Just so frustrating

Blogger has some kind of issue with FTP publishing. Since I don’t use a Blogspot web site, I must upload pictures via File Transfer Protocol. Blogger is uploading them just fine, but refuses to link them, even with every workaround I can devise. And I am a very creative sort!

I’ve looked at every Google search suggestion that seemed relevant to my problem. Blogger said they had an issue about the 16th, but it’s resolved now. Hmpf.

This blog is just not the same without pictures and I have some fun ones to share. Sigh.

So, I’m not blogging because I have nothing to say; I’m not blogging because Blogger is uncooperative.

Maybe it’s time to move to WordPress?

Anticipation

Marilyn is out standing in her field.

With wheat harvest quickly sneaking up on us, I (Marilyn) thought it was time to go have a look-see at my small plot of grain! So Roxie and I took a country drive last night. Each field of wheat we passed gave us hope and encouragement! Upcoming harvest is an exciting time, even for those who don’t actually own land or run the combine! The buzz of excitement is contagious and, in farm country, even the city folk are excited to see what the results of the crops will be! The fields of wheat are starting to show great signs of those famous “amber waves of grain” blowing and bowing as the wind tosses them to and fro. As we walked into my little plot of land, Roxie was as excited as I was! She took pictures of the wheat heads and of me, as I surveyed the heads of grain blowing across my field. It had been a long time since I’d been to the wheat field. I’ve become more and more of a “city girl” and just don’t get out to the country as often as I once did. Standing in the midst of the wheat, though, I felt right at home once again. Sounds and smells of the country took me back to my country roots. Meadowlarks were fluttering and singing as a soft south breeze blew the warm evening air. Thunderheads were building up towards the south, lending themselves as a lovely backdrop for the pictures Roxie was taking of the nearly-golden heads of grain. A heavy wheat smell wafted through the air as the kernels of grain are ripening. Roxie and I both thought my crop looked good, with heads full of grain still in a milky stage. But I wanted my farmer-brother’s more knowledgeable opinion about my wheat stand, so we drove a little further to the farm. After all, he’s outstanding in his field! (Yes, that pun’s intended!) Brother agreed: “The crop looks good, Sis!” As Roxie and I made our way back to town, we passed several lagoons full of water from our recent much-needed rains. As we drove over hills, we looked across fields of wheat and green pastures, and we truly felt as if we were Country Girls once again. The white elevators stood straight and tall in the distance, framed by deep blue rain clouds and lush fields. As the country roads soon gave way to city streets, I realized that my life is so different from how it once was. My heart still holds the country life dear, but not being involved in it on a daily basis any longer, makes me miss it. For those of you who are country folk, I know your hearts will understand my ramblings! If you’re one of the folks who get your hands and faces dirty during wheat harvest, ENJOY it! It only comes around once a year!

Wall Street

I found this sign highly amusing. First of all, for the repetition of “Street St”; secondly, because “Wall Street” conjures up visions of a great banking center. One long-defunct bank does not a great banking center make.

I have no clue about this bank’s history, but, if it’s like many others on the High Plains, it went belly up in the Great Depression/Dust Bowl years. Farmers had no crops, so no one spent money with the merchants. Neither deposited anything in their local bank because they didn’t have money to deposit. As their dreams died, people fled. Grass grew on the sidewalks as communities shrank. But some of us are still here. This is our home and our choice.

Faded glory

At one time, this was the most luxurious house in our area, but neglect was about to bring it down.
Blessedly, a couple has purchased the house and is in the long process of renewing its once-considerable glory. If they had not stepped in a few years ago, the house would be in the state the motor vehicles in the foreground have reached. The abandoned vehicles make an ironic counterpoint to the house. They are probably beyond restoration, good only for parts, while the house is undergoing a resurrection of sorts.

The house shows what love can do; the vehicles show what neglect does.

A new closet

Storage is at a premium in our house, so when Hubby discovered a small unused space by our spiral staircase, we had to cut a door into it so we’d gain a closet.

