Summer is getting some age on her now

9/2/2015

The Lay of the Land

By Lyn Messersmith

Summer is getting some age on her now 

 The cottonwoods have lightened streaks in their hair and a few meadow grasses are browning. Birds line up on fence wires to discuss departure plans, although it will be a few weeks before they leave. We’ll need to lay in a supply of seeds for the ones that winter over, and before you know it the ground will be bare under the feeders from all the traffic.

Someone said recently, that her garden looks tired. Mine too; perhaps it’s a reflection of the gardener’s mood. I’ve been asking myself what in tarnation I was thinking when we planted all those bell peppers, and when will we have time to pickle all those beets.

There are potatoes and carrots to dig, onions to dry and put away, and Brussel Sprouts coming on. It looks like we’ll have melons for once, provided the coyotes don’t discover they’re ripe before we do. I look forward to them, most years we’re hunting around the day before frost to find a few that look like they’d ripen in the house.

My flowers look weary too. The taller ones lean over onto one another, and even the petunias are scraggly. Geraniums will come in for the winter, as will a begonia, but right now they don’t have the energy to put forth one more blossom.

Even the weeds have decided it’s too much effort to crowd the cucumbers, or perhaps all the growth energy has gone to horse weeds in the corral. There’s never a lack of those, or sunflowers.

Sundown comes sooner, of late, and the crisp air sings of football games and sup simmering on the stove. Mother Nature is getting ready to change her clothes, and we, in turn, reach into the closet for a heavier jacket and wonder which drawer holds the sweaters we packed away so willingly—was it only last May? Yes, the end of May, in fact. Remember what a long cold spring we had?

Not long now, before kids will start planning Halloween costumes, and I’m getting hungry for pumpkin pie already. But it would be nice if we could skip Christmas sale bulletins until the trick or treat candy is gone.

For now, I’m content to travel Highway 2 and 20, reveling in the lushness of fall pastures and the plethora of bales stored against winter snows. Dad used to claim that if you had a lot of hay you’d be needing it. I wonder if this abundance is a bad omen, and decide not to worry about it since there’s nothing I can do about it anyhow.

Truly, summer is on the way out the door, but I cherish the gift of her old age, just as I treasure each day that my old dog rises arthritically to beg for a treat before I even get the coffee on. This is a season of rejoicing in blessings, and remembering not to take any of it for granted. 

Should Old Acquaintance Be Forgot?

8/26/2015

The Lay of the Land

By Lyn Messersmith

Should Old Acquaintance Be Forgot?

            Not likely, this summer. I can’t recall a time when so many friends from childhood, people who know someone I know, or knew me back when, have come by, called, or emailed. Just about the time I began feeling sorry for myself because everyone seemed to be off on vacation but me, they started coming to my door so I didn’t have to be gone.

            Granted, sometimes one has to start the ball rolling, but I’m getting better at that. I practically insisted that Sandy and I make time to see one another. We both needed the break; a chance to be nobody but who we are, and know we’re loved for that.

Missy and I saw our friend off to start a new life over a long lunch. We will miss her, but as we all spread our wings in different ways we grow closer, despite the miles.

My daughter and I spent a weekend in the Hills with old and new friends and had time to just relax, which neither of us is good at doing on our own. I barely made it back in time to welcome my daughter in law’s mom for an overnight visit before she wended her way west to connect with an old friend. We enjoyed the interlude as friends, rather than members of a larger family gathering.

Pauletta and I finally got to meet while she and her daughter reconnected with old times and places in the Valentine area. Though we’ve been corresponding for quite a while, I may never make it to Vegas, so was glad she came this way.

Elizabeth and I began school together and have kept in touch ever since. You’d think we’d get down to the Denver metro area more often than every ten years, but it seems not to happen. So when she and her husband came through, we got together in town for an afternoon of reminiscing. Neither of us wanted to admit how old we were going to be when our July birthdays arrived, or which milestone alumni year we’ll see next summer, but there’s no use trying to fool someone who has known you since age six.

Linda is my cousin’s cousin, and we all played together as kids. She and another of her cousins made time to have lunch with us on her way from Mesa to a family gathering in Rapid City.

A contingent of childhood friends from Mesa (what is it with Mesa and former Nebraskans, anyway?) were home for a memorial service, along with their relatives from eastern Nebraska and Denver. Not kids anymore, but it was fun recalling the days when we were.

Kelly and Doug were about in the Sandhills, but we were away and missed seeing them. Even so, it was good to hear from them about their plans, and maybe next year…

Kay and Mary Beth spent several days with us in June, and we descended on Kay’s toy farm near Sioux Falls in early August after an overnight with my favorite former in-laws, in Wayne.

We’ll see all of them again in October, but before that I want to run up to Gillette and check out the new digs my granddaughter’s family has acquired.

A Brownlee community pot luck gave an opportunity for good visits with lots of old friends and neighbors. Some other neighbors hosted a barn party—gee, it’s not even holiday season and already I need to punch another hole in the belt. Nobody cooks like ranch women!

Sometimes I think it’d be nice to travel afar and see new sights, but who has time for that? This mode is much more economical, and I’ve always been a cheapskate.

Anybody else headed my way? Just give a heads up so I can put the coffee on.

Go Out and Play

8/19/2015

The Lay of the Land

By Lyn Messersmith

Go Out and Play

            Remember when your parents used to order you to just go out and play? Most of the time, I didn’t need to be prompted for that; escaping out the door as soon as my chores were done to climb the tree back of the chicken coop and make a playhouse under the branch that shaded the roof. Sometimes I jumped in the grain bin, dug in the mixture of corn and oats, pretending it was sand, and I was at the beach. I climbed dividers between stalls in the horse barn and peeked into barn swallow nests, careful not to touch anything, because Dad claimed the parents wouldn’t return if there was any human smell. In spring and early summer, the neighbor kids and I caught carp in the creek and fed them to the chickens.

