Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Big Dirt Daydreams


Is it part of middle age starting on down the half centurion mark that makes one so reflective of life? We have only so many days here and I'm thinking about what I've done and where I am. In my wildest dreams I'd like to be like the Pioneer woman and have a ranch full of hooligans and cattle, they don't have to be my hooligans. I can borrow some. Having a ranch for kids who need homes would be too cool. As long as Pa was there. HE is the patient level headed type. I am the red headed reacto type. I used to be an auburn haired girl.
How about a vineyard on a country side hill like in "French Kiss?" with the sweet little french blue shift blowing in the breeze, and big smooch in the sunshine of the morning? Where do these day dreams come from?

Maybe they happen when a neighbor makes a comment to you about the leash laws at all times. I am working on teaching Lu to come back and she sometimes takes a little detour to sniff a trash bag. Poor planning on my part, but hey it was early in the morning and I was exercising before a cup of Joe even. She did not tear the trash up she just smelled it. Out came the huffy neighbor lady who put the bag in her can mumbling about the law. If she had room in the can why didn't she put it there in the first place? If my dog would've made a mess I would've cleaned it up. On the other hand I understand that people do not realize that my dog is a big goofy puppy who will run off if I try and chase her or go get her. She has to come to me, and I was working on that task exactly. It was early who could we bother?

When is dreaming about something no longer dreaming, but wishing your life was just different. How come I can't be one of those folks who is just content with their lot in life? I think about the quiet country life every day. a friend of mine once said I was just a natural born dirt digger.

What I would like to cultivate is a grateful heart. Grateful for a roof and what I have already been blessed with. I have a pretty home. Why would I trade it for a small cabin if it meant being out of the city? I don't know. When I was young I solved it by going to visit my friends in the Sonora foothills on weekends. I chickened out though to move there by myself with my baby away from my mom. Coward. Annie Oakley would've done it! That was a lifetime ago. I am not old but Daddy BB is 70. If we don't go soon I can't see us ever getting there. Let's be practical! We have two teenagers who love this house, they love their church. The Jr. college is 2 miles away. They would pitch a wall-eyed fit if I took them rural. Well for a couple of weeks they would.

My brother is a rancher out in Texas. He's up before the sun and in bed after it goes down. They do nothing but work. I love the ranch. It's over a 1000 acres in the hills. The country isn't what you would call fetching; it's desert. Granite and sandstone are the number one natural resource. Cactus actually sprout up like wild grasses they are everywhere and a problem. Water is an issue too, sometimes there are long periods of drought. This winter they had flooding. It was called the 200 year flood and the cattle were sunk up to their shoulders in mud with coyotes sneaking around to eat their tails off. It was grim.

In spite of the hardships, my brother has never been happier or looked better. He's cultivating a close walk with God. Up on top of one of those hills all you can hear is the wind. As far as your eye can go there is only land and sky. Out in the middle of this desert is a patch of marine fossils on a hillside. At one time all of this land was under water. I believe I know when. I loved seeing proof with my own two eyes. Standing near a split rail fence gazing out at that beauty my heart hushed in the presence of God. I felt for a moment like Elijah as the Lord went by in the still soft voice, in the breeze, in the quiet beauty of the unspoiled morning. It was quiet. I was quiet. My mind was calm. My heart was resting, gazing, drinking, worshipping, wondering at the beauty of this place. In moments like that I am content. If someone offered me a million dollar shopping spree I'd decline, "No thanks, don't need it." I am so grateful for memories and experiences like these.
How about you? Where and when does your heart sing?

6 comments:

noble pig said...

And this is where the phrase, "the grass is always greener" comes from...

Laura ~Peach~ said...

my heart sings... all the time I am a dirt digger and love it... when i take a seed so tiny and stick it in the ground and God makes it come up into this amazing plant that produces something a flower that is so amazingly beautiful or fruit for me to eat My heart sings...I am highly adaptable and can be content where ever I am... but today My favorite place on earth is right here in my little corner ... your brothers place sounds just BEAUTIFUL you got pics???
Hugs Laura

Brenda said...

My heart sings when I snuggle in the recliner with my hubby. When I am out walking on a warm spring sunny day. When I am having a "ladies night out" with my daughters. When I watch mom's with their babies looking sweetly at each other.

LadiesoftheHouse said...

We have 5 acres in WA state with a small cabin my husband built completely by hand. It is only 600 sq. Ft, has a loft overhead and all the furniture inside was made by hand by my husband.

We scrimped and saved and paid off the land on one income. We didn't borrow a dime to build the cabin, most of it was recycled items or wood taken directly from the land. We own it free and clear--nobody can take it away from us.

At night the Milky Way is right overhead and so bright it looks like Heaven shining down. The crickets are loud, the deer are everywhere and the air is so pure it smells like God's own special spices. When the 4 of us are snuggled in the cabin with our 2 dogs and the woodstove is burning brightly, my heart sings a thankful song to God.

Karen Deborah said...

what sweet comments from everyone, how blessed!

Tigger said...

I wouldn't mind living in Texas, but I love the beach, my church, and friends.