Dad removes the mop board before cutting the door hole.

Hubby cuts the door hole with his uncle’s saws-all. The dust was awful. We had a lot of cutting to do since our house was plastered, not sheet rocked. Plaster chunks were everywhere!

Hubby installs part of the door framing. We did this project as cheaply as possible. Framing boards were all recycled lumber.

The sheet rock was a damaged piece the lumber yard wanted to get rid of. The leftover sheet rock went into a hole in our driveway. It has worked wonderfully. No more awful hole at driveway’s end!

Dad cuts the trim. Fortunately, the house’s original door frames were simply trimmed without elaborate, hard-to-match embellishments.

While the men were hammering and sawing, I was sanding and staining. December 2007 was warm enough to stain, although I added the final coats in temperatures just barely above the minimum required. They took forever to dry.

Dad and Hubby nail up the trim. Aren’t power tools wonderful? I love my men. Happy Father’s Day!

Yucca

The yucca plant is quite unfortunately named. The word “yucca”sounds far too close to “yucky” and the plant is far from that. Since this year has been unusually wet on the High Plains, we’ve gotten to enjoy a profusion of yucca flowers. This field is just one of many loaded with beautiful yucca flowers.

These yuccas on this road cut are helping to reduce erosion.

Yucca, also known as “soapweed”, is a very useful plant. Uses include fiber, baskets, rope/twine, paper, food, soap and medicine.

Cattle and wildlife have somehow not found this particular field. They love the flower stalks. The top blossom makes me think of some Aztec god’s tongue sticking out, just like the one at center right of below picture.

OK, so I have an active imagination, but, if you’ve been reading this blog for any length of time, you already knew that, didn’t you?

Milk and cookies

I’m very used to seeing white-faced Angus-Hereford crosses in the countryside, but these Oreo cookie cattle (actually Belted Galloways) are not a usual sight. These two are prime examples of the breed. True “belties” have a band all the way around their midsections with no white markings anywhere else. Those who have other markings are considered undesirable by purists.

No matter what the purists think, those other markings are cute and fun, like this one’s heart-shaped mark. Is its name Valentine?

The calf at picture’s upper center lacks only cookies to complete this picture.

Glasses of cold milk with a bag of Oreos would have been a great way to enjoy our visit to the pasture, but we did not have this calf’s privileged access to milk. I doubt we could have caught up with Mama to get a share of her milk. Even if we did manage to get fresh milk, it would not have been cold. And we were a long way from any Oreos.

The cattle were pretty jittery with us staying at a distance. Getting into the pasture certainly would have stampeded them. I prefer to remain at a respectful distance.

Holey radiator

This old radiator reminds me of several things:

1) An overgrown wasps’ nest with several breaches in the cells. Visitors beware!

2) What I’ve considered doing to several rather lemony cars I’ve owned — not to put them out of their misery, but to put me out of mine!

3) Jon BonJovi’s song Shot through the Heart, covered by Demi Lovato. My lyrics reflect No. 2:

“An angel’s smile is what you sell;
You promised me heaven, but we’ve been through hell.
Tow truck’s coming to drag you away.
I’m sick of walking; you are going to pay!

I’ve got a loaded gun;
You’ve got nowhere to run.
No one can save you,
The damage is done.

(You’ve been)
Shot through the heart
And you’re to blame.
You give cars a bad name (bad name)
(Since) You won’t start,
I’m gonna end your game.
You give cars a bad name;
You give cars a bad name!

A labor of love

This was not my planned topic for today. The wonderful rains we’ve been having have saturated the ground and water seeped into a storage area in our basement. Among other things, I store some heirloom garments in there, thankfully all in Rubbermaid containers. I am blessed to own my aunt’s, my mother’s and my own wedding dresses, among other items. Of the three dresses, mine is by far the most spectacular. I opened all those boxes yesterday to ensure that no dampness had entered to encourage mold and mildew growth on these priceless textiles. I have documented the dress in my wedding scrapbook in a section called My Mother’s Masterpiece. I do not exaggerate. However, I had never thought to take close-ups of the details until yesterday.

