The Early Bird

There it was, crossing the sidewalk, steadily, with certainty, but who know where it was bound?

It was the middle of January and the snowbanks were a foot high. The sidewalk was clear but that small black beetle was trudging determinedly across the clear spot to the other side which was a cement parking lot, melting, icy and bleak indeed.

I stopped on my journey down the walk to observe this small insect slowly crossing in the sunny, wintry, January day. Was it the sun that woke this critter from its safe spot under the snow and grass? I could only wonder, admire the fortitude and speculate on the future for the life that could not, but I hoped would, make it until the warmth of the spring day.

Nature showed itself yesterday. Wonder of wonders! Where, how, when and why? Another mystery of our world.

GOOD LUCK!

The Sounds of Silence

Sunday afternoon. The sky is blue, the breeze is gentle, the clouds are white and puffy. I quit my reading and walk outside. It is too beautiful to stay indoors. There is a difference from early morning when I went outside to tend to our backyard chickens. They were fussing for their treats with the demanding clucking that insisted, "feed me, feed me." The neighbor was mowing his lawn and trucks were rumbling down the alley.

This afternoon is strangely silent. The chickens and the lawn mowers have gone still and at this point in time there are no cars or trucks passing in the front or in the alley. The only sounds I hear are a few chirpings from some distant birds high in the elms. A bird glides silently past and a lone robin on the grass in the back yard is equally noiseless in his concentrated quest for worms.

What happened to the sounds of laughter from the neighborhood children bouncing on the trampoline? Actually what happened to all of the people usually passing by on the sidewalk or crunching down the unpaved alley? Where is everyone?

The hush hangs heavily and delightfully. This is so rare and such a treat. I sit in the lawn chair drinking in the stillness. After a time a hear a faint meow. The alley cat, Muddy, has just woken from his nap under the picnic table. The late afternoon sun has reached his place of rest and may have warmed him to his waking point, or it could be that it is getting close to his dinner time when he expects food provided for him in return for his keeping our yard mouse free.

He jumps on my lap, turning and rubbing, but, as always, he remains purr-less, respecting the silence for my continued pleasure. Two cars pass quietly by. Strangely absent is the roar from muffler-less trucks or motorcycles.  There is no buzzing from the bees who have recently departed seeking flowers still in blossom. Our roses are just beginning their pink, red and yellow appearances while the tulips, alliums and poppies in swift succession have taken to seed for the season.

Ah, peace and quiet! My husband returns from his place of work downtown, informing me that it is equally deserted on the main street. He switches on the TV and I am abruptly returned to the world of sound. The silence was delicious while it lasted.  

I am grateful for the afternoon interlude of serenity and solitude.

Bees' Paradise

                                                                                          Photos by Ricardo

Bob does not spray. Whatever kills weeds will also destroy our bees. Bees are disappearing and we need them for our survival. The bees absolutely love the perennials in our yard! Welcome bees! We are a "no spray" zone.

Dandelion Season

It's that time of year once again. And once again Bob is out in the yard patiently pulling dandelions, roots and all, of course. Day after day, as soon as the yellow heads pop out from the lawn, Bob is squatting and digging, one dandelion at a time.

So why does he do this? Children love them.

Bees love them.

The guy with the spray can get rid of them in no time. But, he also gets rid of our bees.

And so, my very patient husband, (who detests the pesticides and loves the bees) keeps digging the dandelions, one by one, day by day.

You gotta love his patience and his love for the bees. Well, at least I do, and in our yard in Hot Springs, SD, that is all that counts.

And the children who love them will still have plenty to go around, and so will the bees.

The Expectant Time

Temperatures are in the 70's, the winds are still, and there is a hush, a silence of waiting, waiting for the burst of new life. Of course there have been some early March arrivals.....a few sleepy wasps and bees who preceded the usual food supply, tiny buds on the lilac bushes, some ants and flies and the early greens reaching up from the snow in advance of their flowers still in their winter sleep.

