The First Year

Posted on March 1, 2016 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

A year ago today, we drove across South Dakota with our belongings and each other, eagerly seeing the miles slip away behind us, each mile bringing us one mile closer to home. The closer we got, the more eager we became. Finally, Rapid City’s lights were appearing and disappearing on the horizon, finally we were headed south down Hwy. 79. Finally, we were turning west onto Hwy. 40, with the little town of Hermosa flickering sleepily in the night. Finally, bend after bend after bend of Hwy. 40 brought us up to the Adrian family mailbox, the most important landmark in that neck of the woods. We rattled down the red dirt road, and rattled up the hill to Grandma’s.

We were home.

And here we have been, for a year. And how much has happened in that year! What a year it has been! In some ways, it feels like just yesterday that we were unloading the moving truck, setting up our cabin, and vising Southern Hills Bible Church. In other ways, it feels like…well, like exactly a year. And in other ways, it feels like eternity since we moved here.

This place has so long been lodged in my imagination, in my heart, that the transition here seems almost to have never happened.

There was no need for transition. This was always home.

The Glow and Gleam

Posted on February 25, 2016 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

Times of year and times of day have characters all their own, colors all their own, slants of shadows and shifting lights that are not shared, but are coveted jealously. There is the gold of autumn, the blue of winter, the joy and bloom of spring.There is the sweetness of the lazy days at the end of summer, the snap and crackle richness of autumn.

In the dusky winter evening, the already-pale colors became muted and harder to name, as the delicate light of winter gave way to night. Up and over hills, down and into gullies, in and out of the sinking sunlight. Shadows slanted between the trees and on the pine-needed-carpeted slopes, and clumps of rabbit brush seemed to glow, with the sun shining from behind them.

The grey of a snowless winter day took on a golden tint, and all was gold and grey and brown. Here and there flickered glints of green – A lichen nestled in the carpet of pine needles, a tiny star of silver-green leaves growing from a cleft in a rock, a patch of yucca, still green as springtime, and the darker green of the living pines.

At last, the sun sank away and the gold and gleam faded to twilight, then to night. Twilight and dawn, noon and night, summer and winter, spring and fall, heat and cold, cloudy and clear – What a palette, and what a Creator God!

The Best Day of the Week

Posted on February 21, 2016 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

Sunday mornings tend to be a little hectic – Five of us on a Sunday morning in a cabin with one bathroom is a recipe for hurry and a few ruffled feathers. But in the midst of the hurry, there can be delightful moments, like catching sight of the deer on the dam as the sun is coming over the rim of our ridge, watching early-morning birds, or laughing at the kittens’ antics. There is the smell of coffee and eggs and oatmeal, and the bustle of activity. We’re all glad when we finally get out the door and miraculously are on time, and any ruffled feathers have a chance to smooth before getting to church.

I left early this morning, early enough to enjoy a leisurely drive past Mount Rushmore and the scenic vistas along Hwy. 244. So much beauty, and the play of early morning light through the leafless trees was captivating. Sometimes it is hard to be a safe driver when the views are so lovely. The sky was crystal clear, and the profile view of the Monument was postcard-worthy. Couldn’t resist stopping. It is mornings like this that leave me breathless with wonder at a God who is so good that He, in His own good time, brought me to the place I love most on earth. What a trivial matter, on the one hand, and yet He worked it beautifully.

My gratitude is deepened when I think of my church family, and when I spend a morning and a meal in worship and fellowship and teaching – The closeness and intimacy and joy that we each share with one another leaves me filled to overflowing with gratitude. The conversations these brothers and sisters of mine desire to have with one another, the desire for openness, the desire to impact, the desire to bless, to convict and be convicted, to strengthen, to confess, to love…It has given me a beautiful perspective of what Christian relationships should and can be, and what it means to “be Christ” to one another.

Sarah and I took a scenic detour home after church. Since pretty much any route around here is “scenic,” what made this one scenic is that it took about 2 hours longer than normal, since we decided to drive the Custer Wildlife Loop. We stopped at Common Cents, got fuel, coffee, and a box of Saltines to feed the burros, and headed out of town. The prairie dogs were, as always, quite obliging. The fat little rodents squeaked and scurried and scampered, and one little pudgy guy let me get pretty close.

We watched and watched for the burros, and any other creatures of the prairie and foothills. A couple of herds of buffalo were right up by the road, licking salt off of vehicles as they went by. Such majestic creatures. When they are grazing so quietly, it is hard to reconcile their gentle appearance with their intense power and capacity for aggression.

Spending time in the wonder of God’s creation always drives me deeper into the conviction that none of this was an accident, but Divinely ordered. The uniqueness and distinctness, the quirky and delightful personalities of each individual animal, from Luna the Grey Cat who likes to watch the world from his seat on the lawnmower, to this shy doe who stared timidly as we drove past her on the road…Each animal, each plant, each rock and hill, bears the fingerprints of a Creator. I can’t but believe that.