Hubby, me, my parents, my sister-in-love, bridesmaid; and my brother, the head usher. The gore-shaped decoration on my skirt front is unfortunately mostly hidden in a fold. Mother made my dress, the bridesmaid’s, flower girl’s and one candelighter’s dresses, plus arranged all the bouquets and boutonnieres. I called her my one-woman wedding shop.

Close-up of the bridal couple. My dress was a combination of three different patterns, so Mother had to engineer its construction from a mishmash of instructions.

Since I had removed my dress from its box, I had to try it on. I’ve slimmed down quite a bit and wanted to see if I’d fit into it again. No problem. In fact, it’s a bit loose around the waist. I may be a bit thinner than I was then, but I certainly looked far more glamorous on my big day. Obviously, snapping my own photo in the bathroom mirror was not an easy task. Neither was trying to walk around our house with that long train. I had to gather up quite a bit of fabric in my hands to prevent dress from dragging on the floor. When I began returning dress to its box, I realized that I had never truly examined the dress and its details. I was blown away at the hours upon hours of meticulous, painstaking labor involved. My mother modeled excellence in her work. Looking at the dress forced me to choke back tears. I didn’t want them to fall on the dress.

This shows the bodice neckline, cross hatching and beading. Mother ordered a special sewing machine foot to do the cording, but it did not arrive until she had completed most of it. Until foot arrived, she had to sew one side of the cording, then another. I cannot imagine how tedious this must have been. This dress has LOTS of cording. (Mother tended to keep every shred of fabric she had left, so I found some of the leftover corded fabric in her fabric stash after she passed. I have preserved a piece of it in my wedding scrapbook.) I know that Grandma helped her daughter quite a bit in this project. Since Mother disliked hand sewing, Grandma probably sewed on many of the beads. They must have spent many companionable hours with Mother at her machines and Grandma with needle and thread.

This is the lace on the hem. Every scallop had to be stitched, a lot of rotating the fabric.

Skirt and train featured several of these corded, gore-shaped appliques trimmed with lace. Ribbons and fabric roses were the last embellishments added to the dress. These ribbons and roses tied my dress to the other ladies’s dresses, which were made from a fabric woven with a ribbons-and-roses motif. Until last evening, I had never noticed the lace leaf. Those were added just before the wedding. Grandma and my aunts sewed them on while we were decorating church and reception hall.

These roses are on bottom of the sleeve cap decoration.

This is the sleeve cap, covered with cording and beading.

Here are the sleeve roses close up. Note the lace surrounding that applique. I’d love to know just how many yards of cording and lace she used on this dress! What I do know is that this dress was designed and constructed from love. The materials and workmanship are just its expression. Saying thank you — even if I could — seems so inadequate.

Bonnie and Clyde

This shot-out window makes me think of Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow, whose lives of crime ended in a hail of bullets 75 years ago, May 23, 1934.

I am no student of automobile history, so have no idea whether this junked truck is even the same vintage as the famous bullet-ridden automobile.

Bonnie Parker is said to have been bored with her life in Dallas when she met Clyde Barrow. She certainly got the excitement she wanted. Their crime spree lasted 21 months. They traveled through at least five states, often crossing state lines because law officers could not travel across jurisdictional boundaries in those days.

The country had fallen into the Great Depression. Unemployment in 1932, when their spree began, was at record highs, nearly 25 percent. At first, the Barrow Gang were often seen as people striking back at an uncaring government, latter-day Robin Hoods. They were hoods all right, attacking small-town restaurants, grocery stores and gas stations, as well as small banks. Barrow Gang murdered 12 victims, nine of them law officers.
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After Clyde engineered a breakout from Texas Department of Corrections’ Eastham Prison Farm, Texas officers and the FBI began a massive manhunt. They induced one of the gang members to betray Bonnie and Clyde and set up a trap just over the Louisiana line. The couple died in a hail of 167 bullets.