            After the circus had been in town I walked a tightrope, (the top rail of the corral) or played trapeze on a swing that hung from rafters in the cow barn. I climbed the big hill behind headquarters and looked to Brownlee, seven miles distant, or the tree groves that marked three neighboring ranches to the west. Pretty rocks I picked up on the gravel road became families, when I dug homes for them in a blowout bank.

Summer afternoons were for riding to neighboring ranches and hanging out with friends, but just as often, I bridled whatever horse was in the corral for wrangling milk cows and rode bareback through the meadows to breathe in sweet clover and mint, or pick wildflower bouquets that always wilted before I got them home to Mom.

I suppose being an only kid cut down on the necessity for my parents to banish me from their space in order to gain a bit of peace and quiet, and when I was indoors I generally had my head in a book. (Some things never change.) But on occasions when cousins or friends came for extended visits, or at neighborhood picnics and card parties, we could, and did, get a bit rowdy indoors, and then the command would be emphatically issued, accompanied by a finger pointing to the door. “YOU KIDS GO OUT AND PLAY. NOW!” And we never argued. If the weather was inclement, there was always the barn to explore, but after following our dads around to do feeding chores we were pretty much immune to cold, and generally found sleds or skates to keep us busy.

My cousin remembers that when we got underfoot in Mom’s kitchen, claiming boredom, she made mustard sandwiches and sent us to the pine tree grove for a picnic.

These memories make me curious. Do you still go out and play? Are you a fisherman, golfer, rodeo contestant, rock climber, or swimmer? Do you bicycle, walk, run, jog, garden, or build stuff for fun? Did you make a run to Sturgis? Are you a card player or puzzle expert?

And what about your kids—do they have to be pried away from the electronics and threatened with dire consequences to get them moving? Perhaps they’re involved in half a dozen summer camps and activities, so they get lots of exercise. That’s good, but I want to draw attention to the activities mentioned in my childhood. Notice that none of it was organized or supervised by adults, in fact the whole idea was for the adults to get us out of their sight and hearing. Admittedly, we didn’t relish any interference from them either. Our imaginations got as good a workout as our bodies. I think play is kind of like walking that tightrope. Balance is the key to unlocking our joints and our brains, and it’s good for the heart too.

The youngest batch of grandkids spent a few days with us recently. We did some fun stuff, gave them some chores, and rode herd when it got out of hand. The last night, we roasted marshmallows in the back yard. A large moth came out of the dusk and entertained us by sampling nectar in the flowerpots. When I put hoses away after giving the flowers a drink, the kids got them back out and had a half hour water war. This old lady didn’t interfere in the good clean fun, and the belly laughs I got from watching were the best medicine I’ve had lately.

Send the kids out to play. And once in a while, go join them. How long since you had a water fight?

A Backward Glance

8/12/2015

The Lay of the Land

By Lyn Messersmith

A Backward Glance

            The congregation didn’t half fill the little church of my childhood because most folks who knew the deceased have gone on ahead of him. Still, the pastor had her work cut out in getting us to sit down and shut up so the memorial service could begin. Most of us had grown up knowing the inside of one another’s homes, the foibles of various sets of parents and grandparents, the names of a few dozen pets, which family cars were apt not to start on cold mornings,, and who wouldn’t eat oatmeal but craved green olives. A bunch of wild haired hoodlums; we played ball by our own rules, climbed every tree that would support our weight, learned to work, dance, and stand up to bullies. The miles and years have come between, so we had a lot of catching up to do.

            Likely none of us imagined that Larry would be the one to unite us in this way, as we reveled in memories, brushed aside an occasional tear, and indulged in chuckles and belly laughs; shared stories of what we’ve survived, and how we managed to come through it all in one piece.  We’ve come together off and on over the years, for our parents’ milestone celebrations, and later to bury them, but this seemed different; I suppose because Larry was of our generation, and it’s sobering to look around and wonder who won’t be back for the next gathering of clans.

If Larry had been in our midst, he’d have been smiling. He’d have sat to one side and observed, wouldn’t have said much, entering into conversations when invited, but mostly content to be with friends, family, and neighbors. He was just one of the neighborhood kids, as we were growing up. Part of our games, along for the ride, and glad to be. His lifelong challenges are part of our collective stories; they helped to shape our perceptions of the world, as well as the manner in which we’ve responded to our own limitations, and those of others.

 Over time, as we watched his family play the hand they were dealt with grace and good cheer, the siblings, cousins, and playmates caught some of that. Self-pity and mean spirited behavior weren’t tolerated by the adults who had charge of us. We were expected to do our best, according to our abilities, and to treat everyone the same.

I looked around the church and realized we’ve become our parents: the kind of people who sign up for the long haul, look out for one another, and meet life on life’s terms. That has played out in so many ways; everything from starting a business, raising grandchildren, and caring for siblings, parents, or spouses as they became more dependent, or simply deciding to take the road less traveled and discover what lies around the bend.

            All but a couple of the folks present at that service were on the shady side of fifty; most of us quite a bit farther along. None of our lives have turned out as we imagined they would, but when asked how we’re holding up against adversity, we’ll tell you it’s going to be just fine, and we mean it. 

With every passing day I’m more aware of how blessed we were to be born to the parents we had, in the community where we lived, in the era when we grew to maturity. We had everything money can’t buy, and just enough of the things it can. We had Larry to teach us no one is really all that different, and we had one another. In our hearts, we still do.