Golden Afternoon

Posted on May 19, 2016 by Laura Lindblom under Photography, wildflowers, Wildlife, Writing

Everything was golden. The honeyed air was rich and fragrant, sweet with pine and warm earth. The afternoon sunlight filtering through the trees had that mystic quality of springtime, painting everything in vivid color, gilding the greens, the reds, the pinks, the browns, glinting from the gravel and garnets along the jeep trail, sparkling in spiders’ webs, shimmering on the wings of the swallowtails and bees and moths busy drinking the flowers of the golden currant.
The busyness and life of these industrious pollinators was mesmerizing – In and out and around and about they went, back and forth through the golden glow of the currant bush. Moths, like tiny hummingbirds, sipped daintily. Bees bumbled from flower to flower. Swallowtails hung like jeweled pendants from the drooping branches. The lazy droning of the bees blended with the chirruping of crickets and the whir and whiz of grasshoppers in their haphazard flight. Birds twiddled their tunes, trying to keep out of sight in the thick trees and undergrowth.
The path was abundantly scattered with wildflowers. Hardy larkspur violets and longspur violets and low larkspur and wild strawberry, and finally the columbine, the belle of the flowering woods. Fleabane, like an innocent child with smiling face, grew saucily in the sunny trail.
Around one of my favorite bends in the trail stands a grove of aspen and birch, tall and pale under the shadow of a steep pine- and moss-covered hillside. As I came down the hill into that hollow, the trees were a brilliant, luminous green, the smooth leaves winking and twinkling a golden green.

It was a golden afternoon.

A Hike Just Wouldn’t Be Complete…

Posted on May 8, 2016 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

In all the hiking I’ve done, I’ve gotten my share of ticks on me – However, I’m always quite vigilant and brush them off before they can embed. Not so today. We got back from a hike and had just sat down to dinner when I found the first one on my wrist, of all places, stuck tight. Found another on my other arm. Dad singed both of those ticks off without much ado, even though I was completely disgusted. All of us did tick checks and let the friends we had hiked with know, so they could check for ticks as well. Just a friendly head’s up. After dinner, I started thinking about my head. Mom kindly did a scalp check, which brought back lice memories, and, sure enough, there was a third. I wasn’t too excited when Dad brought over the box of matches to singe that one off!

No one else had any. I guess I was the lucky one. A hike just wouldn’t be complete without ticks.

The Cat’s Meow

Posted on April 28, 2016 by Laura Lindblom under Pets/Domestic/Farm Animals, Photography, Writing

There’s nothing quite like the company of a cat. Or cats. I understand, some people have very strong negative feelings on this topic. If you are one of those unfortunate individuals, you doubtless just haven’t met the right cat yet. Luna is a bit on the dense side, it is true, but you’ll not find a more beautiful feline specimen. Ever since he was a few months old, he has looked just like “textbook pictures” of a cat. Gorgeous. And there is almost nothing that I find quite as winsome and heart-entangling as Kashka’s attempts at a meow when she wants attention, or as calming and comforting as her rumbling purr.
Not a lot is known about why or how cats purr – There are suggestions, some of which may have some merit, but it tickles my funny bone that purring is one of those things that just has modern science a little bit bewildered. Then I stumbled across this from the Live Science website: “A domestic cat’s purr has a frequency of between 25 and 150 Hertz, which happens to be the frequency at which muscles and bones best grow and repair themselves. It is, therefore, speculated that cats naturally evolved their purr over time as a survival tactic – a biomechanical healing mechanism that ensured speedier recoveries.”
I read that and just kind of scratched my head. That’s pretty amazing! They just naturally evolved their purr to within a specific frequency as a way to equip the species? (My sister Sarah’s response to this was, “Why don’t we purr?”)

Not to create any tidal waves of controversy here, but I have another idea – What if cats were given the ability to purr specifically at the frequency best for muscle and bone repair by Someone who knew what He was doing? And because God wasn’t driven by rigid practicality in His Creation, He created a sound that human beings in general find to be soothing and relaxing and delightful, simply because He could, because His Creation was meant to be a blessing and a joy, something that causes us to thank and glorify Him. What if what we see around us that seems miraculous actually is miraculous, and is a gift from the hand of a good and loving God? Perhaps that sounds silly and childish. But I find that the more deeply convinced I become that these things are gifts from God, the more beautiful His Creation is to me. I find that my love and appreciation the natural world is enhanced and intensified by the evidence I see of God’s fingerprints all over Creation. It humbles me and overwhelms me.

I got home today from work and found Anna out in the corral playing with her kitties – What fun she (and they!) were having, and what fun it was to watch the antics! The little spectacle was, well…the cat’s meow.

Nostalgia

Posted on April 28, 2016 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

In places like the Black Hills, glimpses of and participation in the past are not uncommon – History and its memory is kept alive in the tumbledown buildings scattered throughout the hills and plains, and some have worked to maintain those historical structures. Historic livelihoods are still flourishing. Historic ways of doing things are still practiced. I love catching glimpses which remind me of how the hundred-year-old past must have looked. Such as this washbasin in the window of our Miner’s Cabin.
nostalgia – noun nos·tal·gia \nä-ˈstal-jə

1 : the state of being homesick

2 : a wistful or excessively sentimental yearning for return to or of some past period or irrecoverable condition

3 : pleasure and sadness that is caused by remembering something from the past and wishing that you could experience it again

Amazing how one can feel nostalgic, homesick, for a time one hasn’t even experienced.

