Small Town Wonders

I live in a small town. A very small town, actually. By choice, believe it or not. I make myself drive forty-five minutes (one-way) to work every day just so I can stay in a small town. I've got city friends who think I'm nuts. But for those who love the country - or the feel of small towns - can certainly relate.

There are a whole lot of good reasons to be in a small town. I'm in the habit of locking my doors, but there really isn't a great threat of burglary or tom-foolery in this type of neighborhood. I can walk anywhere I want to, whether it's the post office, gas station, ice cream shop or... well, I guess there's not a whole lot more than that, but if there was, I could still walk there! Folks are generally friendly. And while everybody knows everything - even things they shouldn't - there's a strange amount of comfort in that kind of community. The list of benefits to living in a small town is a long one. But I keep adding to it. For example, this sunset. While driving from my parents' house at one end of town the other night, I saw the beginning of a very pretty sunset. Without anyone behind me (did I mention the lack of traffic?), I pulled over and snapped a photo. Sad that I wouldn't be able to see the rest of the sunset from home, I chided myself for thinking I had to head there right away. All I had to do was go another three blocks and I'd be at the other edge of town! So I did.

Still with no other cars in sight, I hit the edge of town in about sixty seconds (maybe eighty), and I was able to pull over again and watch as the sky turned orange. I got in a few more good shots with my phone, too. I had to laugh, though, at the thought that my town is so small, I really can go from one end to the other so quickly (without even speeding) that I don't even have to miss the ever-changing patterns in the sky.

It's not something totally amazing, I'll admit, but this small-town girl will take all the little things she can get. And since I'm a big fan of sunsets, well, this is a pretty good addition to the list of reasons I'm going to stay put.


I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave a comment! Are you a city person or a country person?

Singing in the Snow

So, yesterday was another snow day for me. As in, I woke up to blowing snow and a ridiculously low wind chill, which made me decide it was worthless to try and drive the 45 minutes to work. I went back to bed.

When I did finally get up, I took this picture off my front porch.

My poor car (which isn't a hatchback - it just looks like it from the snow piling up on the trunk) appeared to be frozen stiff. The wind was howling and blowing even more snow off my apartment roof. Snow from just a couple days prior was still piled up behind my car. I think my nose froze solid in the three and a half seconds I stood outside. The picture doesn't show very well that at this point, the snow was still falling pretty steadily. And then I heard it.

Birds.

Singing.

Seriously? I could hear all kinds of birds up in the trees (I didn't look for them, since I was trying to avoid hypothermia) singing up a storm (no pun intended). If I hadn't seen the snow or felt the cold temperature, I would have thought it was springtime. It stunned me (for that extra half second), and I stepped back inside my apartment just shaking my head.

Now, I don't speak Birdish, so maybe these flocks of birds were on the warpath and hurling insults at each other, but my imagination happily sits on the notion that these particular feathered creatures were part of a merry choir.

To be honest, it kind of made me think about my own attitude. I'm all for snow days, but I was on the verge of loathing a day stuck at home with a ton of work piling up at the office. But I was inside! Warm. Dry. Lying back on my couch and sipping coffee while watching television. At least I wasn't stuck outside, up in a tree, battling the wind, snow and cold like those poor birds were.

I looked up some Bible references about singing, and this one struck me as interesting. It's in the book of Acts, and two missionaries, Paul and Silas, are in prison (after being severely beaten) for spreading the word about Jesus. They're in just about the worst pickle they could be in, and here they're found praying and singing. Singing! By the grace of God, they escaped prison that night and even managed to find a new believer in the jailer himself. 

So, yesterday was another snow day for me. As in, I woke up to blowing snow and a ridiculously low wind chill... But I still had a reason to sing. If the birds can sing... if Paul and Silas could sing... then I certainly can find reason to refrain from complaints and find something to be thankful for instead.


I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave a comment.

A Significant Doodle

Sometimes it really is the little things. You know - those things that seem trivial at the time, but then later grow far beyond what was expected.

The other day, during a meeting, I found myself doodling. (Not an uncommon occurrence at all.) On this particular day, I had a pen with blue ink and a pad of narrow white scrap paper. As I listened to what was being said, I found my fingers creating a couple of strangely intriguing flowers with petals of odd shapes and sizes, and stems made of triangles and squares. The wispy grass grew in whimsical curls, and an insect (related to a butterfly) flitted about with its triangular-shaped body. A ladybug came onstage at some point, although this one had a peculiar rectangle body instead of rounded, and antennas fit for its fantasy home world.