This silence is punctured by the buzz of the bush trimmers, the laughter of children, the chatter of neighbors and the crowing of an unexpected rooster in the flock of the neighbor's hens.

These sounds come and go, giving way to the longer stretches of the pregnant silence. Spring will soon be here with buds bursting, flowers emerging, grass growing and swarms of the seasonal birds joining the regulars at the bird feeders.

Is it early this year? The stretch of time between the vanishing snow and the welcoming spring? It seems to be and may also be a forewarning of one of those excruciating hot, hot summers. We have been fortunate to have had pleasant summers for the past several years, so perhaps it is time for us to be surrounded by stifling heat.

But for now, enough of the negative thoughts. It is the time of no snow shoveling or lawn mowing. It is time to enjoy the lull and welcome warmth of this mild, mellow March in the southern Black Hills of South Dakota.

It won't be long now.

Tracking Time

Yesterday we had our first snowfall. It seemed a bit early, but the first thing I do in the morning is open the shades and look for tracks. Those tracks prove which visitors we had in our yard overnight. Usually the first ones I see are those of the cuddly, grey rabbits. Not this year. The neighbors let their dogs run at night and I have not seen a wild bunny in months.

There are dog tracks to be sure. No surprise to see them. They begin at the neighbor's house, circle our back yard and meander into the front, across to next door and end up back at the neighbors who prefer their dogs to relieve themselves somewhere else. How thoughtful, I muse to know one in particular.

Later in the morning I layer warmly and go out into the back yard to do the daily chicken chores. Surprise! As I enter the garden I see the tracks of a turkey. Now I know the turkey routine. One scouts out the neighborhood during the first snow to see where the rest of the flock can feed during the food scarcity in the snow-covered woods a block away. In the past I fed the birds and would see one or two turkeys enjoying the feed scattered under the feeder. No problem, but within a few more days the entire group would devour the food both under the feeder, and somehow would jump to knock the seed out of the feeder.

First I would pound on the window and the turkeys would scatter. It did not take many days before they became bolder and would ignore my noise and continue feasting. Between the wild scavengers and the stray cats that came around, I reluctantly ceased the bird banquet.

But lo and behold, there were turkey tracks in our fenced in garden, also home to our chickens. It must have flown over the fence. The tracks ran across the back of the garden and then, to my dismay, into the chicken pen! I followed them around the pen and into the coop entry where I am certain he indulged in the easy-picking chicken food.

And my chickens, where were they? They were roosting snuggly inside the coop, having ignored the turkey, or the cold or both. I did not know for certain, but when I opened the coop for cleaning they fluttered out, wandered around in the pen, and tip-toed gingerly through the snow on the shoveled path in the garden. They waited for their scratch food, picked quickly and promptly returned to snow less coop.

I knew the turkey routine....find the goodies and return with the others another day. No way! My chickens would not leave the pen, let alone the coop so I closed the gate to the pen. I refuse to pay for turkey food. When they return they will no longer have easy access to the food purchased for the hens.

Sorry, turkeys. I know your routine and the tracks in the freshly fallen snow gave me the upper hand.You will have to scavenge at someone else's feeders. Your tracks gave you away.

Another Letter from Alaska

August 26, 2015

Hi Robert and Mary,

Haven't forgotten about you, it's just that Summer in Alaska is one busy time - mostly used in preparing for winter. The "preparing" gets harder all the time - partially as I am more resistant in tackling major jobs and winters are changing so much it is hard to know what to prepare for.

Normally, what we call "Break-up" (when the river's ice start to break up) is in April but this late April we had 80's and blue skies. Our river, anyway, never really looked frozen until very late January and, in fact, never did freeze enough that folks would walk on it. Lots of local trappers rely, and some who live out in the bush, rely on the rivers as mini-highways to get to trap lines or other villages.

Weather stayed nice through July but so dry that over 5 million acres burned. Mostly so rural that no one live there but a few that threatened housing. Still, since all of us down in this area live in forest, it was a worrisome time. August was rainy as usual but due to the early heat, we had a bumper crop of tomatoes, cukes, string beans and zucchini - so we are munching well on food that tastes like food......

