Back Porch Break

Hay Fever

November 7, 2013 by Nancy 13 Comments

Some aromas permeate our childhood memories like vanilla in cookie dough or yeast in cinnamon buns. They come to mind as surely and sweetly as secrets sisters share growing up. For me, one of those fragrances is the scent of freshly mowed hay in the fall—the last cutting of the year. Call me a hayseed if you’d like, but from an early age I’ve had the best kind of hay fever.

I grew up on a non-working farm in East Tennessee, meaning that farming wasn’t how our family earned our living. But we lived in a big white farmhouse with a screened-in porch that was surrounded by pastures. We also had a large red barn and a couple of horses, and throughout the years of my childhood owned an assortment of dogs, cats, chickens, rabbits, pigs and one notorious goat named Billy (of course). Billy had to quickly find another home after he ate 12 blossoms off my mother’s prized geranium one Sunday while we were at church!

Even as a tiny girl I remember “hay-cutting day” as a time of excitement in our home. My two sisters and I would hear the big combine lumbering down the two-lane road toward our house before we saw it, but we already knew it was time for the hay to be mowed because of the aromas emanating from the kitchen.

My grandmother lived with us, and on hay-cutting day she took it upon herself to cook a big pot of pinto beans for the workmen to have for lunch—along with cornbread baked in a cast-iron skillet. Once a whiff of those two dishes cooking at the same time wafted upstairs, even the sleepiest heads woke up early on a Saturday morning so as not to miss Granny’s home cooking.

Even now on road trips I never fail to notice baled hay in pastures we pass. The bales we watched roll out of the hay-baler in my childhood were the traditional, rectangular box shape—easy to store in the barn for feeding the horses over the winter. But my favorites now are the big circular bales like the ones above that I photographed on our family property in Tennessee last month. I even spied some in Tuscany when we were there a few years ago. Much to my husband’s amusement, I often want to photograph hay bales. No other sculpture speaks to me the same way.

My sister-in-law Mary, since deceased, was an excellent horsewoman and the only person I’ve ever known who was a hay connoisseur. If we were stuck behind a truck full of hay on the highway I might be frustrated wondering how to get around it, but Mary would be assessing the quality of the hay on the truck and whether she would feed it to the horses in her care.

So now seeing hay reminds me of a cherished sister-in-law as well as my childhood home in Tennessee. No wonder I have hay fever.

Falling for Fall

September 26, 2013 by Nancy 18 Comments

Fall is here in all its glory. With each leaf that swirls and floats toward the ground, I’m reminded of what a wonderful time of year this is to make a change. Whether the change is monumental or so small only you know the difference, it can have lasting benefits. Here are some fall-inspired ideas to get you started:

Fall in to a recliner and just relax for a change! Watch some football. Make sure there’s a big bowl of popcorn within reach. If you really must feel more productive, add a holiday craft project to the game plan. But if you just want to sit and watch football, do it guiltlessly. Football has value beyond the entertainment it provides; the NFL donates a lot of money to charity!

Fall out of bed a half hour earlier and take a walk around the block. Soon you’ll be buried under a comforter listening to announcements of wind chill factors and school closings. Take advantage of the cool, crisp mornings to clear your head…and work off some of the popcorn you ate watching football.

Fall in to a huge pile of leaves and just lie there looking up at the blue sky and cloud formations. No leaves in your yard? Show up at a friend’s house with a rake and volunteer to help for the pure joy of having a pile of leaves all to yourself. (Don’t pick your over-achieving friends. They won’t understand.)

Fall in love. If you’re married, fall in love with your spouse all over again. Taking five minutes to make a list of things that first attracted you to him or her is a great place to start. Focus only on those things for a week, and before you know it, you’re head over heels again. No love interest at the moment? Fall in love with an adopted kitten or puppy. Their love is unconditional, and they’ll always be around for a snuggle on a blustery evening.

Fall out of line. I’m not recommending anything illegal or immoral, just out of the ordinary. Take a new route to work. Shop at a different grocery store. Read a book by an unknown author. Be less predictable. No one will really care, and you may find out you’ve been in the wrong line anyway.

Fall in over your head. Immerse yourself in something you’ve only dipped a toe into until now. Maybe it’s a dream, a relationship, a foreign language, or a career you’ve wanted to pursue. Fall is a great time to dive in fearlessly.

Fall out of your comfort zone. Reach out to those less fortunate, less recognized, less socially desirable, than most of the people you know. Do at least one thing to make the world a better place.
It’s fall…time to make a change for all seasons.

Consider the Lilies

September 6, 2013 by Nancy 18 Comments

Each week I have the pleasure of walking around this lake with two good friends. Recently our vistas have been brightened by the appearance of wild Black-eyed Susans. I haven’t been in Israel when the wild lilies of the field are in bloom, but I can’t imagine they could be more beautiful than this, our Colorado version.