We saw a handful of antelope, which tend to be pretty reserved creatures, but we saw no burros. We looked and looked, and even drove a short ways down a few side roads, but saw nor hide nor hair of the little beasties. It was rather disappointing. So, since there were no burros to eat the package of Saltines, Sarah and I ate them.

We got home as it was just beginning to be evening. A morning spent in worship and fellowship, and an afternoon spent in awe and sisterhood…What could be better?

Hands down, Sunday is the best day of the week.

Muddy Boots, Fresh Soul

Posted on February 20, 2016 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

When the temperatures soar into the 50s and 60s in February, the only thing I want is to be outside! On Wednesday, after getting some mundane duties done in the morning and running an errand to Mt. Rushmore, Sarah and I took off for Big Falls, the site of some old mining operations from the early part of last century. Battle Creek roars through a deep ravine, and pours over a falls into a deep pool some twenty feet below. In the hot summer months, it is a popular swimming destination, but I think I prefer it in the off season.

The sun, which had shone so brightly in the morning, was obscured by cloud-cover, but it was still a beautiful day, balmy, fresh, and quiet. The road to Big Falls is forest service access, which means not a lot of road maintenance, particularly this time of year. But the old orange Jeep can take just about anything, including the mud from the snowmelt, and the washed-out places.

The hike down from the trailhead is short, steep, and beautiful. The creek was frozen thickly over in places, but the clear, clean mountain water still rushed and chuckled over the rocks and under the ice. The last quarter mile follows Battle Creek, so we poked around on the sandbars looking for garnets, picking up odd rocks and chunks of quartz, snapped some pictures, scrambled around on boulders, enjoying the damp and the balmy winter air. And the quiet. We stayed on the upstream side of the Falls and ate a little picnic of apples. We tossed the apple cores into the stream and watched them eddy around until they were caught in the current and shot over the edge into the pool below. In the middle of a busy week, how pleasant it was to simply sit and enjoy the beauty in the depth of the Hills!

On our way back out, almost to the top, we dawdled in a clearing at the edge of the canyon, and caught a glimpse of something a half mile down the canyon and across. I grabbed my camera and my 300mm lens and sure enough, there was a mountain goat standing on the edge of a precipice. He was barely distinguishable in the picture, in the right upper quadrant of the photo, but clearly a mountain goat.

We took a few pictures of the far away goat before realizing that directly across the canyon from us, there were two more! One of them just lay there, looking calmly at us, unbothered. I wonder how long he had been keeping an eye on us. I don’t see mountain goats very often – Sometimes they can be seen around Mt. Rushmore, and I’ve seen them while hiking Harney Peak, but this is the first time I’d seen them by Big Falls.

After soaking up the freshness of February, the peace of the wilderness, the cool damp of the Battle Creek air, we headed home reluctantly. We were a little muddy, a little leg sore, and a lot refreshed. It was one of those days when I was even more thankful than usual for where I live, this beautiful place I’ve always loved.

Findings | Here and There

Posted on January 26, 2016 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

The play of light.

Simplicity. A scrap of 100-year-old wallpaper and a broken blue Mason jar. Out at the ghost town Spokane.

Garnet sand

Posted on September 5, 2015 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

Out here in the Hills, down in dry creek beds and ravines that have had water flowing through them, there is a lovely phenomenon we call garnet sand. Millions of little tiny red stones will pool up together, dunes of scarlet and purple and burgundy, pooling up when the water is running, then glinting darkly in the sun when the water has run off and the earth has dried.

We started picking garnets in dry creek beds probably a good ten years ago, and each of us girls has found our share of decent garnets. But the fun of the hunt is always there when we find a new deposit of garnet sand.

Most of the garnets really are very little bigger than grains of sand, but sometimes, if you’re careful and if you’re lucky, you’ll find garnets that are good sized, a few millimeters in diameter. The best ones have probably been half the size of a pea. Old timers tell stories of garnets the size of the end of your little finger, but those are from higher up in the Hills, closer to the source of the stones.

It takes a fair amount of water to wash up new layers of sand, and down along the Hole-in-the-Wall jeep trail, on the part of the trail that runs in an old creek bed, there was obviously more than a fair amount of water. Turf had been peeled back from the rocky bottom like bark on a sycamore tree, curled over on itself with all the roots of the grass showing and the smooth stone underneath polished clean of dirt.

The trail has even changed significantly since we last hiked it two months ago or so. Then, it was mostly grass, and pools of water here and there. Now, it is rock and sand, no water. Right below a little five-foot spillway, the entire jeep trail was rock and sand and, yes, a new layer of garnet sand. Most of the sand is like you’d see anywhere but flecked with mica, deposited in a deep drift probably six inches deep in places, new since this spring. But on the top of the drift were sweeps of deep burgundy, brown in the evening light, swirled together with the golden sand.