The Farmer Takes a Wife

I was recently in Des Moines' East Village doing research at the State Historical Library. When I finished for the day, I tromped over to my favorite antique shop Found Things and happened upon a cupboard of photograph albums full of old B&W snapshots. I pulled out several marked 'rural' and carried them over to a quiet corner where I could leisurely flip through them. I love images of old couples and I found a gold mine. Many of these photos are staged in front of the barn which relates to the importance of these old buildings on the family farm back in the day.

My favorite is the one I chose for this post....check out his pants and braces...and her shoes. I always wonder about the story behind the photograph. There is corn growing at his feet; he is leaning on some sort of implement to go after the weeds. Is this their garden, or are they standing on the edge of a larger field? Who was snapping the picture? What was happening on this day that prompted someone with a camera to take a photo of this couple? They look happy, even contented....at least at this moment in time. They are both wearing rings on the third finger of the left hand, so I am assuming they are a couple together. They are leaning in a bit...is it for the photo, or because that is what a couple does after years of living together?

His shirt pocket reveals what appears to be a writing instrument. Does he make "to do" lists as he works around the farm? When he is chasing those weeds, does he compose love poems in his head and then stop to lean on that hoe while he writes them down? Will he place these written words around their home where he knows his wife will discover them?

Maybe these love sonnets are not written for his wife, but for a long-lost love....someone who captured his heart years ago. He dreams of someday when he scribbles his thoughts, but he knows deep in his heart that the choice he made for this life was based on a woman who was right for him. This woman by his side in the photograph was the one who made him a better man. She was the one who made him believe in himself...in honesty and commitment and marriage. This woman by his side was his better choice. For better or for worse.

Bloodroot

Last week as I was scurrying through the DFW airport to catch my plane back to Iowa, I noticed an older, dapper gentleman standing by a doorway leading outside to the drop-off lanes. He was dressed to the nines...gray dress trousers, a blue blazer, and a blue pinpoint cotton shirt with tie. I also noticed his nicely-shined loafers. He carried no luggage; the lanyard around his neck displayed an official-looking logo. He waved as I passed by, and since I had forgotten to don my wristwatch, I stopped to ask the time. He grabbed my hand when I was within range and kissed my palm. He whispered the time in my ear as he pulled me close. How very strange.

OK...I had an uneasy feeling that I should get far away from this man, but his demeanor was not that of a leach, but of a tender heart who was reaching out for human contact. I would guess his age to be about 70-75. He spoke with an accent that seemed Middle Eastern. He asked where my journeys had taken me, where my home was, why the hurry....all in a gentle way that invited further conversation. He shared that he was from Israel and would be joining his son there in two months. He had been staying with a daughter, but missed his homeland and was joyous that he would be returning soon. He loved being with his family here, but his grandchildren, were "wearing out this old man!"

We had a pleasant chat, but as I turned to leave, he reached again for my hand. This time he pulled me closer and kissed my cheek. He said he wanted to send me off into the future with a full heart and loving thoughts. I thanked him and wished him well in his travels. With that, I turned and headed off to my gate wondering why he was standing in that spot on this day...was he a greeter for the airport? Was he lost? Where did he belong? Regardless of his story, I was uncomfortable that I had been suspicious of such good will.

Upon my return home, I jumped into some work that had been ignored while at the conference, but I could not stop thinking about the airport gentleman. I recounted the experience several times; I could not put it to rest. Before closing down the computer Sunday night, I tapped on Rob Brezsny's horoscope for this week and here is what I found.

Cancer Horoscope for week of April 14, 2011

Over the years I have on several occasions stood at a highway exit ramp with a handmade cardboard sign that reads, "I love to help; I need to give; please take some money." I flash a wad of bills, and offer a few dollars to drivers whose curiosity impels them to stop and engage me. I've always been surprised at how many people hesitate to accept my gift. Some assume I have a hidden agenda; others think I'm crazy. Some are even angry, and shout things like "Go home, you freak!" If a comparable experience comes your way anytime soon, Cancerian, I urge you to lower your suspicions. Consider the possibility that a blessing is being offered to you with no strings attached.

Now I better understood that it was OK to just accept this man and my encounter with him for what he was offering....a full heart and loving thoughts.

the Slash Pine

I found a pine that caught my eye while touring the Japanese Garden at the Fort Worth Botanic Garden last week. A gardener (has to be the best job in the universe!) was coming up the path, so I inquired as to what it might be. He grinned from ear to ear and thanked me for noticing such a magnificent tree, the Slash Pine, Pinus elliotti.