When those yellow faces start appearing in August, I’m always reminded of August, 1977, when I first moved to Colorado. We lived just to the right of this lake, but none of the area behind the lake was developed then so there were open fields near our house. I took a whole roll of film (remember film?) of my two boys and our golden retriever running through the Black-eyed Susans in those fields.

Of course, I also thought we were all going to die in Colorado that August, because, coming from Tennessee, I didn’t know about the way the wind swept across the plains. One day the wind was blowing so hard that it was lifting my drapes straight out and off the hooks. I closed all the windows to keep the wind out, but it was hot and we didn’t have air-conditioning. That’s when I was just sure we were all going to suffocate! But I’ve adapted well to the creative Colorado weather in 36 years, and would miss it if I lived anywhere else.

The appearance of the Black-eyed Susans also always reminds me of Jesus’ teaching on simplifying life. In Matthew 6:28-29 (KJV) we read His words: “Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.” I love this so much I used it as the theme verse for a chapter titled “Simply Consider” in the book I wrote about my own simplification journey, Simply the Savior.

When our hearts yearn for a simpler way of life than the one the world seems to demand that we live, there is perhaps no better way for us to begin the simplification process than to consider the lilies. Author and theologian Richard J. Foster, in his book Freedom of Simplicity, refers to Matthew 6 as “the most radiant passage on Christian simplicity in all the Bible.” It’s impossible to overstate the effect that taking these verses in Matthew’s Gospel to heart can have on our ability to simplify our lives.

If we simply consider the lilies, suddenly we feel the pressure to attain and achieve being lifted from our shoulders and our hearts. If they don’t toil and spin, why should we? It’s easier to draw lines through many of the tasks on our to-do lists after we consider the lilies. And it’s easier to exchange worrying for trusting.

So simply consider the lilies. And if you live in Colorado, get out and walk among them!

First Day of School

August 23, 2013 by Nancy 11 Comments

Years ago I wrote this column about our oldest grandchild starting first grade. I blinked, and this year she’s a senior in college! May the first day of school be a good start for all kids everywhere.

Is there anything more exciting than the first day of school? This is the excitement born of freshly sharpened pencils, crisp paper in a shiny new notebook, and a backpack of possibilities. As parents and grandparents we send our children out the door so equipped and hope and pray that this year all their teachers will see their lovable qualities and overlook the rest.

I shared in the excitement last year because my oldest granddaughter was beginning first grade. I was so excited for her I could hardly sleep the night before her first day of school. As I tossed and turned, I tried to think of just the right words to use when I called to encourage her the next morning. I wanted to say something that would give her confidence and build her self-esteem without putting undue pressure on her.

Finally, it was time to get up and place the call. Even though I called at 7 a.m., Francesca was already dressed and waiting for the school bus.

“Hi, Francesca,” I began. “I bet you’re excited this morning!” She said she was, so I launched into my premeditated words of encouragement.

“I know you’re going to do well,” I said. “You’re bright, you’re talented, and you’re a hard worker, aren’t you?”

“And,” Francesca responded excitedly, “I’m wearing bright yellow socks!”

“That should clench it then,” I said as I realized that from her six-year-old perspective she had absolutely everything she needed. My husband and I had a good laugh when I repeated her comment to him, but later I started thinking more seriously about those bright yellow socks.

How little it takes to encourage children, and how sad it is when kids have to go to school without breakfast or a pat on the back, not to mention new socks.

Francesca has a chance to get off on the right foot for her coming 16 years of education because she has two parents who love her, believe in her, and will do all they can to make sure she has whatever she needs. That just isn’t the case for so many kids in America today.

Clothes don’t make the man, the woman, or the first-grader, but shouldn’t every child know the excitement of new school clothes at least once? Hand me downs are fine for the rest of the year, but not for the first day of school.

I made a vow to contribute to the next charity collecting funds to buy coats for school children, and decided to buy more lottery tickets. After all, if I won all that money, I could go out and buy bright yellow socks for everyone!

(Photo is of grandsons Liam and Peter in 2011.)

Driveways of Life

June 4, 2013 by Nancy 23 Comments

Writers are always waxing poetic about the highways and byways of life. I’ve decided most of life is actually lived out in the driveways.

Think about it. Where did you first learn to pedal a tricycle all by yourself? In the driveway, of course. (Just like grandson, Liam, shown here in April.) And I can still remember the feeling in the pit of my stomach the day I stood next to my dad and watched him take the training wheels off my first bike. By the end of the afternoon I was making my wobbly way from one end of the driveway to the other, skinned knees shining in the sunlight.

