Monthly Archives: November 2009

The End Of A Season


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Pull Up a Bench and Sit a Spell

[Previous Rural Farmgirl, April 2009 – May 2010]
Maybe it is the time of year, or maybe it is just me needing a rest, but I have been noticing chairs and benches lately, each of them coaxing me to come on over and sit a spell. I cannot even say that I am thinking while enjoy their respite; at least I cannot recall anything that I was thinking about while there. It is rather magical to be able to plant yourself in the middle of a scene and contemplate, well, nothing.

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Seeing Beauty

Beauty in ordinary objects can be easily overlooked. You can’t see subtleties from a galloping horse; you have to take up the reins and slow your soul down.


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In Praise of Knit Wits

[Previous Suburban Farmgirl, October 2009 – October 2010]

I’m a sweater girl. Oh, I’m devoted to my sturdy, throw-it-on, functional fleece. But there’s nothing like thick wool or supersoft cashmere to make me feel warm, cozy — and something extra. Classic, maybe? Distinct? Stylin’? Many of my sweaters were knit by my gifted late mom, adding a whole extra meaning to “warm-and-fuzzy.”

What I really like about hand-knits: Their personality! Nobody else has a sweater, scarf, vest, etc. just like it. And when the knitter goes that extra level beyond basic to create something with a story — it’s magic!

So now that the weather’s cold and I’ve hauled out the woolies, it seems like a fitting time to share some standouts from my Witty Knit Hall of Fame:

Hand-knit sweater with kitten face on front

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The Gift That Keeps On Giving

[Previous Rural Farmgirl, April 2009 – May 2010]
I have been haunted the last few days by an email I received from one of the farmgirls. Not haunted in a way that compels you to flee, but rather in a way that begs you to stay and sit with it a while, facing those things that we all too often would rather not face.

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My Old Cubby

My Shabby Cubby Project, by Shery JespersenWhen I was a wee lassie, I thought it completely normal that each day would begin with a trip to the local dump. I spent much of my early childhood in my Grampa’s shadow and nearly every day, weather permitting, we went to the dump on a scavenger hunt. He and Gramma grew up in the homestead era and then spent much of their adult life just trying to get by. Gramma waited 5 long years for her true love to come home from WWI. They began their life together scratching out a living as ranchers. Before they were wed, Grampa told her that he could afford either a new Hamley saddle or a wedding ring, but not both. My Gramma, then his young, auburn haired bride was ranch savvy and she chose the saddle! As young adults, they faced very tough times…the Great Depression, The Dirty 30s, and WWII. As a result, they became members of what is now referred to as ‘The Greatest Generation’. They were people who enjoyed life even in the midst of doing without most, if not all, of life’s luxuries.

By the time I was old enough to hang out with my Grandfather (1960s), he was well into retirement. He was very active though and loved building and fixing things. That is where the city dump came in…

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Hello. Anyone There?

[Previous Rural Farmgirl, April 2009 – May 2010]
Do you remember when children would make a phone by taking two tin cans and tying them to the opposite ends of some string? I recall doing this in elementary science class. We took two large paper cups or tin cans, punched a hole in the bottom center of each can or cup, then cut about 100 feet of kite string, pulled the string through both cups and tied it down. The key, of course, was to keep the string pulled tight, allowing the sound waves to travel across the string and into the other cup.

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What a Dad I Had

[Previous Suburban Farmgirl, October 2009 – October 2010]

You know the expression, “You can take the boy out of the small town, but you can’t take the small town out of the boy”? That was my dad. He died last week, just 20 days shy of his 88th birthday.

Sylvester Patyk may have raised a tract-house-full of suburbanites (five of us) and lived in three different ‘burbs himself, but for my whole life he seemed like a fish out of water. He was a small town fellow through and through, born in tiny Wakefield, Michigan, among the lakes, forests, farms, and mines of the beautiful Upper Peninsula. (Picture Bedford Falls from that old movie, “It’s a Wonderful Life.”)

Paula Spencer's father

I’m still processing his being gone – it was amazingly sudden, even though he’d been in decline – but his passing has me thinking a lot about a person’s legacy. And how that legacy is tied to place…

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Cowgirl Up

Autumn in the western states, specifically on cattle ranches involves what is commonly referred to as ‘Fallwork’ – one word. Ranching, like all agriculture, revolves around the seasons. For ranchers on the northern plains, autumn is less about colorful leaves and more about golden grass. The prairie is busy getting ready to close up shop for the coming winter and the rancher has a long list of chores to do in preparation for the changing out of seasons.

Cowgirls: Cowboys come in all shapes and sizes
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Who Could Ask For More?

[Previous Rural Farmgirl, April 2009 – May 2010]
In today’s world it may not be politically correct, but I grew up playing that childhood game of cowgirls and Indians, knowing full well that if you were to mix in a little gypsy girl with the cowgirl and the Indian, shake it, then bake it, you would have me: a rural farmgirl. I, like many of my farmgirl friends, do not really “fit” into any one mold. I am as eclectic in my thinking and in my interests as I am in the blood that runs through me.

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