesome place for a wedding.  It was available only one weekend all summer and that was this last Saturday. Originally, the chapel was not available Friday night for the rehearsal, so we anticipated practicing at her former school; however, several weeks prior to the wedding, we found out that arrangements had been made so we could have the chapel for the rehearsal and the wedding.

 We shopped for a wedding dress and found one in a bridal shop.  An hour and a half after we walked in the door, we had purchased a dress  that made her feel beautiful-- and she is.  We met with the lady at the bakery, the sister of a woman our daughter works with, and decided on delectable cake tiers, each a  different flavor with different fillings and a classic design that was simple yet elegant.  The flower shop woman put together sample bouquets of deep pink roses accented with lavender roses, royal blue delphinium, white orchids and star gazer lilies to match the royal blue and hot pink wedding colors.  These flowers would also decorate the four-tiered cake.  Our daughter found royal blue bridesmaids dresses in the right sizes for her petite matron of honor sister-in-law and tall elegant redheaded best friend.  Her townhouse was rented out a month before the wedding to a new teacher at her former school.  A teaching position in her small new community opened up, and she signed a contract to begin teaching one month after her wedding. God's blessings have been evident each step of the way, and the culminating delight was the ceremony on Saturday.

The wedding day was a beautiful with a crisp clear Colorado sky decorated with billowy clouds.  The reception area was ready for guests. Tables covered with blue and topped with lace table cloths from grandmothers and great grandmothers held the food. Silver candelabras, pink candles, bows, and tulle decorated the tables.  The cake turned out beautifully with blue scrolls flourishing on the sides topped with abundant fresh flowers.  Heart-shaped sugar cookies baked by a friend and rose cream cheese mints (a favorite of the bride) made by grandma and cousins indicated the love that went into the preparations.

 The guests arrived from one end of the country to the other. College friends whom she had not seen since they graduated came from Seattle, Idaho, Kansas and Washington DC.  Family from California, Florida, Wyoming, New Mexico, Kansas and Colorado joined in the celebration.  Community members and colleagues of both the bride and groom offered their support as well.  Everyone dressed in their wedding attire: the groom and groomsmen in their tuxes with royal blue vests and ties, bridesmaids in slim knee-length royal blue dresses, flower girls twirling in their white dresses, hot pink bows streaming down the back, and three ring bearers in classic button-down light blue shirts and black Wranglers with their cowboy boots and belts.  The bride was glowing with happiness and an inner beauty in her elegant white gown that fit her perfectly.

The chapel was full; the ring bearers dutifully held their ring pillows and walked solemnly to the front; the little flower girls were coaxed to walk the aisle and toss flower petals along the way.  The bridal march signaled the bride's entry on the arm of her father.  Her dad, moved with emotion and joy, determined to keep a smile on his face as he walked his daughter to the front and gladly responded to "Who gives this woman to be married?" responded, "Her mother and I," and took his seat next to me.   We listened with reverence as a trio of her friends sang "O the Deep, Deep Love of Jesus" a capella, filling the vast reaches of the chapel with rich vibrant melody.They exchanged very traditional vows to " love honor and cherish till death do us part."  As they exchanged rings and repeated their lines, she mistakenly tried to put the ring on his right hand. Laughing at the "ring malfunction" and forgetting what she should say next, she asked if they could start that part again.  Enjoying every moment of the ceremony, they continued, rings on the correct hand; their delight in each other radiated.  After they kissed and were introduced as husband and wife, the guests errupted with applause and cheers. The bride and groom wanted a reception line so they could be sure to talk to each guest who came to support them. Everyone mulled around visiting and enjoying the time and refreshments.  This wedding was about the people, not the party.  The day was filled with joy and celebration of two lives joined in marriage.

At the hotel the next day, my sister-in-law said that everything at the wedding was flawless.  I responded that it was not flawless, but it was perfect.  It was a perfectly wonderful and appropriate celebration of their new life together. God is so good!

Abundant Fruits

I walk all around the neighborhood either to and from work or just for daily exercise when I am not in the office.  We live in an older estabilshed area with tree-lined streets and no two houses alike. Landscaping varies so much from one yard to another that each day's walk provides many things to observe and comment on.  This year spring came early with no late frost destroying the blossoms, so all the plants are ahead of their usual schedule for blooming and producing. I enjoy making jelly and jam as well as putting up produce from the garden, so when I see a tree with fruit that no one is using, I can envision jars of sparkling jelly on the counter.  Last year my friend and I noticed an heavily laden cherry tree on our walk to work, and we were able to determine who lived there and ask if they might let us pick cherries.  The homeowners readily agreed and even picked with us on a warm summer evening. I made two batches of cherry jam, my son's new favorite.  Unfortunately this year because if a heavy October snow storm this tree lost at least half of its branches.  With the diminished produce, we did not ask to pick the cherries that we passed each day on the way to work. 