Later, as I actually took a moment to look at my blue-ink doodles, I realized that I kind of liked the scene. There was something about it that made me smile, and my mind's eye began filling in the spaces with colors and details I hadn't yet drawn. The doodle evolved into a living scene with motion, light and sound. There was a world there with undiscovered creatures, stars not of our own solar system, and a feeling of peaceful adventure.

Then the meeting started again, and my piece of scrap paper was again just a page with some blue-ink doodles.

Until I had time to sit at my computer and play.

The purpose? Just fun (and my rectangle ladybugs are doggone cute). I'm still working on different versions of the scene, adding new details, and am already using several images as wallpaper on my computer. It still makes me smile.

And it all started from a simple little doodle. Go figure.

Little things can't always be dismissed. They can't always go ignored as something that will never amount to anything else. Whether it's a doodle, a small idea, a kind word, a tiny seed of faith, or a simple smile - anything (and anyone) has the potential to become more. To become great. To become significant.


I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave a comment.

God's-eye View

This is just a fun little piece taken from Smatterings of an Analytical Loner for this October Friday.

I remember when I originally wrote this, it was very fun because of both the perspective of the tiny main character, and my enjoyment of autumn.


God's-eye View

Weeee! The thrill! The excitement! Oh my, the drop! The wind rushing by my face, the cool, scented air tickling my nose... There’s nothing like it in the world!

Crawling out to that thin ledge, I looked down, down, down. It seemed to go on for miles. I almost didn’t have the guts to go through with it. Oh, but the thought of soaring high on the breeze was enough to make my antennas twitch.

I latched onto that dry leaf as if a hurricane was coming. I thought we’d never take off. But one good gust of wind, and whoosh! Away we went, I and that ruby red maple leaf.

I know, leaves aren’t something to toy with. They can pile up and bury an ant like me if he’s not careful. But riding one like this? I’ve never felt so alive.

Up, up, up, higher and higher towards the sky we went. I gazed down on rolling fields, rich and golden, bare of harvested crops. There were orchards filled with rows upon rows of luscious green apples. The fragrances were like no other. It was as if the season was suddenly condensed and wrapped up in a tiny package just for me. My mouth watered at the thought of spicy cider.

I flew over a pumpkin patch and dreamt of sliding down those prickly vines. Indian corn hung from someone’s porch - a perfect place for hide and seek. Mmm, I think I smelled a pumpkin pie.

My eyes became slits as the leaf picked up speed, rushing over a crystal brook. I gazed down upon trees of gold, bronze and orange. Some looked as though they had been set ablaze as their red leaves boldly proclaimed their beauty against the sun.

The magic carpet I clung to so tightly took me above the forests, over meadows and through streets that rang of children’s laughter as they ran through piles of their own leaves. I ducked, barely missing the branch of an old oak.

Spinning around and around, the world became a kaleidoscope of browns, yellows and tufts of stubborn greens. And finally...finally, the ride began to slow. My nerves were racing. I could hardly catch my breath. Grasping the edge of my leaf, I guided the aircraft to the edge of a wide open meadow where locusts and crickets sang their final songs.

The world seemed so still as I finally stopped. Looking over my shoulder, my eyes could see only the tall grass towering in front of me. But spying a tree just a few hundred yards away, I could swear I saw another leaf just starting to fall. Maybe I could make it in time. God’s view of autumn was worth a second go.

I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave a comment.

Good Friends and Cadavers

I'm not generally fascinated with roadkill. Actually, I'm usually quite put off for many reasons. Germs, stench, and I like animals, so I hate seeing them dead alongside the highway. It bothers me if I hit critters as small as squirrels, and I will brake for cats and dogs. That said, sometimes the species on the shoulder can be intriguing.

This morning, I was running late. I'd gotten up late, I'd left my apartment late, and I still had to stop for gas before actually heading to work. I wasn't far out of town when I met a familiar oncoming car. What was strange though, was that they stopped, turned around, and went back to a nearby gravel intersection. As I drove on by, I realized my friends were getting out of their vehicle to look at some particular roadkill. Normally, my practical sense kicks in and would just as soon keep me driving so I could make it to work at a reasonable time. But this morning, something in me wanted to change things up a bit. So I pulled over and turned around.

