Dusty Roads to the Heart

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

I sat on a little chair there in the kindergarten room. Bret stood as close to me as he could get, curiously looking from one side of the room to the other. On my lap sat Kate, playing with my purse handle as she watched Mrs Miller move around her desk. We had come to visit with Mrs Miller. She would be Bret's teacher in about two weeks. Mrs Miller was an older lady and so very gentle. Her room was very colorful. There was an area where all colors of blocks sat in little containers. There was a larger area where a big chair sat in front and all around were books. I could picture little Bret sitting there with his friends, cross legged on the floor, all eyes on Mrs. Miller as she read them their favorite books. I was sure Bret would enjoy his days there with her and all his little friends. As we visited, Bret moved slowly away from me and cautiously around the room exploring here and there, but little Kate sat stuck to my lap. A few days later, Bret, Kate and I went to Wa