In the Land of Buffalo

Yesterday, travels took me from Norfolk, Nebraska to Custer, South Dakota.  Passing through on Highway 20, small towns would pop up and then disappear again.  In the more thriving communities, little restaurants, crowded with locals thus denoting the presence of good food, appear in the downtowns.  Gas stations, a general store, an auto parts place, and granaries are the most common monuments to a population.  In between these places where between 30 and 3,000 gather and call home, the grasslands sweep.  The heart of Nebraska, not the land of the flat fields some might imagine, holds miles of cattle country.  Dotted with herds of cattle, horses, and a few trees, bluffs create complex patterns of light and dark – playing with shadows created by the spring sun. 

This is an austere land.  It is not the gentle slopes of the Appalachian foothills or the relaxing sounds of the river slapping against the shore.  The wind whips through the grasses, moving them like a sea of reeds.  Snow is making its last stand against the warmth of the earth and sun by melting so slowly into the soil.  Cattle gather around feeding troughs, and windmill powered water tubs.  New spring calves follow their mommas, close enough to run to the safety and comfort of her side, and yet far enough to do a little exploring of their new world.  Farmers and ranchers are out working on repairing fences, helping with the birthing of spring calves, and preparing fields for the new growing season. 

Rocky buttes start showing themselves, severe and beautiful testimonials to the strong bones of the land.  Pines adhere themselves to little soil, forming braided roots that cling to the anchoring materials.  Growing so slow and powerful over the rock itself to split and move the surface away for new growth.  Craggy bluffs and box canyons hold hiding spots for the antelope, and wayward cattle that simply don’t care to participate in the cattle drives.  Antelope, their white and brown coloring stands out to the eye as a color slightly out of place.  One, then two, eleven, fifteen – there they are out among the cattle.  Horse tails are caught in the wind and blown aside softly, creating beautiful images of how the wind moves.

This land was once filled with herds of buffalo.  They moved along the grass lands and created a dark contrast of color from the light prairie grasses and their coffee colored fur.  Decorated with the seeds of different flowers and painted with the red mud on their hooves and heads from scratching on the ground, I can imagine them sallying forth across the land, moving in groups of thousands.  It is the land that supports strong animals, ones that can survive and thrive in severe conditions.  I am in the land of buffalo. 

Christmas – Towns

   O Little Town in Iowa, how still I see thee lie… Yes, I know that that is not how the song goes. Coming out of work tonight, in the dark, the snow was flitting down, and swirling around the curbs. The light posts have been wrapped in evergreen swags, bright red bows, and white lights. Store displays are starting to show the Christmas cheer with wreaths, poinsettias, glass bulbs, and brightly colored tinsel. Nativities are out in display, the big plastic light up kinds that go in yards. I love the decorations, the mood that everyone seems to be in, as the streets are a bit brighter and so carefully prepared.

   I wonder what Bethlehem looked like on that far ago night, when Joseph and Mary were getting settled in a busy town for the birth of a baby. Most certainly there were not electric lights, and I doubt that there were shops with such displays. And a space filled with the animals of travelers doesn’t seem the most festive or hygienic place for a baby to be born. I wonder if they tried to decorate it, or at least make it feel more comfortable.
   As you trim your tree, light up some vanilla or pine scented candles, and pull goodies from the oven, this is a good time to remember why we decorate. As well as the humbleness of that first town, I’m sure it was not tinsel draped.

Route 66

   A series of highway cut across the country, opening up territory to those who would explore the many beautiful miles of territory. It cut through small towns, and in many places created an economy based on the traffic of the road. I think that that must have been an exciting time, as these small towns flourished and grew. The first time that they would have seen the immense spaces of the western dessert, the rolling flats of the plains states, or the rows of plants in the fields must have been so exciting.

   It has been several years since I found myself on a highway headed west, but I remember being captivated by the scenes outside my window. Sharp bluffs and sudden ravines held herds of cows. Windmills would be around the water troughs, bringing up fresh water for the animals gathered around. Wildflowers grew up in patches in slowly rolling hills, and people could be seen gathering the blooms in a few locations. Fields lined with purple wildflowers went on for miles and smelled so sweet. Trains carrying supplies across the country interlace with depots to add more textiles, corn, and other materials.
   In our own little town, it is easy to forget about the other places, to forget about the miles and miles of beauty that surround us. Every once in a while it’s worthwhile to just get out of town and spend time enjoying the sights.