This is a tall coastal tree that never should be growing this far west in Texas, but here was a stand of twelve. These mature pines formed a lovely arc in the deep shade along the rim of a bowl whose sides dropped down to the koi pond twenty feet below. What caught my eye initially was their bark. I was unable to take my eyes off the large, purplish, red-brown plates, as well as the incredibly long, glossy dark green needles, as I stumbled along the path. I was so mesmerized by their textural beauty that I forgot to snap a photograph. No way could I have captured their essence with my Canon, so you can just Google and I will treasure this memorable discovery in my mind's eye.

My Big Girl Panties

I just returned home from the 33rd Annual conference of the Alliance for Historic Landscape Preservation held in Fort Worth, TX. In early February, I submitted an abstract for my research on Oak Hill Cemetery in Cedar Rapids, IA and I was selected by the education committee for a student scholarship presentation at their April conference. This was my first such venture into the real world of academics. I was to deliver a 15-minute presentation to professors and practitioners from several disciplines, all working in the area of advocacy for the preservation of historic landscapes.

Surprisingly, I wasn't nervous; at least not in that nauseated, gut-wrenching way I sometimes feel when I am in over my head. I admit, I was a little intimidated by the names and qualifications of those listed in the membership directory. Some were scholars whose papers, journal articles, and books I have cited in my research. However, I had worked relentlessly on refining my presentation, and with the wonderful support and guidance of my major prof, I was able to deliver a polished PowerPoint. In addition, upon meeting these wonderfully generous and talented people, I realized that they were truly interested in my research and welcomed me with open arms into this very specialized world of advocacy for historic landscapes.

It was suggested by several friends upon hearing of my upcoming trip to Fort Worth that I tell a joke to break the ice before presenting. I am not very good with jokes, so I just figured I would forgo the funny stuff and plunge ahead into my lecture. But praise the lord, before I left, a professor friend of mine called to see when I was leaving and if I was excited about presenting. I was to leave early Wednesday morning, and yes, I was excited to present. She told me that the first time she presented her research, a friend had told her it was time to put on her "big girl" panties. This was my opener! It was perfect. Almost all of these Alliance people were close to my age, so I felt I could pull it off. I opened with this quick story; I told them right off that I had 'em on and I was ready to roll. Even the curmudgeon in the back row cracked a smile.

Although I am probably more closely aligned with the Depends crowd, I felt that it was time to put on my "big girl" panties. If I was going to do this, I wanted to make a respectable impression. I wanted to be taken seriously for the work I had done with regard to my research. I think I accomplished that these past few days. I made some great friends. I even had a prof offer an invitation for me to come present to his studio. He wanted his students to experience my passion for these everyday landscapes. I said I would have to take a rain-check, but I was humbled that he had asked.

Mostly I am thankful. I have such wonderfully supportive and caring friends who just happen to be my professors who continually push me toward these exceptional experiences. I am always amazed at the bountiful rewards that fall into my lap when I make that extra effort and reach for the stars....and those panties.

What do ya think????

The Eaglet Has Landed |: (

Yesterday, I was showing the EagleCam website to a friend and as we zoomed in close Daddy E got off the nest...it was very warm here for an early spring day. I think he was airing out his privates and giving the kids a chance to breath fresh air. Or...the older of the two eaglets was nipping him from below because of hunger. Anyway, as he leaned over the fresh kill in the nest, the little pip closed his beak on what appeared to be a feather under Daddy E's beak. When Daddy E jerked back his head to rip off a piece of entrails, he accidentally flung Junior #1 out of the bowl of the nest. Junior #1 is only 36 hours old, so there was no way he could climb up and over the brim of the nest.

I was just sick. For a moment in time, Scot and I both stopping breathing. We thought he was going over the edge. The nest is 80 feet above ground and out toward the edge there is nothing but twig structure that a little chick could easily drop through. He landed on solid material, but it was on the outside of the nest. Daddy E resettled on the nest and never tried to bring Junior #1 back across the hump. What if the temps had been in the 20s or 30s? The poor little guy was struggling, but to no avail. He was on his own and Daddy E was oblivious. I was yelling at the computer screen. Scoop him in! What kind of father are you? Where is Mommy E? There will be hell to pay when she gets back.

I had to turn off the laptop. It was like watching a suspenseful movie except this was real life and there was nothing anyone could do to save that little guy. I was sick. I could not work in studio anymore. I had to go home.

When I got home, I explained all of this to Tess and she assured me that everything was OK. She had just seen both of them in the nest. I did not believe it, so she showed me that Junior was no longer on the edge. That did not prove he had not fallen over!!!!! Maybe she had just seen the younger one and the egg thinking it was both chicks in the nest. How could the 'flung one' have make it back by himself? Tess again reassured me....she had watched as one of the birds just reached over the rim and gently scooped Junior up and over, back into the nest. Back-hoe style.

