On the road again...

Finally, a road trip! A wander with a camera and some blessed time with no agenda. It's been a busy season.

In the last twelve months, I've been in Minnesota, Ohio, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Connecticut, back to NJ, back to Ohio (and all the states and cities in between those destinations). All that on a road trip to and from the Black Hills for two wonderful graduations. That was last summer; the winter was a wander from the Hills to Southern California via Bismarck, ND.  There was a lovely three weeks in Tucson with my ever gracious brother and his wife. Then three months in Southern California to romp with grands, interrupted by a month long teaching trip to Oaxaca, Mexico.  Throw in couple flights from San Diego to Rapid City and Austin, Texas.  Oh, a train ride from San Marcos back to Austin because I locked myself out of my niece's home.  (Another story full of fun and mosquitos and the more memories with a dear friend.) 

Finally back to my own home and overgrown yard with just a month before the local garden club meeting at my house.  Oops-add another short road trip to Denver and a family reunion with my 90 year old mother. And three days before the garden club showed up, I fell UP a flight of stone stairs, split open my forehead, bruised my ribs and slept for two days. Thank God for my sister- who always holds down the fort with our mom AND cleaned my house and spruced up my yard.

To the next person who says, "It must be nice to be able to do whatever you want to do and travel so much....", I'm going to deck them.  Actually, I only think about hitting people and being nasty. I usually just go off and sulk and vent to a few people who know me and then, laugh with them. All the travel is fun AND exhausting; the grands are grand AND exhausting (and the SoCal ones are still waiting for Daddy to return from Afghanistan); the jaunts to Mexico ( I forgot to include the first one last September) were great experiences of creating curriculum and teaching AND also, exhausting.  Hmm- a bit of a pattern showing up.

SO... I am always so grateful to come home and drop into my own bed and rest. 

For thus said the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel, 

“In returning and rest you shall be saved; 

in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.” Isaiah 30:15

And my soul says, "Amen."


I'm grateful for stamina and good health; for friends and family who support and encourage me; and for quiet times in the Black Hills to recharge.  And a small wander with a camera does wonders for my soul as well.

Let me share my recent trip to St. Onge, South Dakota, settled by Danish immigrants in the1880's. They built ranches, a town and at least one church that still stands. I had to backtrack and criss-cross the county- if there had been ANY traffic, I would have flagged someone down and asked for directions. But I found it or it found me.

I love the delicate stone carving - it's on both sides
but the wind has scoured off the north side. 

What an imagination- surrounded by prairie, a fanciful city is carved on the headstone.
Hope.

Resting, forever a child.

Little Dane Church
St. Onge, South Dakota

History is the Stories of the people who came before us- we look back at their accomplishments and perseverance and wonder at our own character.  What will the future generations think of us? It's easy for us to judge the settlers in light of what we now know of the indigenous people already here.  We may forget that many families were leaving poverty and lack to come to the West and make new lives. 

Will our descendants marvel at what we consider modern accomplishments- many which will be obsolete before our death?  Or will they judge us for divisions and incivilities, wars and inequalities?  

My prayer is they learn a lesson on the value of a small wander, the renewing power of wonder at creation- God and man's, the need to be still and know God in the midst of change and tumult?  I see the eternal in this country church and its prairie graveyard and I trust. 

in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.” Isaiah 30:15

Blessings, Kathryn

For some more information about St. Onge and rural life. 
http://www.bhpioneer.com/local_news/little-dane-church-gets-facelift/article_621df504-b9cf-11e2-a73d-0019bb2963f4.html

https://rapidcityjournal.com/news/local/barn-near-st-onge-stands-as-a-monument-to-south/article_f8aa5a3c-99c6-5c13-aa5b-e993ecdc0bfc.html

Happy Christmas, Bee

This is a totally, sappy post about grandchildren.  You've been warned....


I'm with my daughter, her husband and their two munchkins. And munchkins they are- both fairly short for their age and both walked early so they race around on stubby legs with too long pants tripping them up.  They are 18 months apart and someday will be best friends.  Even now, Noelle squeals when she sees her older brother after naps.  Actually, she squeals when she wants to eat, when she's "all done", when her brother takes his car/backpack/stroller/water bottle back.  She likes to squeal.  I'm their Bebe but Josiah calls me Bee.


It's beginning to feel like Christmas around here. We try to play Christmas music- anything besides the Veggie Tales book with " We wish you a merry Christmas" over and over.  "You want to read a story, Noelle?" as I slide the offending book under the couch.  The innocent little thing just plunks down on my lap.  My daughter and I think about holiday food and packages arrive regularly from Amazon.

And the Christmas tree towers over the munchkins- all seven feet of it.  Josiah loves the tree. He wants the lights on first thing in the morning and sometimes tells the tree goodnight.  And today, under the Christmas tree, we had one of those adorable, "why can't I film this or bottle it and savor forever" moments.

He had on the Bears Christmas stocking hat (a die hard if disgusted Chicago fan and fans-in-training live here) and he had that soft, captivating look on his face.



"I wuv the Cwismas twee," he sighed. "It's happy Cwismas."  And started singing "We wis oo a berry Cwismas..." Ok- a child you love can sing anything and you want a recording.   Then he looked at me and said, "I wuv oo, Bee."  Oh yes, this is the magic grandmother moment.  He holds out his arms and says, "Hug?"  Well of course,  I'm practically in tears- "anything you want, dear child."


Mama leaves and I have to capture this moment. Or at least re-stage it.  Get the hat, find the cute snowman, pose, capture.  All sweetness.  And the squealer lets me know she needs a picture.  A sequence of blurry pictures of a moving target follows.  In the only clear picture she looks like a fat black and white bumble bee.

Where did that belly come from?

And right in the middle of the photos, off goes the cute hat; the snowman is launched and suddenly, I have a two year old with a tantrum.  Cars are tossed.  "No happy Christmas!" Stomp, stomp.  I should have turned on the video but I was trying not to laugh. What on earth happened?

No picture captures his disgust at whatever set him off....ha!

Who knows?  He's two and a half. She's fourteen months. I'm much older.  They won't remember anything from today. I'll always smile when I see these pictures- sure there was a tantrum but first there was a tender little boy with his brand-new wonder, the very spirit of Christmas.  And there was a lovely little, squirmy squealer with her infectious laugh.   It's a very Happy Christmas.