That same driveway later became the setting for conquests of a different kind. One of my first boyfriends, let’s just call him Harold since that was his name, came over to see me on his new red Moped. He thought he was really cool, and I was at least impressed enough to spend all afternoon standing next to him in the driveway as he straddled his bike and we both tried to think of something to say.

That was just the beginning of driveway romances. Hasn’t it been the same for generations? The car pulls into the driveway. The young couple inside takes advantage of being alone in the dark to steal a kiss…or two…or three…until the porch light starts flashing off and on and the girl knows it’s time to come in.

My dad went beyond flashing the light. Some time during my high school years we bought an electric organ, and Dad chose curfew time to sit down and try to play some of the hymns in the booklet that came with it. Nothing got me into the house faster than hearing the first few chords of his screechy rendition of “Bringing in the Sheaves” wafting through the living room windows.

Of course, learning to drive a car began in the driveway for most of us. Back and forth. Back and forth. When I first laid eyes on my first car, a used, white Chevy II with blue interior, it was sitting in the driveway in front of our house. A dream-come-true on wheels.

Once when I was on a radio talk show I began exchanging driveway memories with callers. An older man reminisced about helping his dad work on Buicks in the driveway. The two of them had their most significant conversations between “pass me the wrench” and “OK, give it some gas.” Somehow it’s easier to talk about touchy subjects like the “birds and bees” when you’re busy working at the same time. (Sort of like the kind of conversation moms and daughters used to have drying dishes together before dishwashers.)

Our photo albums are peppered with various driveway good-bye scenes. I imagine myself wearing a college sweatshirt and waving a pompon or two as each of my boys left for college for the first time, but the photos seem to show I was in a bathrobe with a bit of pancake batter smeared down the front. Look closely enough and you can also see the tracks of my tears. Those were wrenching good-byes.

The photos of my married sons on my desk now were both taken in driveways. In each one, a grinning young man is accompanied by his smiling bride as, vehicles packed, the newlyweds prepare to drive away together. “Bye, Mom!” they seem to say. “We’re off!”

Not everything that happens in the driveway is worth remembering. I once had a wreck in mine. As I was ready to pull out on my way to work, a car rolled down a steep driveway across the street from us. By the time I realized there wasn’t a driver inside, it was too late to get out of the way, and the runaway car smashed right into mine. “You aren’t going to believe this,” I said to my husband as he emerged from his shower moments later. “I just had a wreck, and I never left the driveway.”

Bringing new babies home, posing for prom pictures, visiting with neighbors…all of life can be lived out in the driveway. Proceed with caution.

Just Enough

May 9, 2013 by Nancy 10 Comments

This week’s rain reminded me of a 2011 column…

It began as a misty feeling in the air. Soon the first distinct drops began to fall. All day long we were bathed in gentle, soaking rain. After months of no precipitation at all, the very sound of it soothed our souls as it danced on the rooftops, collected in the gutters and trickled down the windowpanes. By afternoon, when it was still raining, we could almost begin to see the grass turn greener. Kids splashed and laughed their way through puddles and birds frolicked wherever pools collected. Glorious, glorious rain.

Yet as happy as we were to receive some moisture in parched Colorado, where the threat of wildfire hangs heavy in the dry, windy air, I know other parts of the country are praying the rain will stop. Grim images of flooded towns along the Mississippi River appear on TV as devastated residents strive to save themselves and anything else they can from the rising waters. As if the flooding isn’t bad enough, they also have to be aware of water moccasins slithering into their flooded basements. Farmers in the heartland can only watch helplessly as crops are destroyed by rising waters.

It is ‘just enough’ that we desire, isn’t it? Neither too little nor too much, but just enough. (Especially in the Waldo Canyon Fire area of Colorado Springs.) In the unlikely event that the rain continues in Colorado day after day, even we would no doubt complain, “When will it stop?” We want the moisture, but we want just enough.

This principle permeates our entire human experience. Lord, I ask, give me just enough patience to deal with this situation, but don’t let it drag on forever. Give me just enough wealth to meet my needs, not so much that it becomes a burden, or so little that it becomes a challenge, but just enough. Just enough hope, just enough well-being, just enough wisdom, the list goes on.

And yet the only thing we can be absolutely sure that we will always have just enough of is God’s grace. When the Apostle Paul pleaded with God to take away the thorn in his flesh, God replied, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Cor. 12:9)

God in His goodness sheds His common grace generously over all of His creation but to those who trust in Him, He adds the promise that they will always have just enough grace. Sometimes, in the midst of disaster or a heartbreaking situation, it can feel like a mere trickle. But looking back we realize it was indeed just the grace we needed, just when we needed it. Other times it feels as if God is pouring out an abundance of His grace on us—letting it overflow into every parched portion of our souls. Always, in any circumstance, it is just enough. Let’s not miss God’s grace, whether it’s a sprinkle or a deluge.