Welcome to the Street Prophets Coffee Hour, where politics meets up with religion, art, nature, and life. Come in, have a cuppa and a cookie, and join us.
I was born in central Florida, one of the earliest Boomers, but when I was 6 months old we moved to Kansas City, Missouri, and when I was 6 years old we moved to a rural-ish suburb. I lived in that area for the next two decades, when I crossed over to the other side of Kansas City, and the other side of the state line. I was within easy driving distance of Kansas City as I moved around, first Johnson County and then Leavenworth County, where I’ve been on my farm for a quarter of a century.
But we first-line Boomers are aging. First it was the acreage where I had trouble getting around. Trees fell over the path around the pond and the tractor couldn’t get to the back pasture—and I couldn’t cut them to move them, or climb over them. My world was a little smaller. Goodbye, trail of bluebird houses.
Then the yard, the acre around the house, was too big. The 50 bird feeders became 20, and all were confined to the deck. I could use the tractor to mow, but not the parts of the yard on the slope behind the trees.
Finally, this summer, getting the laundry outside to the clothesline became a challenge. I still could do it, but it was a huge effort and not without risk. I was becoming housebound. It was time.
Three weeks. That’s how long it took for my daughter to find a house for me, near her in a Dallas suburb, buy the house, and move. A move that fast means most things, including many things I valued, couldn’t make the trip. But I’m here, with enough old and new stuff to make it a real home. And the cats, of course. All of the cats.
Another week or so, and the farm was sold, closed, and transferred to new, young owners.
I still have memories. And pictures. Oh, my, do I have pictures. Here’s my farm through the years.
Spring
Barn swallow building a nest.
Baltimore oriole. They arrive in late April, and for the first month they load on sugar—jelly and oranges.
Ornate box turtle, Kansas state reptile, still muddy from the winter underground.
Morel mushrooms. Several varieties, extending the season to as much as 7 weeks.
Summer
American goldfinch in full golden summer plumage
Black-eyed susan
Muskrat
Autumn
Hummingbird migration
Damselfly
Deer
Goldenrod
Winter
Fox squirrel
The pond, but it no longer freezes solid enough for ice skating. Climate change.
Harris’ sparrow, our largest sparrow. It nests on the ground in the arctic circle and winters mid continent.
Maybe I’ll get out and get some pictures of Texas for next month, but it won’t be the same. My yard is tiny—really tiny! And nothing is growing yet except for a wisteria vine on the deck, and it isn’t blooming at this time of year.
Watch this space.
