Dusty Roads to the Heart

Snow lays on the ground all around our little house beside the creek. The cottonwoods raise their bare branches to the sky. Smoke rises in a straight line from the chimney and disappears into the gray night. Inside, little Bret has been tucked into his bed and is fast asleep. I sit curled up next to Mark on the couch talking softly. It has been one week now since we moved into our new home. Like a lot of women, I had concerns. Mark was trying so hard to make it here on the farm, but it was small and we had come up against a few hard blows. I don't know, I just hate debt! It makes me nervous for some reason. I turned to him and whispered "I'll try really hard to watch my spending. We can have a big garden, and Grandpa gives us milk, and we could butcher one of our calves. I think we can get our house paid for, don't you?" Mark gave me a squeeze and whispered back into my ear. "You know something...you worry way to much! We will work together and yes w

This last couple weeks I have had a special privilege. When I tell you what it is, you may wonder why I call it "special", but I do because I have recieved helpful thoughts from the experience. I have spent quite a bit of time in our garden and our soybean fields. Because of all the rains we recieved in June the weeds and grass have flourished! A hoe or spade is the only thing you can use in the bean field, but Stan wonders about me when I take the hoe to the garden when a perfectly good tiller stands in the garage. But because of using the hoe, I have learned alot of personal lessons. When I first looked at our poor garden, the thought went through my mind "Why try...just get the good old lawn mower out here and cut all this stuff down." Then I remember....I see in my minds eye, my husband patiently walking behind the tiller, preparing the garden bed for seed. I see him stretching the baling twine out straight, and tight so the row can be dug just right.

New grandma's and grandpa's, new aunties and uncles came to our little house. They took pictures, brought toys, gave kisses and hugs, and said things like "isn't he so cute" or "look at those little fingers and toes." Little Bret would just lay there in Grandma's lap asleep, a little smile playing on his lips once in a while. His little eye lids would quiver and he would let out a quiet hiccup. Daddy would stay in a little longer than usual after lunch and his chores would get done a little earlier in the evenings. Grandma would bring over homemade soups or cookies or donuts, and ask "how is our little one today?" Yes, life changed forever and that first year with little Bret passed by with a lot of "firsts." The "first" night he slept all the way through, his "first" little smile, his "first" little coo, the first "surprise shower" given to mommy and daddy when they changed his diape

I lay in the dark beside my husband. I just couldn't get comfortable that night. "Honey...are you still awake?" I asked turning my head toward him. "What? I guess...why?" "Our baby will not let me get comfortable! He wants to play I guess." Mark rolled close to me and wrapped his arm around my tummy and went back to sleep. Little baby must have felt its daddy's arm because finally he slows down in there and we all three sleep. It was late November. I just couldn't help myself as I walked sleepily to the kitchen in the morning. I always had to stop at the door of the little "nursery" and look at it one more time. Our guest room had taken on a "new" look. Along the west wall sat our new little wooden crib with a lamb painted on the end and a bright white sheet stretched snug over the little mattress. A little dressing table sat on the south wall with a bottle of baby magic, some baby shampoo, diaper rash ointment

Country ways to know you are married to your "soulmate" You have this complete contentment deep in your soul as you walk side by side, hands held together, a hoe held in the other. You are walking slowly out of the bean field as the sun sets in the west. You just know he's yours as long as you have breath. Your at a farm auction. There are farmers standing everywhere. All of a sudden you need to use the little "out house". You walk back to where all those men are standing listening to the auctioneer. You see blue jeans, cowboy boots, dirty shirts, and caps....so many caps. Then all of a sudden you see him, up there in the middle. You only see his back, but you know. You know because that's HIS head, that's HIS strong back, that's HIS dirty cap!! You make your way to his side. A thousand pickups can go past your farm house. A thousand tractors can drive down the gravel road. A thousand cars can come past your farm house on their way

The benches were full of cattle buyers. Some set straight up in their chairs, knees slightly apart, arms resting in their laps and in their hands they play with their pen. Some lean lazily back, their legs crossed at the ankles, and a toothpick hanging loosely from their lips. Down in front, the auctioneer was taking his place on the high stool, a black felt cowboy hat on his head. To his right sets a blond haired middle aged woman. She was busy zeroing out the scale. To the left stands the owner of the barn, one hand resting on a large gate, a toothpick hanging loose in his mouth. He wears a black hat as he looks out into the crowd. All of a sudden, he opens the gate and in runs two old black cows. The sale has began. "Who will give me 50? Yep! Now 51? Yep!" On and on the auctioneer hollers as the cows run around the ring and out the other end. Mark sits there two rows up. He appears as calm as a kitten, a small calculator in his pocket and a paper and pen held i

I sat there on an old five gallon bucket flipped upside down. I sat just outside the machine shed door on the slab. The light of the shed shone out into the darkness just barely reaching to the gas tanks. Behind me, there in the half light, half darkness, stood our grain cart, a faded yellow with spots of red showing where the paint had worn thin. A step ladder leaned up against its side, and a greasy piece of canvas tarp lay on the ground under it. Wrenches, hammers, crowbars, bolts, and nuts lay still on the tarp. At my feet sets the gear box, the top at one place, the bottom at the other. An old gallon can sat to one side, half full of grease. I took the spoon I had brought with me and once more dipped it into the gear box, filling it with more grease. Then taking my fingers I worked through that slimy stuff, feeling for little silver balls and removing them one by one before I dumped that whole mess into the can. I looked up and over at the bench to where my husband stoo

It was one of those scorching hot days. Not a leaf was moving. It felt like you were in a sauna. It was late May of 1974. Our trailer was unbearable. Everywhere was unbearable! "I'm wondering if you would like to cultivate the new corn this afternoon?" asked Mark as he got up from the lunch table and carried his dish to the sink, "I would, but that tractor just has to get back together. " "Well, I've never done that job before, but I can't stay in here all afternoon for sure." I'll take it over and start. You can come in about a half hour or so." With a kiss on my cheek, he was gone. After clearing the table and doing up the dishes, I made up my jug, put a couple chocolate chip cookies in a bag, grabbed my cap and was out the door. I headed up the road north and turned in at the field road. Dust flew up behind the pickup as I headed down past the old barn and through the pasture gate and on down to the creek bank. I park