Dream Town

   I live in a small river town, where the cliché downtown has unfortunately become the truly economically depressed downtown. Though a few restaurants and stores have survived, there are many more empty places rather than full now. The buildings have some beauty to them still; the architecture that survives shows the wear and tear of years of rain, snow, ice, and sun.

   When I walk the sidewalks on this street (it’s a one street downtown), and dream about what could be done there. First of all, the buildings are restored. Clean off the plank wood, repair the old architecture, new paint, new plaster, and new bricks. Then, from the repaired buildings, put in beautiful wooden floors and crystal clear windows.
   I imagine this as I walk down the sidewalk, and imagine elegantly decorative signs showcasing artisans who have taken up residence here. Glass blowers, wool felters, sculptors, painters, photographers, writers, architects, craftsman, would slowly fill the buildings and take up residence for studios. Soon, beautiful pieces would be shown in the windows. Music would be heard on cool spring days drifting from open windows. Clinics would be held and people would gather to learn about different types of arts. Children would have a place that is safe for them to explore texture, color, and new things.
   Wouldn’t it be beautiful?

Small Towns Small Things

America is made up of small towns, lots and lots of small towns, with a few large towns tossed in for variety. Each small town has some commonalities, but they are all unique as well. Each has its own flavor and personality. There is an incredible cook, an artist, a story teller, playgrounds, schools, churches, and flowers. But, each one is a little different and each is special.

Life is also made up of many small things with a few big things tossed in. Remember that saying a few years ago which became so popular? Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff – and its All Small Stuff. Well, they got it somewhat right anyway. It isn’t all small stuff, and some small stuff shouldn’t be sweated and worried over. There are some great big things thrown in there as well. The majority of my days go by with small stuff, little things, minute gestures, seemingly trivial and insignificant decisions and conversations. Then, you look back over years of the small stuff with a few big moments thrown in and realize, it was all important!
I watched the sky clear over the Mississippi River last night. The rain came and then went, the clouds parted and then gathered again, hanging lower and greyer. Sparrows came and watched from the eaves of the shelter, hoping that there was food to be shared. A light rain pattered onto the pond and was caught in the light. Ducks splashed in puddles and their muffled quacks rang just above tapping of the water rain onto the water pond surface. Small moments, but important - enjoy the small stuff, it’s important.

The Holiday Stroll – from the View of a Beagle

Last night was the annual Holiday Stroll in the small mid-western town of Muscatine.  The main “downtown” street was blocked off from all but foot traffic and the people pour in.  Starting when it is dark, the lights wrapped around street lights, in window displays, and in a Musco Lighting display all give everything a lovely holiday glow.  In storefronts, dance classes perform and musicians play in some other stores.   As I was walking down the street, I saw the cute little beagle who hangs out in one of the stores – and I wondered… if she could tell me, what would this whole event look like to her?

Perhaps, something like…

“Well, being a beagle, you all are so much taller – giants really.  So, you can imagine how tall those trees are.  Who is that fellow that keeps showing up in the store windows by the way?  Shouldn’t he really look into getting some different clothes, he might start to smell if he doesn’t.  Or is it like my favorite collar and it only needs to be washed if I find something really great to roll in? 

Wow – so many feet!  Look at them go, big feet, little feet, and so many different kinds of shoes.  I wonder where everyone is going.  Do they just walk back and forth in front of my door or are these different giants?  It’s hard to tell through the glass and in the darker lights. 

Oooohh, did you smell that stuff in that guy’s cup?  I hear the store next door has cider for everyone.  I wonder if this is cider.  Hey – you – yes – you – put your cup down here for me please.  Everybody says this is the time for sharing, so share already.  I’ll share too, I have a bone that might be tasty.  Don’t mind the lint. 

Well, my person is calling me.  I guess I need to peel my nose off the door and resume my job here at the store.  I’m the official greeter.  Except this time of year, I think I’m the official greeter/hand warmer.  People sure are nice to share that with me.  I get awfully hot some days. “