Outdoor cat

Posted on December 18, 2015 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

Let’s make it very clear that the cats are outdoor cats. I’m allergic to cats. Enough said.

That said, Kashka the cat has picked a new favorite spot in our house. For awhile when she was littler, she could always be found in the darkest, smallest corners of the house, under things, inside the closet, behind book cases. Then she decided our folks’ bed was her favorite spot, and could always be found curled up in a pool of sunlight. Lately, her favorite spot has been on the table underneath our Christmas tree.

Animals are one of God’s many wonderful gifts. Everyone should have pets. And every house should have a cat. Even if it is an “outdoor cat.”

Laura Elizabeth

Winter Warmth

Posted on December 16, 2015 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

One of the best places to be when it is cold out and there is snow on the ground is near a burn pile. When my Uncle Stuart first talked about getting some of the thinning burnt this winter, I hoped I’d be around to help. And when he drove by this morning and said he’d be starting to work on some of the piles, I got bundled up and headed over to the piles.

My uncle already had five of them lit, but barely, and there was an extra pitch fork in the back of the truck. For the next four hours or so, we monitored the burning, started a few more fires, consolidated the piles, and stirred up what was there to make sure everything would burn. The idea is to get everything burnt the first time around, and not have the fire die out before all the fuel has been consumed. While the fire is hot, the pile is left to itself, but when it gets smaller and the fuel has been significantly reduced, it becomes a duck-in-duck-out game, trying to toss smouldering pieces of wood further into the pile without getting your eyelashes singed off. Even when there are no flames, the heat is sometimes unbearable up close. I could never get as close as my uncle could get.

We lost a few trees in the rain and high winds early this summer, which contributed to the piles, and we saved the 50-foot-tall trunks, to be kept for firewood. Most of what made up the piles was from clearing and land management. Overgrown forests are unhealthy forests, discourage diversity of flora and fauna, are a prime habitat for the pine beetles which wreck havoc on forested land, and are high-risk areas for forest fires. Responsible land management includes clearing out old and unhealthy trees, and thinning areas of too-thick new growth. When people begin to inhabit a region, there is an obligation to care for the land, but this goes beyond aesthetics, and goes far beyond the hands-off approach of some environmentalists. Before people inhabited the Black Hills, wildfires would periodically reset the landscape, eliminating old growth and restarting with new, healthy growth. If you look at comparison pictures from Custer’s expedition to now, it is quite obvious that the forest has spread since then. Now we keep wildfires from taking out entire areas of trees, to the best of our ability, but if we’re going to put out wildfires, then we also need to do the job of the wildfire, and that is to clear out undergrowth and old, unhealthy tree growth.

This management also helps to prevent the massive destruction we’ve seen in the Hills because of the pine beetle. Probably due in large part to my Grandpa’s and my uncle’s careful management of the home place, we haven’t had any issues with the pine beetle, which has decimated other areas of the Black Hills. Pretty soon, though, the beetle will run its course and the forest will begin to replace itself. Either people need to responsibly clear and thin the forest to promote a healthy ecosystem, or God’s Creation will do the job itself! Rather fascinating, actually.

Sunny, my uncle’s faith Labrador, tagged along with us, chasing rabbits and eating cow manure. She makes me miss Baby, my other sister’s dog, who is now back in Illinois.

With the nippy wind blowing and the snow freezing underfoot, the heat from the fires felt wonderful. We monitored seven piles, two of which were good sized, but north of us along the highway, some independent contractors were burning about fifty small slash piles on our place, which were a part of a fuel-reduction program. In that area, which is now more open though still heavy forested, the grass is thick and lush in the summer, and there’s a little hollow where deer are frequently seen. It will be great having the burn piles out of there! They’ve been sitting there for several years now, and just weren’t very attractive.

When I finally came in for lunch, smelling strongly of smoke and the outdoors, it was almost 3:00. The day had flown by. The lingering smell of smoke still hangs in our little valley. It is a comforting smell. It is the smell of warmth in the wintertime.

Laura Elizabeth

Beginning with wonder

Posted on December 15, 2015 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

As soon as I found out that the Medical Center was closed for the day due to inclement weather, I was out of my office clothes and into jeans and a Carhartt, and on my way up the driveway in the truck, camera and coffee in hand, and Enya playing on the stereo. It was about 7:30 AM, and it wasn’t snowing yet, but it was sleeting little stinging grains. The overnight fog had coated the upper elevation landscape in a thick layer of hoarfrost, transforming the hills and trees and fences and barbed wire. Those common, mundane things were suddenly beautified, enchanted, magical. A perfect day to wander the icing-up roads and take pictures.