Wishing for cherries for jam this year, I noticed several options.  Surprisingly, there are cherry trees lining the entry way into a local shopping area.  No one is using the fruit, but I had no idea where to even start to ask permission to pick.  I did pick crabapples in a hotel parking lot one year, but all that I had to do then was walk inside the lobby to talk to the manager.  I also noticed two cherry trees in the front yard of a house I frequently pass on my morning walk.  Because I walk early to beat the heat of the day, I have not seen anyone out in the yard, nor do I want to knock on the door so early.  Last week there were even several branches loaded with cherries that had been cut down, and I  thought sadly that here was a bountiful rich crop of cherries that would be wasted.

  This morning, on the Fourth of July, I was a little later on my rounds of the neighborhood because I had been on the phone with family.  As I passed the house, a man was just coming out to get into his car.  I decided to be brave and ask if he would consider letting me pick cherries.  He was very gracious and told me to help  myself and that I could use the ladder just inside the back gate right by the garage.  When I got home, I called my friend and told her that I had found cherries to pick.  Emboldened with the success of that request, I called another neighborhood owner who has an apricot tree so laden with fruit that the branches are touching the ground and nearly breaking.  He also agreed to let us pick fruit in his yard.  We loaded up my ladder in her SUV and went to pick.  We both came away with plenty of cherries to make several batches of jam and a bucket of apricots as well.  As I spent several hours this afternoon pitting cherries, I realize again that not many people want to make the effort it takes to use these fruits, but I appreciate that they are willing to let me pick in their yards.  Canning is time consuming, but the rewards are so sweet.  One batch of deep ruby red cherry jam sits on the counter waiting to share with family, friends and the neighbors who shared with me!

Perennials Part Two

 In addition to perennials given to me are the ones that I have chosen to add to the beds. As I start to think through what inhabits my gardens, I am amazed that the wide variety present.  One wonderful characteristic of perennials is that they spread their roots and fill in the empty spaces providing a cozy neighborhood for new residents.  In the back garden, a profusion of deep orange tiger lilies stand high above the gentle swoops of the garden borders. Diminutive Asiatic lilies in delicate pinks peek between the deep green background of the tiger lilies' foliage.  A dramatic Star Gazer lily demands the viewer's gaze, and a pure white Easter lily demurely nods in recognition. In the front yard, lilies of  deep mauve, peach and light pink sparkle in bright star bursts of color in multiple spots.  Quirky blossoms of deep red bee balm provide exclamation points of color throughout to attract butterflies and bees. Though the name is not attractive, dead nettle's silvery leaves and pink or purple blooms spread throughout filling every empty space and the illusion of light in the shade of the large trees. Another shade lover, lily of the valley, tucks its blossoms shyly amid the emerald green wide-leafed foliage. Bleeding hearts' sweetheart flowers drip from their arching stems.  A small astilbe courageously determines to establish itself among all the other plants in the shady space of the back yard along with several hostas.The showiest blossoms of all belong to the hydrangeas.  Several different years my co-workers have given me a beautiful deep pink hydrangea from the florist for my birthday.  These have grown into sturdy  bushes heavy with large colorful clusters of flowers.  Fascinated with these blooms, I also picked up a slightly sad looking blue hydrangea on sale late in the season last year.  To my delight this spring its striking pale blue flowers add a refreshing touch of cool color.

Years ago to deal with the dry grass bordering our sloping sidewalk-less front lawn, we joined with our neighbors to make berm along the front or our property and theirs.  The berm mounds up between the street and the undulating border of the lawn. We choose to plant all perennials, ranging in varying shades of purple, pink and blue. Pincushion plants' bluish-green feather-like foliage provides a mound to support the delicate blossoms on spindly stems some pink, some purple.  Lavender asters sings the early song in spring while the orchid colored chrysanthemums carry the tune into the fall.  Fuchsia ice plant spreads a radiant carpet of vivid blossoms.  Purple cone flowers boldly claim territory in multiple locations with hardy greenery and long-lasting petals around a prickly rust center.  Soothing lavender plants provide stems of purple blossoms for fragrant potpourri to tuck into drawers later in the fall.  The Jupiter's Beard sends fireworks of red blossoms at the tops of the flowers. Fascinated with Russian Sage, we planted several and quickly realized their aggressive habit which leads to sprouts all over the place.  Russian sage bushes hum with bees happily indulging in a feeding frenzy and waft their  pungent fragrance along the berm. Phlox add their fragrant columns of rich purple blossoms to the mix.   Delicate blue delphiniums add a distinctive color contrast to all of the purple blossoms around.  The succulent sedum's deep burgundy blossoms is the final fall entry.  Two deep green low spreading junipers anchor each side of the berm accented with a dwarf burning bush and a delicate white potentialla bush. 

These hardy perennials keep the garden beautiful with little effort beyond the original planting.  As they spread and fill in the empty spaces, I have the joy of sharing plants with friends and family so they can enjoy the beauty of God's wonderful creations as well.