Because of my decision, two cool things happened. One, I got to see my friends whom I hadn't seen in a while - how fun is that? We had a brief chat and shared some laughter. And two, I got to see a bobcat up close and personal. Granted, it was dead, but since it wasn't too marred by the accident, it really was fascinating. Enough so that I took a quick picture (which I won't share here, but if you want to see it, let me know) as proof that bobcats in our area really do exist.

After I got back in my car and once again started for work, I began thinking about all the little opportunities I probably miss every day, just because I don't want to take two minutes to stop what I'm already doing. How many times have I missed out on something neat, just because I "didn't have time"? Or what kinds of opportunities did I leave behind because I was in too much of a hurry?

They say "it's the little things" that make life worth living. I wouldn't want to live by that theology alone, but I will say it is the little things that keep me excited to be alive, and I think God gives us those little things to keep us smiling and keep us focused on things outside of ourselves.

Life's too short to just keep on driving. Stop and turn around once in a while. You might see something neat. Like a dead bobcat.

Flowers Aren’t for Girls

I’ve been a tomboy most of my life. Growing up, I despised dresses, preferred Legos over dolls, and my favorite set of clothes consisted of jeans, a t-shirt and my beloved cowboy boots. I liked fishing, riding bikes with my brother and playing chess in groups of mostly boys. Most of my friends were boys, and though we were never allowed to play too roughly, I was still one of the gang.

Today, I’m pretty much just as anti-femininity as I used to be. I still hate dresses, and if you open my closet, you might find a couple sets of “good clothes,” but they’re well-hidden behind the mass of t-shirts and jeans. My favorite thing to do at work is haul heavy boxes or loads of paper so I can use my muscles. Scratches and bruises from my martial arts classes are worn proudly. My haircut of choice is very short, and makeup rarely touches my face. And the color pink? Don’t get me started. (Okay, I admit I do have one pink t-shirt. I have nothing against other women who adore this light shade of red, it’s just not my thing.)

In spite of all my boyish tendencies though…one of my favorite things God created is flowers. (Yes, even pink ones.) I love taking close-up photos of all kinds of flowers, especially the not-so-common. There are so many deep, rich colors absorbed in each petal that my eyes can't help but stare. Black petunias? Way cool. Stripes? Even cooler! Red. Orange. Purple. Blue. White. Yellow. All the colors of the rainbow are captured in these wonderful blossoming plants. If they smell good, that’s just a bonus. I love flowers enough to have two African violets in my office at work, and I’d like to grow more. I couldn’t have a flower garden anymore once I moved into my own apartment, so I had to at least buy a bunch of annuals to put in pots out on my porch. They’re not the happiest flowers I’ve ever seen, but I love doing my best to care for them and taking pictures of their blooms.

Call me girly and you’ll get a palm heel to the face or a round kick upside your head. Maybe both. But I’ll never renounce my love of flowers. As such, I’ve simply determined that flowers aren’t for girls. They’re for anyone who can enjoy the beauty God has given us. And flowers certainly are beautiful.

Do you have a favorite kind of flower? Do you admire from a distance, or do you have a green thumb?

 

Soggy Socks and Rainbows

It was worth it. The walk, I mean. I waited for the thunder to pass, and ventured outside while the rain was still pouring down. I knew I only had a few minutes left before the storm would turn into light sprinkles, and I didn’t want to miss it. While others might scurry for shelter or cover their heads as they aimed indoors, I was headed out, without jacket or umbrella.

My senses were overwhelmed with the simple beauty of the passing rainstorm. The sun was just starting to shine again, creating a surreal atmosphere of light and wetness. Coolness and warm humidity. Birds sang excitedly above my head. The sound of rain coming down through the trees sent a peace to my heart. The smell of damp air invigorated my soul.

As I sloshed through another puddle, I realized the water was beginning to penetrate my shoes, and my socks were getting a bit soggy. I wasn’t quite soaked from head to toe, but my t-shirt and jeans were starting to cling to my skin. And as I walked casually down the sidewalk, I had to wonder if anyone was watching, and if they might think me rather odd for deciding ten minutes before the end of the storm to go for my mail at the Post Office.

But it was worth it. As I neared my destination, I was rewarded yet again with the sight of a rainbow. Its colors beamed vividly against the gray rain clouds as it arched across the sky. And with it was its twin, though not as bright. The only thing better than a rainbow is a double rainbow.

