Let it Snow!

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Wheat Stubble in Winter
Photo source: USDA NRCS, Public Domain 

It is the third week of January and there is a deep cover of snow on the ground. We haven't had much snowfall this winter and we need this blanket to protect the earth while it sleeps. Winter wheat, which was one of the crops grown on my family's cash crop farm, needs to be protected from icy winds and extremely cold temperatures. Planted in late summer, it starts to grow in the fall and by November, it looks like a field of green grass. In the spring, it begins to grow again and becomes a gorgeous field of gold that by summer takes my breath away. The depth of color and texture of a mature wheat field stops me in my tracks every time I see one and now, in the dead of winter with 20-degree days and windchills in the teens, by just thinking about it, I am transported to a place where gold surrounds me and the earthy smell of freshly harvested grain is in the air. 

Golden rows of wheat straw create a patchwork image in a field that was once farmed by my family.

When I close my eyes, I can envision the barn on our farm where the wheat was stored. Piled high after the harvest, the mountains of fresh little beads of wheat kernels were a great place for a farm kid to play, catch grasshoppers and chew on the delicate little wheatberries that were warmed by the sun just a few hours ago. The air in the barn was cool and in the late afternoon, the sun would cast shadows on the barn floor. Ribbons of ruby light would weave their way through the weathered boards to create a world suitable for the imagination of a little girl. The wheat crop not only gave us piles of wheat, tons of it if you read my father's diaries where he recorded every year's harvest; but also gave us glowing rows of golden straw as it was laid down from behind the John Deere combine in a pattern that has inspired many a patchwork quilt. As a child, fairy tales such as "Rumpelstiltskin" held my interest, although there was a rather sinister plot in that particular story. But, nevertheless, spinning straw into gold sounded quite wonderful to me. The wheat that found its way into my pockets and cuffs while climbing around in the barn, came spilling out onto my bedroom floor at night when I undressed. The sound was a sweet reminder of hours whiled away in the long afternoon of a summer day.

A view of one of the big barns on my family's farm with our 1860's Greek Revival house and horse barn in the distance.

The wheat and straw that we harvested on our farm were grown as cash crops. The wheat was bagged and sold to growers as seed wheat and the straw was baled and stored in the mows in our barns. It was sold to buyers who sent huge flat bed trucks to our farm and was carried away 20 tons at a time. Some of it made its way to the racetracks where, I was told, the horses were very fussy and they liked our straw. 

My dress form adorned with her glittery silver wreath. 

In January, it's nice to remember the sights, sounds, and smells of summer, but it is also important to me to give homage to the quiet slumber of the earth. In our home, I gravitate to colors that reflect the winter landscape in white and silver and for those infrequent days when we are relieved of our lake-effect cloud cover, I add some blue. It is like taking in a deep breath and slowly exhaling while it snows and we quietly wait for winter to wake from it's long sleep.

I made this wreath for our front porch last winter. Silver, white and blue is one of my a favorite color combinations for this time of year.

Thank you for taking the time to read this post. I hope it may have evoked some memories for you. As always, your questions and comments are welcome. You can post them here on my blog or on Facebook. I will read each one and respond. It is my sincere wish that you and those you love are healthy, happy and safe. And, until we meet again, may the Lord hold you in the hollow of His hand. 

Emmy

Go Bills! 🏈

PRAYING FOR A WIN . . .

"Please, God. Let my team win. Please, please, please . . .", is one of the prayers being sent skyward this week by football fans across America. These prayers remind me of what it was like when I was a little girl and I would pray for God's help when I had done something I would be punished for . . . if my parents found out about it. I would pray, "Please, God! Don't let Mommy see that I broke her vase," or when I was a teen, "please don't let Daddy notice I used all the gas in the tank," when I was supposed to just drive the car to school and back home . . . not go joy-riding after school. I'd bargain with God and ask Him to let me off the hook one more time. I'd promise to behave and not break more vases or break the rules for using the car. It's the post-season playoffs for the AFC (American Football Conference) and the NFC (National Football Conference) in the NFL (National Football League). If this is news to you, then you must not watch your local news or read the feed on your internet news and social media . . . or live in Western New York, the home of the Buffalo Bills football games! After the year that just ended, this might be the sole thing in many Americans' lives that gives them joy . . . and heartbreak. But at least it is something familiar to them and not something that creates fear and confusion as they try to navigate their way in this pandemic-ravaged world. Praying is part of being a fan. Any fan will tell you they have sat on the edge of their seat, hands folded and head bowed at times during a football game. With the exception of a few lucky fans, the rest of the football-viewing world watched the games this season on TV. What a huge change this has been for them, the teams, the networks, the advertisers, the restaurants and other retail establisments that count on the revenue from the football season. But, that topic is for another blogger to sort out. I will focus this post on faith.