After years as a sideshow attraction, the bullet-ridden Ford ended up in the rotunda of a Las Vegas casino. The car got off easier than Bonnie and Clyde’s bodies. Souvenir hunters tried to lop off Clyde’s finger and left ear, clipped locks of Bonnie’s hair and pieces of her dress.

Why anyone would want such gruesome articles totally mystifies me, but the car in the casino testifies to their appeal. Funny how two bungling crooks’ lives — one burglary netted them only $1.75 — can be as glamorized as Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow’s were.

Fort Wallace

Saturday, Marilyn, Wendy and I took a day trip to Fort Wallace Museum, Wallace, Kan.

Hubby and I had visited the museum last year, when I took the picture above. I was pleasantly surprised on Saturday when I saw that Pond Creek Station, a stage stop, the red building left of the museum, and Weskan Railroad Depot, the yellow building, were open and had been refurbished. That is such an improvement.

This license plate is very appropriate for its owner, who had made the buffalo sculpture and numerous others at the museum out of recycled barbed wire. Barbed wire is pronounced “bob wire”.

Marilyn takes a closer look at Bob Wire Buff. Fence around it is constructed from post rock (limestone) posts and, of course, barbed wire. These posts are constructed by drilling holes in native limestone.

Marilyn (left) and Wendy try to take a ride on a railroad repair cart, but it refused to take them anywhere. After all, it’s chained to the railroad tracks. Now, how not fun is that? We wanted a joyride!

The museum added a new addition last year for Floris and Viola Weiser’s collection of military, pioneer and Native American artifacts he discovered with his metal detector. The addition holds a diorama of the fort. Nothing exists of it today other than the post cemetery. Building materials were scarce in the area and the abandoned post was shortly turned into other buildings. These soldiers were on the parade ground. When I took their picture, I thought of Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian. George Armstrong Custer, who would later die with all his men at the Battle of the Bighorn, was court-martialed for his efforts to relieve a siege of Fort Wallace. After being suspended from rank and pay for a year, Custer returned to the Indian Wars. Custer’s rashness and disregard for his soldiers in this instance presaged the mistakes that cost him and his immediate command their lives in his Last Stand. In the movie, Custer laments the loss of his command, but redeems himself by fighting off the evil Pharaoh. If these soldiers came to life after sundown, what would they say about “The Boy General”?

Celebrating milestones

Getting from Easter to Flag Day takes a long time. We get sick of cute little chicks and baby bunnies, no matter how carefully we avoid tackiness. Our house is not allowed to look like a grade school classroom. Until last year, I didn’t know how to bridge that gap. Since we got married and graduated high school and college in May, why not get out the stuff from those milestone events in May? So I did.

This is our cake topper. My aunt and uncle used it, then my parents. When it came my turn, the couple was a little battered. I cleaned the topper and touched up its paint. I enjoyed using this precious connection to my heritage. The rose on lace is one of our pew decorations and the candles — but not the candlesticks — are from our wedding also. The silver tray, which is out all the time, was a wedding gift from our jeweler.

This table decoration is our unity candle set.

I was required to buy my first college graduation regalia — mortarboard, gown, hood and tassel — and I kept them. My hood hangs behind its degree. I used a half hitch to tie the associated tassel onto the diploma frame’s hangar. Unfortunately, Hubby has lost his college graduation tassel. He hung it on his rear view mirror and it disintegrated. Hubby’s picture with his parents at his graduation stands on the shelf. The back of his high school diploma is shown on the room divider above his college degree.

Dad graduated from college the same weekend I graduated kindergarten. He had gotten a three-year diploma the year before. My mother preserved his tassels and honor cords, while I kept my tassel, which she had made. She made my graduation gown and mortarboard, but those have long since been lost. I printed a copy of our picture together and matted it for the center of the shadowbox, then arranged the cords and tassels around the picture, using straight pins to hold them. I wish I could have made the picture an 8X10, but the slide was too degraded for that.