I headed towards Hermosa. The view over the home place was frosted and silver beneath the lowering clouds. Snow was coming, but taking its time. A petty, biting wind was blowing, and everything – taut barbed wire fences, delicate dried flowers, Ponderosa pine needles, grasses – everything trembled and quivered before the nipping breeze. I didn’t even catch a glimpse of Remington and Dove. They must have been hunkered down in a sheltered ravine or a stand of trees. Not a sight of them.

Where Highway 79 intersects with Highway 40 and Highway 36, the fog seemed to have been the heaviest. All the naked boughs of the oaks and other hardwood trees that grow along Battle Creek were stark white. The ground almost looked like it was covered in snow. Traffic was scarce and slow. So many shades of white: the white of the trees coated in frost, the white of the ground coated in frost, the white of the sky heavy with snow.

Up and down over hills, I drove in and out of the frost. In low places where hills rose steeply, I could see a stark line where the frost began, where the fog must have drifted and glazed the trees. Iron Creek and Battle Creek were almost frozen over in places. Back towards Keystone around 9:30 or 10:00, the snow was already starting to fly.

I didn’t get home until 10:30 or so, and I could have stayed out a lot longer than I did. So much beauty to marvel at, so many little miracles, from ice-covered flowers to glistening white landscapes. Fog and frost: two of my favorite things.

Rapid City and the surrounding area began battening down the hatches last night, bracing for the first winter storm of the season. Today, this included businesses closing, schools shutting down, and the clinic closing for the day. The snow has piled up enough that parts of I-90 have closed and there is a no travel recommendation for all of western South Dakota. What a great day to cozy up and stay warm. We waited all day for the power to go out. It didn’t.

The rest of this afternoon, I listened to an Adventures in Odyssey episode with my sisters, cuddled Kashka, the black cat, read Little Britches, got an Etsy order ready to ship out, brainstormed about turning blue jeans into denim skirts, and watched the snow pile up outside. I love winter. And I love the chance to wander and wonder, to marvel, to dream, to experience in such a small way the creative mind of an Almighty God by looking at His glorious Creation.

Any day that begins with wonder is bound to be a good day.

Laura Elizabeth

Refreshing the Soul

Posted on December 6, 2015 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

Some weeks are hard – hard to keep smiling, hard to see the beauty of life, and for no good reason. This has been one of those weeks, and the last few days in particular have been a struggle emotionally, spiritually, and mentally. What can happen from one week to the next that can make my life, which I know very well is so much better than I deserve, suddenly seem bleak, or frustrating, or exhausting?

That change is usually something in my heart, something in my inner self, that has become disconnected and out of joint. Knowing myself to be a very dedicated introvert, I recognize that part of my struggle has been the sheer level of activity that takes me outside of my sphere, outside of my cozy home life, without sufficient time to recharge myself. But I realized something else – Not only has there been no time for solitude this past week and a half or so, but I haven’t spent time in God’s wonderful Creation, which is one place that never fails to refresh my awareness of beauty, blessings, and life’s bounty. Time spent in God’s Creation always seems to renew my sense of perspective. Being an introvert, I spend a lot of time lost inside my own thoughts. When my thoughts are tuned to God’s goodness and to beauty and joy, my thoughts are a wonderful place to be. But when my thoughts are in a turmoil, perspective is almost impossible to have. What better way to get out of my own tumultuous thoughts, than to lose myself in discovering the joys of God’s Creation?

After church today, the girls and I went on a hike. We left later than we intended to, since we got sidetracked cleaning the loft, so we thought our hike would end up being truncated. Our goal had been to get to Hole-in-the-Wall, which we decided against because of the time, so instead we decided to explore the ravines and draws spiderwebbing off our well-worn jeep trail.

Clambering over deadfall and under deadfall, scrambling through steep ravines, down ledges as tall as we are, slipping and sliding over week-old snow still clinging to the shadowed places, carefully parting barbed wire fences to fit through between the strands of wire, laying prone in the stiff, brown grass to marvel at a pinecone, or at the funny little spiked heads of what were in the summer Wild Bergamot – What a delight!