When it comes to faith, football and fans, there is an obvious (to me) connection, a fan believes in his/her team and has faith in them even when disappointed. Every team has fans and when they are let down they cry, get mad, walk away, yell at the TV . . . and in the end, they stay loyal to their team. They come back to the stadium or the TV again and again. They donate to the team's local charity drives. They are faithful. They will defend the team and take anyone to task who speaks negatively of them. They don't jump ship and run off to cheer for another team. That's not what a dyed-in-the-wool fan will do. It's not a whole lot different than my relationship with God. I thank him every morning for the gift of a new day. I ask for his guidance as I maneuver my way through it. There will be circumstances that require me to make decisions based on what I know, or based on some research on my part, or based on faith. I thank him for the big and the little things and likewise, I pray for the big and little things. I look for ways to support His work. And when I'm disappointed, I try to remember that all prayers aren't answered in my time. I need to be patient. Prayers are answered in God's time . . . like the lyric in a Garth Brooks song, "some of God's greatest gifts are unanswered prayers". 

Even if you aren't a football fan, you've probably found yourself being thankful in 2020 for things you'd never have expected you'd even be thinking about. How many times did you go to the store or online and give out a squeal of joy or do a little happy dance when you actually found toilet paper to put in your shopping cart? Praying for disinfectant wipes . . . at least one canister . . . still isn't all that unusual. And, of course, the prayers that are lifted daily for those whose loved ones have been sick or taken by Covid-19 and for those working in the trenches of our medical facilities. Prayers, big and small are part of my daily life. When I can't find something, I usually go straight to God and ask him to lead my hands to whatever it is that is lost. And everytime . . . yes . . . everytime . . . He answers my prayer and I find it. Prayer and thanks are a big part of my days and part of many other people's across the globe. 

So when I sit on the edge of my seat this weekend and watch the playoff games, I'll be one of those praying fans. It feels a little funny to me to pray for a football game, but I will be praying and I will feel just like I did when I was a little kid, except I won't be bargaining with God the way I did then. I won't promise to be a better fan because I am already faithful. And I'll accept the outcome . . . hopefully the one I will be praying for. Now, if I could be as fanatical about my faith . . . but thinking about it is a start. 

Thank you for taking the time from your day to read this post. As always, your questions and comments are welcome. You can leave them here on my blog or on Facebook. I will read them and I will respond. It is my sincere wish that you and those you love are healthy and safe. And . . . for my football congregation . . . Go Bills! 🏈

Emmy

Picking the Tree

It is the first week of the new year and for the first time ever my husband and I are both ready to start taking down our Christmas decorations early. As it is, we didn’t really get them put up until Christmas Eve. And, it wasn’t like we didn’t have time this year to decorate. No. That’s not why we didn’t get the house decorated early . . . like we thought we would. I mean, with being sequestered in our home and keeping ourselves isolated from the rest of humankind, we thought it was a sure thing that we’d be sitting by the fire in our warm robes all of December, especially this Christmas of all Christmases! But human nature is a funny thing. We couldn’t seem to get off the dime. Hauling the bins of decorations down the stairs and putting up the tree and getting the lights on it seemed like a gargantuan task. By waiting until the week before Christmas, it was a lot easier to put up just the necessary and most precious decorations. I think our psyches needed simplicity and that’s what they got. Sparsely decorated mantels, a simply decorated tree in traditional red, gold and silver . . . without the lush garlands and over-the-top floral picks I am so prone to poke in every bare spot I can find in the tree.

So, just a couple days after Christmas, I was ready to take down all the decorations. I didn’t know how my husband would feel about it because he absolutely loves all things Christmas. In fact, he is one of the jolly elf’s ambassadors. He has been Santa on many occasions for almost 40 years. When I really had enough of our decorated house, I asked him how he was feeling about still having the decorations up and to my surprise, he said he was also ready to take them down because Christmas this year hadn’t had the same feeling as it usually does. 

As I started taking ornaments off the tree, I remembered a quaint expression my mother always used when it was time to take down the Christmas tree. She called it “picking the tree,” and when I was a kid, it always made me giggle. As I picked the tree this week, I thought a lot about my mother. Like all of us, her Christmases weren’t always the same and there were some holiday seasons that were less festive because of events that happened that year. She and my father both lived during the pandemic of 1918 and two world wars that took the lives of friends and neighbors, the Great Depression, family tragedies and personal things she never disclosed to me. 

As I get older, I feel more of a kindred spirit with my mother. As different as I used to think we were, I have discovered we were more alike than I ever realized. As we begin a new year filled with uncertainties, I hope I can muster up the fortitude my mother had. She lived a life full of personal challenges and triumphed beyond even her own expectations by sheer determination. From being so small when she was born that she wasn’t expected to live, to being unable to sit up or walk until she was 4 years old and so many other things she endured. (I wrote about my mother in a previous post. You can read it here: https://studioemmy.blogspot.com/2018/05/as-mothers-day-approaches.html?m=0) I hope we can all do likewise and come through this difficult time with an appreciation for each other and what is truly important in our lives . . . to survive in ways we never would have imagined we’d find necessary in our lifetime. I wrote about “hope” last week and today, my closing thoughts are about “fortitude”. Let’s all strive to be strong and have courage.

Thank you for taking the time to read this post. It is my hope that you and those you love are healthy and happy. Your questions and comments are always welcome here on my blog or on Facebook. I do read them and will respond. And until we meet again, may the Lord bless you and hold you in the hollow of His hand. 

Emmy