.....This last winter was a big change - a couple more feet of snow than usual and this stuff is the wet, heavy stuff. Temps were much milder with only a couple of 40's whereas there are usually quite a few of those. And, it really didn't start until we got back so much earlier than expected at the end of Dec.......

.......We had a lousy fishing year though plenty of folks still came. For whatever reason, the salmon for centuries would swim up the sides of the very fast and powerful rivers. Only the very big King Salmon at 35-60 lbs. were strong enough to swim up in the middle. This year we had more salmon than usual but much fewer caught as they all went up the center for a very odd change.

It's been odd to figure this kind of stuff out as the oceans themselves are changing so rapidly. We have a large 'dead zone' between us and Russia which the salmon usually have to cross to return and just this summer alone have seen a large 'die-off'' of fully grown whales in the Gulf of Alaska. The 'why's' of this stuff are, as yet, unknown but the salmon we did get were a pound or so smaller.....

.........
Love,

Raining Cats and Dogs

"It isn't raining rain you know, it's raining violets."

That old song has sung its refrain in my head too often the past month. Don't get me wrong. We do live in high desert and that follows we live through many forest fires. My second book was all about a horrendous fire we experienced here in 2007 on 7/7/7 after seven years of drought. It changed our lives and I suffered PTSD for years after. So, that should mean that I welcome the rains. And, in truth, I do. Everything is green. We do not have to water our emerging plants in the garden. Our long unwatered lawn has recovered from mainly weeds and dirt to actual grass and green weeds.

On the other hand, one of the reasons we moved here was because of the weather.....more sun and low humidity. Now I am beginning to feel like a mushroom. Some days I want to shout, "Enough already!"

And so, I welcome the rains filling our lakes and aquifers, renewing plants long sleeping in the dry earth, and softening my dreams, no longer filled with smoke and fear. On the other hand.....

Oh, yes, we who live in this corner of paradise are grateful we do not have the flooding and storms challenging other areas. So stop complaining already!!

Then today I received a large envelope in the mail. It was from my granddaughter. She enjoys drawing and spends much of her time with her paper and colored pencils. She sent a drawing that was titled "It's Raining Cats and Dogs! Happy Spring Grandpa and Grandma."

Cats and dogs are falling from the sky, two with parachutes and one dog landing on its head. The grass is long and green and Bob is standing to the side with his hands on his head, mouth opened wide, shouting AHH!

Of course this grandpa and grandma chuckled at this gift from a long-distance grand daughter who shared her feelings about our situation.

Welcome rains. The long drought is over for now. The thunder rolls in the distance, the lightning lights up the sky, the rain spatters on the windows, the alley cats have disappeared into some secret shelters, the mushrooms are emerging from the soggy grass, and in my office above my computer, a colorful drawing brings smiles to all who stop by.

Renewal

Every season has a special flavor. Spring and Fall have always been my favorites. They are beginnings and endings mingled in time and that, to me, has been their special appeal.

Spring has just begun here in the southern Black Hills. Our daffodils began their journey in late February and continued boldly through late winter snow and cold. Today they are in full blossom and brighten our table at each meal. The grass is green, the bushes are budding ever so cautiously, perhaps waiting for yet another cold spell. The dandelions are popping up in odd places and this past week our hardware store has potted garden plants calling passersby from the stands on the outside street, "look-ey here. I am ready for your garden. Choose me, choose me and I will bring you your favorite veggie." It may be early, but "hope springs eternal"......

And so one of my favorite seasons has erupted once again in our yard, in the neighborhood and along our Fall River. In Fall there is a touch of sadness with the hint of increasing darkness, but in Spring there is only growth, renewal, burgeoning light, fleeting cold and amazing, wonderful hope.

Living in the Black Hills

Happy to be inside today. The wind is blowing the snow around something fierce. We do live in a "banana belt" and usually see less snow and faster melt, but for now we have had lengthy cold which brings back memories of living in Minnesota. The forecast is for warmer days ahead, so today there is hope for the return of our balmier winter.

