Backroads Trek

     Yesterday, it was a Sunday, and we didn't have to worry about coordinating our activities with the Hospice folks, so I took Mom on a trek into the backroads of Morrow County--we even slipped into Knox County for a little while.  It was a bit of a struggle getting her into the car but well worth the effort.  As we travel, she comments about everything:  the crops in the fields, the animals, each little country burgh we pass through, the weather, the sky--everything.  A running commentary for our hour or so of meandering.  She loves to cherish each moment of the present tense.  And, of course, each present tense moment brings something from her memories into play.  Sometimes I can see the connection; sometimes not.  But they're good memories.  She loves to relive moments from her past.  After all, a vast portion of her life resides there.  One of our family heirlooms is the time (many of them) when one of the kids would ask Pop something, and he would say, "I don't know.  Go ask your mother.  If she doesn't know, she'll make something up."  She observes, comments, rests confidently in her conclusions.  I nod, occasionally throw in an "un huh," and smile a lot.  Wouldn't have it any other way.  Drive on.
     We encountered an Amish horse and wagon at the very outset of our journey.  I've never seen one this far away from their communities.  He was a long, long way from home.  And no gas stations between here and there. 
     I'm not a farmer but despite having so little rainfall the crops look marvelous to me.  The corn is ten, twelve feet high, tasseled.  The soy beans look lush; one big five, ten acre bush.  The fields resonate green.  Farm animals are out and about.  Cows, roving chickens (they're all free range out here), horses--what a regal animal, sheep with their guard llama.  The sheep, at times, don't appear to be too bright.  I've seen them on days when it was a zillion degrees with humidity to match all huddled together next to the barn.  How can that not be suffocating?  (I better understand God referring to us as sheep--not too bright at times.  I speak only for myself.)  The llama has it all together.  He likes to stand right in the middle of the creek under the shade of some small trees.  He may be their protector and champion, but I get the idea that they're not exactly good friends.  Unless he's trying to pull the wool over my eyes again.  Today, it was cooler and the sheep were scattered,  I couldn't even see security.
     We saw the biggest flock of barn swallows I have ever seen.  Had to be at least fifty perched on the telephone wires, on the road, flying over the fields.  Amazing.  I wanted to race home, get my riding mower, and come back, and mow the field.  Can you imagine be surrounded by four or more dozen of gorgeous, acrobatic, velvet blue, dive bombers?   Just thinking about the glory of it makes me laugh out-loud for joy, makes my heart race at the wonder of it.  Undoubtedly it would be better than any out of body experience.  I have never seen so many!  It's either been a good year for barn swallows or they're flocking together for a trip South sooner than I would have expected.  We had summer in winter; maybe a blizzard is coming in mid-August?  They wouldn't say.  Maybe one of my ornithologist friends can educate me.  Saw another flock about half that size no more than a mile further down the road.
     Anyway, it was a good trip.  No destination required.  Just meander aimlessly.  Mom enjoying each moment, "educating" like good moms always too, soaking in the beauty of the day.  She shared one of her favorite anecdotes of a woman walking down the street and calling out to her, "Heaven is my Home, but I'm not Homesick yet."  To be perfectly honest, I rather think she actually is at least a little Homesick.  Lots of old friends to see again, Pop is waiting, myriads of people she introduced to Jesus, the One she's been carrying on a conversation with for decades but has yet to meet face to face.
    All roads lead Home.  Travel on.

Odds and Ends--Mostly Odds

     There were no encounters of a third kind at Iten's Acres this week--unless you count the mouse that was on the riding mower when I went to get it out early in the week.  He was not happy to see me.  And I didn't think he was planning on mowing the lawn for me.  He panicked and ran under the mower.  I'm surprised that he didn't have a mouse heart attack when I turned it on.  Luckily for him I don't turn on the blades until I get out into the yard.  The little rascals like to build a nest in the motor.  Time to get out the d-con.  Emmm, tasty.  I don't bother in the winter.  Dave the lawnmower guy always cleans out the nest when he gives me my spring tuneup.
     I mowed the front of the Acres.  Even though we haven't had much rain, the grass has still been growing.  Well, actually it's the buck thorn.  If you don't know what buck thorn is, count your blessings, name them one by one.  Number one:  not knowing what buck thorn is.  Ugly, invasive weed.  I think if I ever had a lawn company put something down that kills dandelions and buck thorn, I might not have much lawn left out front.  Yep, I know, a bit of an exaggeration.  But exaggeration can be therapeutic at times.
     There are flowers blooming everywhere.  Each bed has beauty.  Hibiscus and rose of Sharon are scattered here and there in odd places.  The pond has a bouquet of yellow water lilies.  The wild area still has a zillion (exaggeration) Queen Anne's Lace, a couple kinds of coneflowers, some lingering day lilies, and black-eyed Susans.  But the star of the show is the phlox.  I brought up a couple of plants from Mom's South Carolina home when I first moved to the Acres.  They are now everywhere.  You can't keep them in the flower beds.  Not that I would want to.  Sun or shade makes no difference to them either.  Every year there's a new bunch or two, or three, or four, or . . . You get the picture.  They have a marvelous scent.  Hummingbirds and butterfly love them.  Bumble bees get inebriated on them.  They just sit on them for hours.  (I wonder if they have to get de-phloxed when they get back to the hive?)  They also change colors as they spread.  I must have a dozen different shades by now, and I started out with just two:  pinks, reds, purples, lilacs, white, greens, two-tones.  And they all bunch together.  You can have four or five different colors in one small group.  They are huge as well--six, seven feet tall.  If you get a chance, flock to the nursery and get some phlox.  They will bloom until the first frost as well.
     The oddest events of this week at Iten's Acres:  three days in a row of rain.  I couldn't believe it.  And the rain was followed by much cooler temperatures.  Thank you, Lord.  I pray you will send some of the stuff to Iowa, Indiana, Illinois, Texas, and any other place in need of it.  Aren't you glad that He sends rain on the just and the unjust?  Otherwise the whole world might be a desert.

