Dusty Roads to the Heart

Has your heart ever whispered to you? Have you ever felt the little nudge it was giving you?  Have you ever felt this way, but on the other hand you are scared. You want it so bad but will you be good enough? Will you really be able to fulfill your dream that has been hidden from the world for years? Your dream that you were afraid to let surface. A dream that you no longer can hid from the world. You can no longer keep within yourself. A dream that you have to share with others. A few weeks ago, I did something that I never dreamed possible. I called Hospice and I asked to be a volunteer. I have now been accepted and have completed my steps of fulfilling my dream. I had my picture taken and my badge was made. Every step I take toward the beauty of this new world I'm stepping into I wonder...why did it take me so long to see the magical wonderment of compassion, the magical wonderment of loving, of caring for the sick? I am not a nurse, a social worker, a Chaplin, a doctor...

This is the season of rushing here and there. Everyone is busy preparing for family get together's. I have decided to give my dear "editor" a very needed break from her job editing my stories. It will be nice to have a little time myself. So we will not be posting anymore chapters in our book "Little by Little....Side by Side" until after the first of the year. Please come back to us then and walk with Mark and Amy as they see their Bret and Kate through  high school years, college years and finally attend their beautiful weddings. These will be the final chapters of the book. We will cry together, be happy together, and tell our young man and woman good bye as they start their life with their spouse. So until then..... Happy Holidays to all our dear friends. We hope you enjoy your families and friends.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. Little people grew up. Daddy changed to Dad and Mommy to Mom. People fall in love and marry. Neighborhoods change. Geese fly north, then back again. Spring comes with buds popping out on tree branches, then summer with its warm barefoot days and wheat trucks and the smell of new cut alfalfa and cows grazing peacefully in green grasses. The leaves turn a crimson and start to fall to the ground, covering the grass. Then snowflakes fall on your nose and in your hair. So was life here on our little farm. BB guns were exchanged, with first a shotgun, and then a rifle. Pack rat hunting and turtle targets changed to walking quietly through tall grasses hoping a pheasant would fly up. A young man would so willingly get out of bed early in the morning to dress up in camouflage from head to foot, drag his sister out of her warm bed, and go sit for hours, waiting for a turkey. They would walk south into the pasture grasses on

I stand at the window of our little home on the plains. Behind me the fire burns warm and strong behind the hearth. I am warm, I am safe...I am warm and I am safe, but my heart, my soul, my mind, is outside this window. Its outside this window because someone I love is out in the storm. Outside the storm rages. That dark, black cloud bank had appeared in the west and had climbed all day toward our little farmstead on the plains of the west. Then the snow started to fall thick, the north winds howl around the little house, beating at its walls, its windows, its door, threating to break in. But I was safe and warm, but he had gone outside into the storm to put the milk cow and the horses into the barn. I stood there at the window, looking out into the raging storm, watching for the small flicker of his lantern telling me he is coming home, but I see nothing. What can I do? How can I help? I want to fling open the door and run out into the storm...screaming his name...looking arou

"Who will give me five?" "Now six?" "Seven anyone?" The auctioneer stood beside the flat bed trailor pointing his finger to first this person and then that one. "Seven....seven.....gone to number 36" He turned to the guy standing on the trailer and asked. "Now what do we have here?" "Looks like a couple of nice looking pitch forks. Who will give me ten for both?" It seemed just like yesterday that dad and mom had moved to the ranch down on the creek where they lived for some 25 years. Mark and his siblings have great memories of their days there on the ranch, checking the fence and cattle. Putting up hay up the creek under the stars. Harvesting wheat way into the night. Listening to the turtle dove, or the pheasant or the quail as they called to each other down by the creek on a quiet summer day. Fighting snow drifts and blizzard conditions to feed the calves across the creek. Riding three miles to the mailb

Sometimes the deepest, heartfelt lessons are learned at the bedside of your dear gray haired friend. At the bedside of someone who is far wiser that yourself. At the bedside of someone who has loved you like a daughter. This is my story. Those three little words "I love you" are so small but yet so strong, so beautiful. They are as beautiful as God Himself. They can go deep into the human heart, softening every part and changing you for always. Those three little words can bring you pure sunshine, especially if they are whispered into your ear by a dear friend. I have regrets. I have very deep regrets. They tear deep at my soul, my heart. You see when my own father, my dear husband's mother, and a small number of my other dear friends were in the hospital, I could not go to them. I have never stepped my foot into a hospital room. I just couldn't. I couldn't because my heart was not willing to trust. So I will forever live with regrets. I will forever wish I