Flickers of white gave away the silently fleeing deer, and Dixie’s black pony could be glimpsed in our east pasture when we came out on top into a meadow. As beautiful as was the view while in the meadow, with Grandma’s driveway in the distance and Harney Peak away on the horizon, I like the ravines the best. The cool shadows, the piles of deadfall blocking the way, the snow and ice in pools at the bottom, the sense of the unknown – What is around the next bend? Where will this ravine take us?

In all the time we’ve been out here, there are still places I haven’t explored. The unknown, unfollowed, un-searched-out ravines. The distant hilltop. The dry creekbed. If I climb that hill, what will be on the other side? What is this stand of trees hiding? What is at the end of this draw? Should I go left or right?

It is impossible to stay lost in my tumultuous thoughts when God is drawing my thoughts out of myself, into something so much more beautiful than I have a capacity to understand or contain or express.

The afternoon gave way to evening. The clouds shone, and the red earth seemed to soak up every ray of light and cast it off again, luminous in the strange golden light of sunset. Then sunset gave way to dusk, and the red-gold gave way to the colors of nighttime. Lavender shadows settled into the ravines, and the clouds became the soft grey of slumber.

Almost as swiftly as the last glow faded from the sky, the warmth settled out of the air. A delicious chill sifted between the trees. The breeze picked up ever so slightly.

December is a beautiful time of year. But any time spent out in the open, breathing deep of the freshness of the earth, anytime spent marveling at God’s wonders is sure to be medicine to the weary soul.

It was.

Laura Elizabeth

October-November | In Hindsight

Posted on December 6, 2015 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

IMG_3530lowrez The fall is over, practically speaking, and will be over in actuality in another two and a half weeks. October and November breezed by in the flickering light of golden leaves, the sparkle of frost in the mornings, and the first snows. What a glorious time of year, with the lingering warm days recalling the summer and the hints of the coming winter fresh in the air in the evenings. Hurried end-of-the-summer outings punctuated the otherwise steady flow of life. The last hikes before the cold set in, the savoring of the last of the fall colors, reveling in the last of the long days.

IMG_3400lowrez We enjoyed what produce successfully ripened in the garden, in spite of the multiple hail storms, early frost, and other inclement forces of nature. If you want a seemingly deer-proof plant, grow turnips – The leaves are prickly and the deer won’t eat them, even though they’ll meticulously rip up and devour every single beet and carrot in the garden. Turnips, leeks, tomatoes, basil, all found their way into savory, fresh soups. We’re looking forward to our garden next year already.

IMG_3563.1lowrez The majority of our very small tomato crop was pretty badly hail-damaged and the cold set in early, so many didn’t ripen. Mom turned what she could of those into small batches of fresh salsa, not to be canned. But at the end of the greenhouse season, Sarah’s boss at Dakota Greens in Custer let her and Mom pick the remaining tomatoes in the greenhouse, and they came home with roughly 130 pounds of tomatoes, mostly red but some green. Mom was thrilled to have something to can, and we spent a couple days processing the tomatoes. Salsa, plain tomatoes, spaghetti sauce, and piccalilly relish, are all stacked neatly in our pantry cabinet now.

IMG_2741.1lowrez

We enjoyed a family trip to Des Moines to attend a conference, and it was wonderful to see Jess, the missing sister. It just isn’t the same, having one of us still back in Illinois, but I am confident that God knows exactly what He is doing, and has her there for a reason! Since it looks like she’ll be in Illinois for awhile now, she wanted her dog back, so we sadly said goodbye to our favorite pet. Dogs are special creatures, and this one has a special place in our affections. It will be hard to fill that spot, but we’ll do our best. Anna’s two kittens (I can’t think of them as grown cats yet) definitely have helped to fill that spot, for all of us. Their antics are continually diverting, and they are extremely affectionate, with each other and with us. I was sick last week and woke up with Kashka, the black one, peering into my face, purring like a little motorboat. They aren’t supposed to be inside, but sometimes they are too cute to refuse.

IMG_4918.1lowrez The last couple weeks of November felt like winter – The first snows, snapping cold, heavy frosts, and snow-melt fog. Thanksgiving found me with a very thankful heart, for such a memorable and life-changing past year, as well as for the simple pleasures and little blessings God sends our way. We have a freezer full of venison, a warm house, good employment, a great church home, and family we can see on a regular basis. What more could I ask?