Despite my damp shirt, soggy socks, and my cat trying to groom my wet hair after I got home, my brief adventure in the rain was one of sheer enjoyment. Next time I might even head out a few minutes earlier.

Fishing Isn't About Fish

I was practically raised holding a fishing pole. Being brought up only a short drive from Lake Ontario, and having an avid fisherman for a father, fishing was quite a major part of my young life. Though never as enthusiastic as my older brother, I still developed my favorite spots to fish, I could tell one kind of fish from another better than some adults, and I had no problem baiting my own hooks or grabbing a wriggling, slimy fish with my bare hands.

As I became an adult, the hobby of fishing was pushed out of the way by other activities. Some years I would get my fishing license, and some years I wouldn’t. The sport was more of a memory than a current interest.

This year, I promised my brother I’d get my license and go fishing with him. So, this past Saturday I once again baited my hook with a live worm and cast into a lake. Granted, it’s a much smaller lake than Lake Ontario, but we make do now that we’re in Iowa.

When I was a kid, the best part of going fishing was climbing on the huge rocks of the pier, making my dad proud by landing a big fish, finding abandoned lures, or braving cold north winds to bring home a bucket full of future suppers. Today, I find myself enjoying the sunshine, just spending time with my brother, soaking up nature, and spotting good scenes to snap pictures. My goal for fishing now isn’t really to catch fish, but to relax and enjoy being outside.

On Saturday, I caught one very small bluegill. That was all. My brother was a bit luckier, catching a nice catfish, which he took home for a meal. But despite my ill luck in catching anything, it was a gorgeous morning, I got to be with my brother, I had a nice long walk to the river, I was able to sit and watch the clouds roll in, take some pictures and listen to rumbling thunder on the walk back through the woods. It was heaven to my senses.

Yes, I still fish. But it means something different to me now than it did when I was a kid.

A Furry Good Neighbor

I may not have imaginary friends, but I do tend to accept local wild animals as my good neighbors. One such neighbor is a brown squirrel. If I was quicker with a camera, I'd have a picture of him, but alas, you'll just have to use your imagination. Most would say he's just an average squirrel, but I tend to think he's on the cuter side of the scale. He's scared me half to death on multiple occasions by clinging to the large maple tree that's right beside my sidewalk. Only when I'm about three feet away do I realize something at my eye level is staring at me. I haven't figured out if he's extraordinarily brave or extraordinarily ornery.

A couple weeks ago one of my cats became quite excited at the window. I went to take a look, and saw Mr. Squirrel, nut in mouth, searching for a new hiding spot for his treasure. Instead of looking out in the yard, he had spotted my flower pots. One by one, he checked them out, testing the softness of the dirt. He finally came up on the porch and found one particular pot that he liked. He very carefully parted the flowers, dug a hole, buried the nut, then patted everything back in place (including the flowers) to make sure no one would be the wiser.

It was one of the cutest, funniest things I'd ever seen. I didn't have the heart to scare him away from my flowers, and still haven't dug up the nut. I've noticed a few other holes in the dirt in some of the other pots, but I've just let Mr. Squirrel be.

More recently, a dead squirrel appeared in the street. I didn't even realize it was there until a gentleman in a pickup came by and cleaned it up. I felt terrible. I didn't know if it was Mr. Squirrel or not, but I'd sort of grown attached to the furry little guy, and to think he'd been hit by a car was rather sad. I knew there were plenty of other squirrels around town but they just weren't the same.

I watched out my window for several days, hoping I'd see Mr. Squirrel and prove it was some other poor creature that had been run over. We had several rainstorms, which didn't help much, as no animals came around at all. I began to believe that it really was Mr. Squirrel that I'd seen taken away.

Until yesterday.

Once again, my cat alerted me. I know, I know, you'd probably tell me that I could never tell the difference from one squirrel to the next, but let me believe and be happy, okay? THIS squirrel dared to drink out of a flooded flower pot and even came up on the porch to sniff around. He was so confident about it being his territory, that I was convinced it was, indeed, my Mr. Squirrel.

I don't know which one of his family members met their fate on my street, but I can't tell you how glad I was to see Mr. Squirrel alive and well, still claiming my flower pots as his own. And...I think I'll just let him believe they're his. After all, I'm a good neighbor, too.