Encounters

     There were two encounters at Iten's Acres last week.  The first came at about mid-morning when the matriarch called out from her throne, "What's this big animal walking down the driveway?"  I couldn't imagine.  What would be out there that she wouldn't recognize?  I rose from my blue leather chair at the back of the house where I was, no doubt, doing nothing of significance, and walked to the front of the abode.  Was it a lost elk from upper Michigan?  Was it a bear from who knows where?  Was it just a large coyote?  I've seen one or two of them lately, but she's seen one of them before.  We had a storm the day before (thanks again, Kathy), but I don't think it was a thunder of Hippos.  Before I could even reach a viewing area--the kitchen window--I heard, "Oh, it's a deer."  And behold it was.  I admit it was the biggest deer by far that I have ever seen on the Acres.  Huge.  Beautiful creature, strolling down the driveway as if he owned it.  Why is it that beautiful things can be so destructive?  Anyway, as protector of the Acres, I grabbed the old trusty .22 and headed out the door.  By the time I got out there, he was past the turn in the driveway and wandering by the flower beds, and I'm sure, looking hungrily at the hibiscus and lilies.  When he saw me coming, his first response was a deer smirk.  He just looked at me, did a deer shrug, and looked away.  But, ahhhhh, when I fired the gun, he sprang into action, veered right into Dennis' thicket, and disappeared.  I hope he kept going across 25, through the swamp, and into the woods on the other side.  No, animal lovers, I did not shoot at the creature.  I shot at the ground and hoped for the fear effect.  It has worked before, and it worked again.  Goodbye, beautiful devourer of beauty.  Don't come back.
     I wish we could talk to the animals.  I really wouldn't mind their presence if they weren't so voracious.  In fact, as I said, this deer was gorgeous.  What would I tell him?  "Say, dear deer, let's make a deal.  You can cross my property any time unmolested by this chubby old bald guy.  Just promise not to eat the flowers.  I'll tell you what.  I'll even buy you a huge bale of hay in the winter.  I'll put out a salt block, too.  And in hunting season you and yours can use my place for a sanctuary.  I'll put up 'No Hunting' signs, wrap ribbons around you with a sign that says 'Pet Deer, don't shoot,' open up the shed so you can sleep inside safely.  Just don't eat the daisies or anything else.  Deal?"  Wouldn't that be good?  Sigh.  Not going to happen.  Sorry, if I see you again, I'll come gunning.
     The second encounter is actually becoming a regular occurrence.  If it's a cool time of day, I begin my walk by helping Mom into a chair on the front patio.  She puts on her sun glasses, the pillow goes behind her, I give her her phone so she can call me while I'm out back if she needs me, and the old baseball hat goes on her head.  She loves it, surrounded by flowers, birds, and the activity of a country yard.  Then, I'm off to traverse the meadow and wild area, trudge around the pond, or wander by all the gardens out front.  On occasion, I'm fortunate enough to run into Dennis out back, and we can have a neighborly chat.  The encounter occurs when I come back to sit with Mom, and there, sitting happily by her side is one of the outlaws--Bonnie or Gus.  They have discovered that if Mom is out there, they can get all the petting they want.  Dog Heaven.  It's a lovely sight.  I am a little surprised because Mom is more of a cat person and actually has a little fear of dogs, but she has found two friends here, and love casts out fear as you all know.  I am allowed to join the party and do some petting of my own, but Mom is the star.  And she knows it.  And revels in it.  And yes, reveling is good.
     Walking Iten's Acres you just never know what you might encounter.  But encounters are good--even those with beautiful dangers.