Last week we were returning home from a party. It was late, at least for us in our elder years. We drove through Wind Cave Park, the blackness of a moonless night surrounding us. Suddenly, in the car lights, four large elk leapt across in front of us. Bob stopped the car, waiting for the rest of the herd. I opened the window to listen. There was not a sound. The four elk stood frozen to the side of the road. On the opposite side we could see the outline of the rest of the herd, all were antlered and magnificent as they stood silently like statues, barely visible in the inky darkness. We waited. They waited. Then quickly and silently the four elk who had first ventured in front of our car returned to the remaining herd. They made not a sound. It was as if they were four ghost ships gliding across a glassy sea. Then, in an instant, the entire herd faded into the night.

We drove on. In a few miles we came across a large herd of mule deer. They ignored us, barely looking up from eating the green roadside grass. Again I opened my window. Again there was silence, but this time I could hear one large deer standing within a few feet. There was the faint sound of grass chewing...ever so faint. The herd continued to eat and we drove on.

Just before we left the park a herd of bison came into view of our headlights. Some of them were on the road, searching for salt left by cars. This group were not as silent. I could hear a few snorts and the heavy breathing of one who loomed too close to the car.  They were not intimidated by us. It seemed as if they knew their power and had no need to flee.

Our drive home took about 30 minutes. There was no moonlight or daylight, but yet we felt the beauty of our Hills. It is a great place to live, no matter the season or time of day. We arrived home filled with gratitude.

An Ode to October

What a difference a year makes. In early October, 2013 our beautiful Black Hills were covered with snow. Cattle had frozen by the hundreds after the devastating early storm that brought rain, cold, wind and snow, all of which were too much for the cattle and horses caught by the unexpected fury of the twists of nature.

Today we have passed the half way mark of October. The sun brightens the turning leaves, the air is crisp and clear and we are all enjoying the balmy waning days of Autumn. I have hopes that this coming winter will be milder and sunnier than the drawn out gray and freezing days of last year.

They yard signs for the November voting are prominent in many yards. "Vote for me", they proclaim. They, too, have promises, not unlike the weather. They suggest that they will make our lives better, that they will represent us, the voters.

As I enjoy my peaceful walk to the river and back, I wonder if, like the weather, the elected officials will turn their backs on their promises. Will they really listen to our hopes, or, like last year's October weather, will they turn to rain on our hopes, followed by the cold and wind of their personal desires and leave us covered with the heavy, wet snow of their ignorance or greed and self-interest?

I suppose only time will tell. Hope does seem to "spring eternal", but reality often crashes those same hopes. But then, many of the candidate do admit what they really stand for, and they do get elected. It follows that those that vote them in should not be surprised or complain with the results. We will see. Many promises of hopeful Autumn are dashed in the midst of winter.

This week promises to be sunny and mild. I intend to enjoy the weather as forecast. It may have to carry me through the reality to come. Beautiful, colorful October. Long may you reign!

Drip, Drip, Drip

Chilly and wet, a typical October day. This is the type of day that calls for hot chili, cocoa, a good book and snuggling up by a fire. It is a forecast of the colder, gray days to come, with less sun, longer nights and, hopefully, more time for musing, reflecting and absorbing.

It seems that there have been more and more days of activity, filled with meetings, letter writing, group activities, fund raisers, etc., etc. Today, soggy and gloomy, is a reminder of quieter days to come...days for renewal and rejuvenation, days to catch up on those un-finished magazines, days to sleep in without guilt or a to-do list. Everyone can use these kind of days.

Today is one of them. I will close this blog with ahhhhhhhh, I am retuning to the fire, in cozy slippers, with a book. Do not disturb!

From a River Bench

Rustling,
Chirping,
Cascading,
Scampering.

The trees,
The birds,
The river,
The squirrels.

The river meandering through our town,
From one end to the other,
Offering serenity,
Infusing peace.