Mommy E was sitting on the nest when I logged back in to check. Just then, she got up and there they both were. Cheeping and floundering....inside the nest! All was well and both were safe. The third egg was even showing signs that Junior #3 was working away from inside his shell trying to break free. Life was good again. The Family E was intact. I also noticed that Mommy E had been busy while she was out. Lying next to the bowl was the dead rabbit from Friday, but now there was a crow and a very large fish. The pantry was stocked, everyone was safe, so I shut down the laptop and crawled into bed.

Junior #2 Has Arrived

Sometime between 1:30 this morning and 9 a.m., #2 broke free. He makes #1 look all grown up!

A New Baby Has Arrived!

The other morning on Iowa Public Radio, there was mention of the EagleCam that had been mounted to view the nest of a pair of eagles at the State Fish Hatchery near Decorah. My daughter came home from school and immediately rousted me out of an fitful sleep (I do not normally sleep in the afternoon, but I have been trounced by cold and flu these last several days). She was excited to share this EagleCam with me because there was one of three eggs predicted to hatch. EagleCam had been on all day at her high school and she, now a raptor convert working at the Iowa State University Wildlife Care Center, could not get enough. I rolled out of bed and watched her pull up the live-stream video and HOLY CROW! There was an eagle sitting on a nest, seemingly inches from the camera....beak, feathers, eyes, and cars passing by on the road off in the distance. I, too, was immediately hooked. I brought the laptop into the bedroom and set it next to the bed so I could watch it as I drifted in and out of the feverish haze I was dealing with.
I awoke early this morning sometime before dawn to catch a glimpse of a whitish-gray ball of fluff topped by a whitish-gray masked head that bobbled for a second before falling face first between the other two yet-to-hatch eggs. Daddy Eagle settled down over the new hatchling, then laid back his head and called out into the darkness with that high, piercing call. Within moments, another bird landed on the edge of the nest. Mom had arrived and immediately booted Dad off her nest and proceeded to tuck everyone in and under. The thermometer read 31 degrees. She got busy pulling grass and small twigs up to her chest to mound up the sides so Junior would stay warm. She continually re-positioned herself, turning 90 degrees, then pulling more nesting materials into a higher-sided bowl. When she finished, the nest was high and tight; she was ready for some sleep, so she rotated her head back and tucked her beak under her wing. It was touching to see her do what all mothers do when that new baby arrives. Nesting. Cuddling. Settling in. One of her babies had hatched and the other two eggs showed signs of impending emergence. Instinct was kicking in.

As I lay in bed watching, I could not help but feel that maybe this was too much like Big Brother. It seems so invasive. The technology is phenomenal that it can capture this, but part of the beauty of nature is the mystery of it all. These cameras are rolling 24/7 allowing mom and dad no time alone with their newborn. Maybe I am anthropomorphizing. Tess says that it helps us better understand things like mating practices, nesting structure and sites, food choices during this reproductive phase (there is the visible dead rabbit lying along the edge of the nest!), and chick survival rates. Supposedly, it helps us to better protect these birds, but I think they would do just fine if we paid more attention to how we lived on this land and protected the environments of all living things.

It was 30 years ago today...

I awoke this morning to an NPR "Morning Edition" segment interviewing the author of a book Rawhide Down written about an event that happened 30 years ago on March 11, 1981. I remember that day so vividly. I was driving solo through the mountains in New Mexico after leaving behind a home and a marriage in the Midwest and making my way to Phoenix. The news report cut into the music station I was listening to...President Ronald Regan had been shot. Just as the announcement came over the air waves, I rounded a bend on the side of the mountain and the radio signal was cut. For several miles, I was in a panic.

Those are words none of us ever want to hear, but this was the second time I had heard them. In November 1963, my fifth-grade teacher received a note from an urgent student who had walked into the classroom without knocking. Miss Munsen read the note, walked over to the television hanging from the wall, and turned it on. There on the black and white screen the frantic news reports were coming through about President John F. Kennedy.

This drive through the mountains was almost 20 years later, but that gut-wrenching feeling was the same. I was finally able to pull off the road when the radio reception returned. I remember sitting in my car, staring intently at a huge boulder outside my windshield, straining to hear those words that our president would be OK. I needed to hear this. I wanted assurance during these uncertain days of my personal life that everything would work out. I could not bring myself to drive any further, so I waited. And I cried. That news bulletin, and now this boulder, represented everything that was happening in my life. On that day it seemed the world was crashing down all around me.

I finished that good cry. It was exactly what I needed. It was cathartic. I was finally able to let out all the crap that had been building in my life for the last several years. It all vanished there on the side of that mountain.

When I finished my crying jag, I pulled back out onto the roadway. After a few miles, word came over the radio that President Regan would survive. I felt relief for him, but also for myself. I knew that I, too, would figure things out and be OK.