It was a beautiful May day. Bret and Kate stood with me, one on both sides, my arms around their small sholders. We were gathered in a quiet little country cemetery. My eyes rested on Mark as he stood behind the hearse, beside five other men. They reached out and quietly lifted the casket out and slowly placed it under the green tent. Our dear friend Roy was gone. It was so hard to believe. He left a deep hole in the farming community and an even larger one in our little family. He will never know how much he meant to Bret and Kate, and both Mark and me. Just last night, our family gathered around the piano to sing a few hymns. We would do this once in a while. We would take turns choosing a hymn each. Last night Bret asked us to sing a certain one and then he said, "I dedicate this to Roy." He was not kidding. He was a very serious little boy that evening. Roy meant the world to our children. He meant the world to us and left a huge hole, but one thing we knew was th

Every wife likes to feel special don't we? Even us "farm" wifes. I love being a farm wife, don't get me wrong. It always makes me feel special, but just an "ordinary day" special. You know like: "Oh yea honey could you stop past Del's while your in town? The starter for the White is done and ready to pick up." Or during wheat planting time: "Honey I don't want to stop for lunch so could you bring it to me....say 12:30?" Note: I was to bring him lunch....no mention of "I wonder if you would plant {actually drive the tractor} while I went home to eat lunch." Then there is: "Could you run to the elevator and get 3000 pounds of Rock 40 fertilizer and bring it over to the south 80?" Or riding with him so you can spoon hamburger hash and pieces of baked potato and beans into his mouth so he can keep the combine moving. How could he ever trust you to drive that huge monster? Or when we are fixing fence. He

It was the last week in January and the building was complete. It sat just north and east of our house. Goodness, compared to our current little metal farrowing huts, we appeared to really be in business. It measured 24 x 80 and was brown in color with a white roof. Two grain bins sat at the north side. One held grain for the farrowing and one for the nursery. An auger tube ran from the bin into the building so you could fill your buckets inside. There was a large pit at the end where all the goody would go for storage. Inside, fourteen crates sat on top of slatted flooring. Seven on each side, with a wide aisle down the middle and an aisle behind each row of crates. At the end of the middle aisle was the door into the nursery. Four large pens lined both sides back there with feeders and automatic waters in each pen. This was where the baby pigs would come at three weeks to be weaned from momma. Everything about this building was brand new. There was a very important reason for that!

There is something I take for granted. Something I sometimes forget to give thanks for. Something I have shared in all my life. That something is our beautiful flag. That red, white and blue, that flag that sometimes flies strong on its pole, sometimes hangs limp there, that flag we put up every morning, and take down at night. That flag that sometimes flies through the night in the gleam of the spot light. That flag that has come to me at a great cost, at the sacrifice of great men and women. That flag that God has allowed to fly free over my great home of America. Because God has allowed her to guard our great land, we are free to do many things. Free to enjoy a life of plenty. I can drive to Walmart, Sam's, Dillion's or any store at anytime and see shelves upon shelves of food from canned fruits and vegetables, to flour, sugar, bread, meats---you name it!  Instead of walking into a little store, your footsteps echo off empty shelves and you're told "There is

Once again I stood at the kitchen table after Bret and Kate had been tucked into bed. I unzipped the brand new book bag. I placed in it the little blunt end scissors, a new box of colors, a little rug, some pencils, an old shirt of Mark's, and a little pair of old cleaned up tennis shoes. I zipped it shut and just stood there for a little bit, my hand resting on the colorful book bag that Kate and I had picked out for her first day of kindergarten. Our baby was going to get on the bus with her big brother tomorrow. I would be left alone for a whole morning. What would I do without her chatter and laughter? I picked up the little book bag, held it to my chest for a minute and then carried it to the door and placed it beside Bret's. I had a real problem with change, and life was full of them. The last two years had been full of kindergarten graduation, parent teacher meetings, parent's club activities, little Christmas programs, Valentine parties, and Kate's presch

The wheat heads were golden, hanging there on their stems. A gentle hot wind blew from the south. Mark walked out into the field of golden yellow and bent to pick off a head. He opened his hand and rubbed the head into his palm and picked up a kernel and bit it with his teeth. It popped at the touch. It was ready for the combine. An exciting time on the farm was about to begin! The combine was backed out into the yard. Our faithful old grain truck was parked beside the gas tank. After breakfast I washed the windows of both the combine and truck. Mark was under the combine greasing all the little important areas. It promised to be a great day for our first day of cutting. The sun was bright and a warm breeze blew from the south. It was just the type of day that made a farmer whistle as he worked!  Bret and Kate were happy little campers too. They had a new friend! We had been lucky to find two different young girls who came to stay with us during harvest time. Julie was with us