Snow and Springtime

Posted on March 24, 2016 by Laura Lindblom under Photography, Scenic, Writing

Winter blew back in overnight a day and a half ago, and on the third day of spring we had four or so inches of snow, a wonderful, heavy, wet snow that cloaked every branch of every tree, every fence post, every roof and rock and hill, every little green and growing thing still clinging close to the ground. Hard to believe that four days ago we had temperatures in the 60s and 70s and were hiking to Hole-in-the-Wall without coats or mittens or snow boots!

Across the snow-covered pastures, on the sheltering hillsides, the Ponderosa pine trees were silver-blue in their wintry cloaks. Deer, startled up, fled silently through the silent trees. Wind had painted ripples into the blanketing white. But the recent spring-like temperatures had already warmed the ground, and our red-dirt driveway was muddy and mostly melted by noon, in spite of the chill day.

The little Kashka cat was moody and desperate, as soon as the snow began to melt. She didn’t seem to mind the dry snow, but she regarded the wet snow with unmasked disdain. She isn’t a particularly vocal cat – In fact, she seems somewhat limited in her vocal expression, sometimes opening her mouth but only producing a breathy squeak. But yesterday, she was whining and moaning and complaining and grumbling as she traipsed through the snow, and shook off her little paws in a futile effort to keep them dry. Her good-for-nothing, lazy brother was, of course, nowhere to be found. I’m sure he was holed up somewhere, dry and comfortable and warm.

I love how the snow completely transforms a landscape, insulates it, hushes it, and the whole world seems to glow with a gleaming, blinding brightness, even beneath a heavy-clouded sky. Simple things take on a new dimension. The same hillsides and meadows and roads shimmer with an ephemeral enchantment, an enchantment that can break within a matter of hours.

Sarah and I took to the snow at 10:00 last night, to ramble in what was likely the last snowfall this season to be lit by a full moon. Never waste a moonlit snow! The sky was crystal clear, and there was the faintest nimbus around the orb of the moon. The brightest stars flickered in the inky blue sky. Orion and Cassiopeia, and a strange bright star we’ve identified before but whose name I can’t remember. Scrambling up deadfall-strewn hillsides to chase the moonlight, slipping and sliding into ravines, dropping flat to make a snow angel, eating snow off the needles of sapling pine trees, stopping every now and again to listen for coyotes, losing track of the time – I could have stayed out all night in that enchanted moonlit snow.

In this shifting of seasons, in the sunshine and the snow, in the change and transformation from month to month, the summer birds begin to arrive with nesting on their minds, and the first insects start to hum and sing. The first of the green things shoot up from the warming earth, and rumors of pasque flowers are whispered. Snow may hide the signs for a day or two, but the seasons will fly on. Springtime is here!

Homemaking in the Miner’s Cabin

Posted on March 21, 2016 by Laura Lindblom under Uncategorized

It has been awhile since I last wrote about the Miner’s Cabin, and a lot has happened since we first started cleaning it out a year ago. Time for an update! Early this year, Dad got the electricity working again, and also got the stove cleaned out and in safe, operational order. Light and warmth are kind of important when it comes to being productive in the winter.

So, over the last couple of months, slowly and steadily, I got the bedroom closer to livable, and Sarah helped me get one of our bed frames set up. Mom and I brought a load of bookcases, a dresser, and my desk from our storage unit in Hermosa, which is helping with the organizing of books and boxes. Growing up, some of my favorite books were Gone-Away Lake and Return to Gone-Away, two treasures of children’s literature written by Elizabeth Enright. The stories got into my imagination, and I pored over them, again and again. The story was pure joy to read, and I think as I was reading I was the little girl who visits her cousin, Julian, and the two of them on their explorations end up discovering a mysterious, abandoned set of lake houses on the shore of a swamp. As they explore the old lake houses, and Portia’s family ends up buying an old boarded-up mansion in the woods nearby, they rummage through boxes filled with ancient “treasures,” things that spark their imaginations, things from a bygone era. I’ve felt some of that same excitement as we’ve worked on the Miner’s Cabin, cleaning up and putting back to use things that had been all but forgotten. It is exciting to put the life back into a dusty old cabin, to feel it start to breathe again, with windows open and sunlight streaming in, or with a blazing fire crackling in the stove. It is deeply satisfying to see the hominess emerge, as order and beauty return to the Miner’s Cabin. It is rewarding to see the forgotten things adorn the dusted shelves, Sarah’s and my artwork and photography mingled with ancient family photos, along with the drawing that Dad had done as a Christmas gift for Grandpa and Grandma years and years ago.

Old blue Mason jars we found in the cabin loft, sparkling olive oil bottles which I’ve collected, my great-grandmother’s old pincushion, precious shelf nick-knacks I brought from Illinois, old fox furs that have been in the Miner’s Cabin for a couple of decades, family crests, a framed family tree, a chamber pot, shelves and shelves of my books, and a whole encyclopedia that Grandma and Grandpa put in the log cabin – A pleasant mingling of old and new and just plain interesting.

A home should reflect something of the people living inside of it – How enjoyable, then, to be setting up house both with things that Sarah and I brought with us from Illinois, as well as with those things that are tied somehow to our heritage. Not only that, but the wood heat and lack of plumbing tickle my sense of adventure, to get a closer glimpse of the lives my great-great grandparents lived, as homesteaders in eastern South Dakota in the late 1800s. It will be a far cry from roughing it, but living in a 100-year-old cabin definitely has romance to it.

We enjoy repurposing and reusing, and on my agenda for this week is making brand-new curtains from some old white sheets I found while we were organizing and cleaning. Sarah and I have so many ideas for making this little place our home. Moving day can’t come soon enough! We can’t wait!