Garden Adventures: Perennials

Perennials are foundational in my garden, in part because there is not additional cost every year and many of them were given to me as others divided their plants. The first flower bed in the back yard was a result of taking out grass that was dying under the elderly pine tree.  My mother-in-law gave me day lilies and iris.  A sister-in-law shared shasta daisies and columbines.  The columbines bloom  early before other flowers get started.  The columbines come in a variety of colors:  yellow and burgandy, blue and white and straight yellow. The blooms stand up above the scalloped grayish green leaves  brightening the shady area under the tree.  The seed pods dry into twisted spirals that fling the tiny black seeds abroad, so soon there were columbines all throughout the flower beds.  The aspen tree in front is kept company by several large self-seeded columbines that recognize their proper place next to the mountain tree.  One spectacular purple and white columbine caught my attention in a nursery, so I bought it to add to the homegrown varieties.  The stately regal blossoms stand out in the front beds in the early spring.  I have saved the seeds and stragetically scattered them throughout the garden to enjoy their beauty in multiple spots. 

The iris come in a variety of colors as well standing high above their flat pointed foliage.  Bi-colored lavender and deep purple, yellow with white, burgandy and russet and solid lavender provide variety throughout the garden.  The spicy fragrance and showy blossoms make these a favorite to bring in to place in a vase on the counter.  Enticed by the seed catalog claims, I ordered re-blooming iris in a variety of colors, looking forward to adding a blue, a pink and a peach iris to my collection.  The blue and the pink iris did not survive, so I am left with a white, a yellow and white and a peach.  These are each very large and spectacular blossoms, but  I have had the plants over five years and have never had them re-bloom, much to my dissapointment. Several years ago at the farmer's market I bought a pink rhizome and was delighted this year to see the clear pink blooms lighting up the deep green background of the virginia creeper.

Shasta daisies follow the early bird columbines and iris.  They crowd together in joyful celebration waving their white-fringed faces with bright yellow centers. They multiply as well, asking their friends to join them in a happy group hug.  One of my favorite photos is of my two-year-old grandson grasping the stem of a daisy in the flower bed, gently touching the center in wonder.  The daylilies also like to congretate together with arching graceful slender leaves  that repeat the curving lines in the orange blossoms dancing high above the light green foliage. Their here-today-and-gone-tomorrow fragile beauty is followed one blossom after another making them seem long-lasting.

These perennials spark rememberance of the people who have shared them with me. The plants fill large areas of the flower gardens providing the spring's first and most welcome blooms after the drab colorless winter.  They are the hearlds of a new season of hope and excitement, growth and renewal.

The Gardening Adventure :  Roses

When we moved into our present home 19 years ago, the only landscaping consisted of lawn in the front with overgrown cedar bushes crowding the front windows and in back, a towering old pine tree in the far corner, an elderly hackberry at the south fence line, and a non-descript scraggly bush.  Window awnings from the forties made the house seem heavy lidded and sleepy. So they were one of the first things to go, which opened the house to light and energy.  Out came the ugly cedars and we had a clean slate to start making the yard one that we would enjoy.  We did not have a master plan; things evolved as we took out bushes, dealt with dead grass and poorly watered areas. 

The first flower beds filled the void left by the cedar bushes.  I planted roses:  a pretty pink Queen Elizabeth, Sir Lagerfeld, a lavender rose with a deep rich fragrance reminiscent of roses in my wedding bouquet . I added the yellow Oregold, deep orange Miranda, petite pink Heidi, and a pristine white Pascal, a mother's Day gift from my son and daughter-in-law.  They also gave me a beautiful red climbing rose by the front step that has  a profusion of elegant flowers.  Later came one of my favorites, a floribunda named Brass Band, a creamy pale yellow with peach ruffled edges that lasts forever. A beautiful mauve Magnificent, and the white with pink stripe Cabaret have completed the rose bed for now.  So the rose bed is multicolored.  As time as progressed, we have determined to have cool colors for our flowerbeds.  But, the roses were put in before that decision and I have no desire to take the warm colored roses out of the mix, so they stay oblivious to the fact that they do not fit the planned color scheme.

Roses in pots are another addition to the garden.  I was given a miniature rose, which I planted in with the hybrid teas and floribunda roses.  I was delighted to see this spirited little plant bloom with abandon, but it was over-powered by its big siblings, so I planted it in a pot.  Now I have multiple miniature roses in pots that I move wherever I need color and where they thrive. The minis include a coral, lavender, red, pink, and white.  My pride and joy is a David Austin rose.  My daughter-in-law first introduced me to this multi-petaled fragrant shrub rose variety.  Though the bud of the hybrid tea rose is spectacular, the David Austin has a profusions of loosely gathered petals that keeps blooming all summer and wafts its perfume throughout the garden--no need to stick your nose in this flower to realize its scent.  I found this rose by looking it up on the internet; it was only sold at one nursery in Colorado and that was in Longmont next to one of our favorite antique stores!  We decided to plant it in a pot so that when we relocate, we can easily take it with us.

The roses are the royalty of the flower garden; they have staying power and do not change with each new season.    All the other flowers gather round in adoration and add their color to the to the courtly entourage.  They certainly have my admiration and give me great pleasure.