A short distance away...main street,
Traffic, noise, missions, plans,
Intruding, interrupting, demanding,
Draining, sucking from the inside, outward.

Life happens apart from the river,
Our river, our sanctuary, our constant,
Flowing softly, slowly,
Suddenly surging, bubbling, ever smoothing the rocks.

Living requires attention, action.
Fall River, our river, asks nothing, exacts only
One's time, now and then,
To help gain a sense of self, smoothing a soul.

Ah......Summer!

The news blares: insurgents, kidnappings, terrorists, uprisings, tornadoes, floods! The list goes on and on, making us grateful to live in our sheltered valley in the southern Black Hills. We are having more rain than usual, including an occasional hail onslaught, but we do live in "fire country" and are thankful for the moisture.

Otherwise we are having an influx of tourists, an increase of open businesses, warmer weather (finally), festivals and commemorations, Miss South Dakota Pageant with a group of eager, talented lovely young women riding in a parade and singing, dancing and performing their way toward possible fame and a scholarship.

Life is good in our peaceful community. The vegetation is lush and greener than the norm. The roses color our world in their vibrant yellows, pinks, reds and whites.Visitors drop in during these months bringing excitement, news and the warmth of their company. All of this follows an unusually cold, long winter. Yes, the winter and cooler spring did seem long. This summer will fly by, leaving colorful memories to brighten the grayer months to follow. It is good to remember that we might not appreciate summer if it remained all year.

The Merry Month.....

The daffodils have long passed, the tulips are still in blossom, the lilacs are beginning their fragrant emergence and the apple, cherry and plum trees are in full show everywhere in town.

It has been a cold spring here in the Black Hills. The numerous tall stalks with tightly closed buds had shot forth days ago but the blossoms held back, perhaps waiting for the warmer weather. Suddenly, last week, as if on cue with the warming temperatures, the buds opened almost all in tandem, to display round, rich purple flowers, while the others are opening to deep orange petals.

Our apple tree outside my office window strutted its beauty of pink, delicate blossoms for about a week. It was absolutely gorgeous but now, after a few strong winds, it stands starkly green, the pink strewn over the yard and driveway while some, clinging to the bottoms of our shoes, trickle onto the back or front porches.

It seems that this May has been more colorful than usual. Perhaps we are being compensated in some way for the ordeal of an unusually cold winter. It is easy to forget the winds and cold when startled by the brilliance of red, yellow, pink, orange,purple and lavender everywhere, everywhere I look, everywhere I walk.

Welcome Spring!

Beneath the Avalanche

You know those days....the ones where you feel overwhelmed, covered with too much to do, too little time, etc, etc. Well I was having one last night. I had attended a rally protesting the opening of in-situ uranium mining in our beautiful Black Hills and arrived home to a phone call from someone needing assistance, an email about the Environmental Impact Study regarding saving our VA now in process and needing our written comments, another email from someone working on my web site needing immediate attention, and......I sorta lost it!

Today, in the light of another day, I am looking at everything more clearly. The most helpful was a poem that I received from a friend who is likewise overwhelmed with issues. I am digesting it as I write and will now pass it on to my readers.

"GOLDEN RETRIEVALS"          BY MARK DOTY

Fetch? Balls and sticks capture my attention
seconds at a time. Catch? I don't think so.
Bunny, tumbling leaf, a squirrel who's - oh
joy - actually scared. Sniff the wind, then

I'm off again: muck, pond, ditch, residue
of any thrillingly dead thing. And you?
Either your sunk in the past, half our walk,
thinking of what you never can bring back,

or else you're off in some fog concerning
--tomorrow, is that what you call it? My work:
to unsnare time's warp (and woof!), retrieving,
my haze-headed friend, you. This shining bark,

a Zen master's bronzy gong, calls you here,
entirely, now: bow-wow, bow-wow, bow-wow.