Laura Elizabeth

Daily graces

Posted on November 26, 2015 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

On this day of Thanksgiving, we set aside a day to remember God’s blessings, the bountiful gifts generously given from His hands. That is well and good – Having a day set aside specifically to focus on those things is a good reminder, much like we set aside a day each week for worship of God, while (hopefully) maintaining an attitude of worship throughout the week. Similarly, thanksgiving should be a state of our hearts, not just a day on our calendars. Cultivating an attitude of thanksgiving is a way of speaking God’s truths to ourselves daily, the truths of God’s blessings, the lavish love He pours out on His undeserving children.

In a culture that is increasingly self-focused and, consequently, focused on everything we don’t have, thankfulness and gratitude are graces every Christian should cultivate. How can I blame God for things that go wrong, if I am unshakably focused on thanking Him for the gifts that He gives? How can I be envious of others if I am determined to thank God for what He has given me? How can I not show grace towards others if I am living a life of gratitude for God’s grace towards me? How can I be resentful for my plans that have gone wrong, when I reflect in thanksgiving on the plans of God that are always right?

This attitude of thanksgiving isn’t easy to cultivate, and it is an attitude I fail at repeatedly. But might it not be because my vision of God’s blessings is incomplete? I, and likely all my brothers and sisters in the faith, tend to look for the big things, the big gifts, the miracles, the lightning bolts of God’s goodness, the indisputable signs of God’s providence. When my family gathers around the table for Thanksgiving dinner, we thank God for freedoms, faith, family, church community, the ability to homeschool, spiritual blessings, material blessings, the signs of God’s workings in our lives. Those things are indisputably God’s gifts and our response should be one of gratitude. But what if we have a day, or a year, or a decade, or a lifetime where we feel the weight of our own failure, or the wretchedness of the world, or experience loss, hardship, pain, tragedy? I would submit to you that God never ceases to work in our lives, and never ceases to shower blessings on us – We simply need the eyes to see those gifts. I would also submit to you that God works most often in our lives in small ways, through subtle means, a steady trickle of wonderful gifts, instead of the occasional deluge. Realizing that, there should never be a shortage of things to be thankful for, if we have the eyes to see, the ears to hear, the hearts to understand.

“We pray for the big things and forget to give thanks for the ordinary, small (and yet really not small) gifts,” said Dietrich Bonhoeffer. I hope and pray for signs and unmistakable blessings, but what about the tiny things, the almost-invisible things? What about the small ways God has grown my faith? What about the gift of having any faith at all? Maybe this is why I love to look for beauty, to seek it out, be it as small and mundane as flakes of snow on a dried flowertop, or a drip of snow melt, or the way geese flock overhead in the cold winter sky – those things are reminders of the goodness of God.

I believe in a sovereign God, who orders all things and through whom all things are sustained. I believe that God is sovereign over the big things, like my family moving to South Dakota, and I continue to thank Him for that miracle in my life. But it also means He is sovereign over that cap of snow on the flower top, and the ringing calls of the geese that made me search them out in the clear, cold sky. He is sovereign over me seeing them, and He is sovereign over the joy I felt when I saw them. Those are as much a work of God as the fact that I now live in the place I love best in the world.

While I may not experience another “big miracle” for awhile, God gives the gift of beauty every day: the delicate stem of golden grass, the silver of sage beneath the snow, footprints on the frozen pond, the spark and flame of flakes continuing to fall in the sunlight, a nail driven deep into a snow-capped fencepost, the sound of geese overhead, the trickling tune of snow melt off the roof. And the awareness of that beauty is something that can be cultivated.

Even in the midst of failure, tragedy, fear, even when my faith seems small, I can always look to the sky and see evidence of God’s goodness. I can look to the earth and see the tiny things He has fashioned with His hands. I can look around me and see beauty that God has poured into this world, in the midst of bleakness, sorrow, and pain.

God gives those gifts and the capacity to enjoy them: eyes to see that beauty, ears to hear it, a tongue to taste the sweetness of the winter air, fingers to reach up to catch the snowflakes, lungs to breathe deep of the burning, sparkling cold, cheeks to blush and glow in the chapping breeze.

Although I can and do reflect on the blessings God has given me, the “big miracles,” I never have to look past today to see the blessings He is giving me now, the constant reminders that there is a God in the Heavens who is worthy of my adoration and praise. What a wonderful God to lavish such wonderful blessings. What wonderful blessings to bear witness to such a God.