Footprints in the Snow

There are two sets of tiny prints leading up to our back deck. It is a mystery as to whom they belong. We have been feeding our calico stray for over three months, but now and then another black and white cat shows up looking for food. This unusually cold weather has brought out a huge orange cat. Both of these must be strays to be wandering around in this bitter cold. My heart goes out to them. They must be cold and hungry and we guess that one or the other finishes the food that Skitty Kitty leaves behind. Another thought is that we are now feeding three abandoned critters.

Growing up in the north woods of Minnesota was a great place for footprints in the snow sightings. My father could identify each one of them, and taught me which was the hare, the deer, the wolf or the squirrel. Winters and snow were plentiful in those deep woods and I learned who had been visiting our neighborhood.

Moving to the southwest corner of South Dakota was another matter. Snow came less often and disappeared within hours or a few days. There were a few occasions when we spotted the tracks of a cougar, the deer, wild turkeys or pack rats, but these sightings were fewer than during my childhood years in the snows of Minnesota that arrived in October and remained through April.

While we lived in the country south of Hot Springs I still felt the familiar thrill from my childhood when I came across a set of tell-tale prints crossing our land. I knew who had visited us the night before.

After the wildfire we moved into Hot Springs where I see more prints every morning when I open the curtains to the day than I did when we lived in the country. Of course the town is surrounded by the hills that are home to the turkeys, deer and other wildlife.They visit us more in the winter when their food sources are scarce and our bird feeders are full.

Snow has been more constant this winter and I am able to identify our nightly visitors most mornings. I still enjoy observing tracks in the snow, but the sight of prints of the stray cats is a bit upsetting. They should be enjoying the comforts of a home, curled up on a lap or a sofa, or sitting in a window sunning themselves and twitching at the birds having lunch at the feeder.Someone, somewhere at sometime discarded them carelessly, leaving them to fend for themselves in a world that at times, may be cold, windy and lacking in nourishment.

For now I find some comfort in providing them with sustenance that will, hopefully, ease their journey through our back yard.

Wet, Cold and Wind

It had been a good year for the ranchers.
The rains had doused the drought,
The hay crop was good
The gas prices were lower, cattle prices higher.

This was going to be the year to make some money,
Money to tide them over during the down years,
Money to invest in their ranch and herd.
Things were looking good.

The early storm came with all its fury.
It came before the cattle grew their winter coats.
It bore down before the income cattle had been sent to the stock yards for the year.
It swept in before the rest of the herd were in the winter pastures.

It was wet, followed by cold, and then the wind.
The wind was relentless, suffocating cattle in the wet snow,
Blinding those who wandered far from the pasture,
Killing many from exposure.

The ranchers were helpless. They could only wait it out.
After it was over they rode their pastures, trying to save cattle that survived.
Some were too sick to make it.
The rest had to be buried.

They buried them by the hundreds,
As the snow melted they found more bodies,
Mothers lying next to their calves,

Trying to protect them the best they could.

Now ranchers are a hardy bunch.
They have to be. Ranching is a tough business.
They build a herd over the years
Only to watch helplessly as they lose them one by one.

The next time you enjoy a steak or burger,
Think for a brief minute of our South Dakota ranchers.
They love the land, they care for their herds.
They will never forget the October storm of 2013.

Fly Over Zone Even During Disaster

Thousands of cattle are dead and more are dying. The early wet and windy snow storm caught everyone off guard. We all knew that it was coming, but for many ranchers it was too late to move their herds to winter pastures. That is a process that takes days and weeks. Also the cattle did not yet have their winter coats to protect them from the strong winds and extremely wet snow. Some herds in their winter pastures still met the same fate, suffocating in the blowing drifts or dying from exposure or pneumonia in their light summer coats. Difficult as it is to believe, even some of the hardy bison fell to the fury of this early storm.

Some ranchers lost most of the herds they had nurtured and developed for years while others lost a fourth or more.  How can they recover? Insurance can not make up such extreme losses. Prized bulls carefully bred to grow the herds perished along with champion horses. South Dakota ranchers are devastated, emotionally, physically and financially. Ranching is the number one industry in our state and this storm came after years of drought that brought the industry to almost a breaking point. The loss of these cattle that were getting ready to be shipped after the first decent year of rain and abundant hay, cannot be measured. How can you measure the complete loss of a lifetime, or several generations, in terms of money? How can you begin to realize the grief of a rancher who lost most of his cattle in the prime of their calving years? Who can balance the tipping point in terms of money, loans, time or years of uncertainty with drought and high diesel prices?

There were numerous cattle, ready to be shipped, that died in the stock yards. They were trapped, as I imagine many of our ranchers feel. It is well-known that ranchers are a hardy stock of people. They have had to be, living with storms, drought and fluctuating cattle prices. But I am so afraid that for some this may be the last straw. Now many of the large corporations have an opportunity to swoop in and take over the land that has been owned for many generations by individual families who loved the land and their herds.

To top it all off, the national media gave only a glancing nod to this story. I realize that we are "the fly over zone" and are largely ignored. That is one of the attractions of the area. We love the lack of notoriety and sensationalism and high drama of the two coasts. We cherish the smaller population, clean air, water and low traffic and crime. But for the nation to ignore the plight of our ranchers and their heartbreaking stories seems appalling. South Dakota may be less in numbers, but we provide much of the nation with its low-cost meat, raised by our ranchers who care about the quality of their beef and the integrity of their land. These ranchers and we local residents who enjoy seeing the tractors, cattle and bulging hay trucks rumble through our down-town main streets, do not want to lose this way of life.

We felt the spirit of the area when we first moved here. We were entering the lobby of a local bank to open an account when a rancher- stained cowboy hat, jeans and well-worn boots - had sauntered past us from the bank on his way to his truck. One of the tellers in high heels and dainty dress was mopping the floor. The smell of hay and cattle dung still clung in the air. As she sprayed the lobby she replied cheerily, "Just one of our services".

Hello, out there, you national media! There are wonderful stories to share with the world from those who supply you with your steaks and hamburger. There has been one source of thorough and heartfelt coverage that I have seen by an on-line news magazine. It will be well worth your time to check it out.

Visit  www.RealAmericanCowboyMagazine.com
"The Perfect Storm - Hell Strikes South Dakota" October 10
by Hope Sickler

We may be low in numbers but we represent the heart of America. Some say we are the "real Americans", not those portrayed by the movies. Whatever we are, our ranchers are hurting. We all know it. If only the rest of the world would understand. But, as I hear from friends from other states, they only heard a "small bit" on their news. That small bit is huge to us in America's heartland.

Bursts of Beauty

We purchased our "town" house in Hot Springs a year after we lost our country home in the Alabaugh wildfire. It was in early September and the large lot, with several small gardens in the front and side, and a large one in the back yard, gave little indication of the flowers that lay dormant, waiting their turns to blossom the following spring. We could see the flowerless lilac and rose bushes, but we were clueless as to the rainbow of colors that awaited us.

In March the following spring the daffodils emerged and re-emerged through the snow, followed by a succession of flowers, one after another, with several blossoming simultaneously. Throughout May, June and July we were bombarded with a variety of blooms...purple, orange, red, yellow. They grew in the front and side yards, followed by the garden in the back. The roses bloomed in June, lasting through part of July. The yellow, then the pink and the white. The red in the back were barely holding their own when the tea roses outside the front window began to open. They crawled up the trellises and the wire fencing enclosure.

This year we had more spring rains than in the past five years. The roses have performed with the most showy display we have ever seen. As they were dwindling, our deep pink tea roses burst forth...so full that many, weighted down, hang over the fence. They are absolutely gorgeous. They take my breath away!

Each day Bob quietly places fresh flowers at our table. During each meal I enjoy the delicate samplings of  the beauty of the blossoms glowing outside.

For the past few weeks I spend more time than usual looking out of our front window. I try to immerse myself in the glory of the tea-rose spectacle. Each time I drive by our house I soak in their beauty, in an attempt to engrave their memory, knowing full well that they, too, in their time, will fade for the year, waiting for the rains and sun of next summer.