My high school diploma, tassel and senior picture stand on the room divider opposite Hubby’s. Unfortunately, we do not have his senior picture. I hung each tassel on the pillar next to the diploma. Each girl in my senior class received a real and crocheted rose at graduation. My crocheted rose sits next to my senior picture.

My mortarboards sit atop our china cabinet. Displaying an even number of objects is not good design, but I could not think what I should place between the mortarboards. I had to buy both high school and college mortarboards, but Hubby never had to buy any. Lucky him! Too bad we didn’t preserve my handmade kindergarten mortarboard, but one can’t have everything in this life!

Many hands make light work

Wendy and I went Dumpster diving today, the annual hunt for garden cardboard. I love to cardboard my garden. Weeds are executed by being buried alive (aren’t I a sinister person!), moisture is preserved and the soil enriched when the cardboard decays. We burn any cardboard remnants in our outdoor fireplace. And I get to feel virtuous because I’ve kept trash out of the landfill. A good deal all the way around. After coming up nearly empty on Main Street, we hit paydirt at the farm and home store. Dumpster was full of very good large pieces of cardboard. We filled up Marilyn’s truck bed.

Here’s Wendy unloading the boxes. Last year, I ended up paving garden with cardboard all by myself. That is out of the question this year. My shoulder is still far from healed.

It’s a rather strenuous process, lots of bending and twisting. All I did was to pull staples and peel off tape. They did all the hard work, for which I am very grateful. Looking at those weeds was driving me mad!

Boo says sitting on cardboard is nicer than sitting on bare ground. Enjoy it now, kitty, because cardboard will be covered with grass soon!

No go juice

Two things are absolutely necessary for a successful photographic adventure: 1) Vehicle filled with gasoline; 2) Camera with empty memory card and charged battery.

The camera was not the problem this time, but the go juice nearly was.

We drove the back roads on our way home from our bed and breakfast. No good way exists to reach Garden of God from the B&B. We took state highways through some very small towns, then took off on a gravel road.

We forgot one very elementary rule. Check your gas gauge before leaving!

We could have filled up at least once, but never thought about it.

We were in the middle of nowhere when Hubby looked at the gauge. Needle was hugging the E line. I could see the tops of a grain elevator on the horizon to the north, totally out of the way of our intended destination. We weren’t going to arrive without gasoline, so northward we went.

I’ve heard that 12 miles is the longest distance visible on level ground. Those elevators were all of that.

Twelve miles is a long, long way in a truck running on a bit more than fumes.

Hubby asked me to pray. As if I needed a reminder?

We had forgotten our cell phone, leaving it in the van, and no farmhouses were in evidence. If we ran out of gas, we faced a very long walk.

Surely, any place with an elevator would have a gas station.

Not this time.

These elevators were in a tiny, unincorporated town that lacked any gas station. The elevator sold us one gallon of gasoline, enough to get us the five miles to the gas station in the next tiny, unincorporated town.

I kept on praying. What a relief when we pulled into the station! (Yes, God does answer prayer, even when we behave foolishly.)

Hubby gave me a $20 bill to pay for fuel. I went in the only visible door, which entered a storage area stacked with motor vehicle parts. I asked the attendant to start the pump. He said he would, then disappeared. I saw no other door and expected him to return.

I sat in a chair next to the gasoline truck driver and chatted with him, all the while wondering where I was supposed to pay for this.

Hubby finished pumping gas and started staring at me, as if to say, “Will you get out here already? We need to leave!”

I was not about to run off without paying, but still had no idea where I’d find a cashier. Finally, I looked behind some of the shelves. A passageway with a door was hidden back there.

The cashier was startled when I appeared. Since the main entrance was on the other side of the building, opposite the gas pumps, she didn’t expect a customer to materialize out of the storage room. I gave cashier the $20, picked up a nice co-op cap and left.

“What took you so long?” Hubby asked.

“I couldn’t find the cashier!”

He just shook his head.

What’s a road trip without a little adventure?

Rock critter

Even my imagination cannot decipher what kind of creature this might be. Is it a bird? Is it a guy in a helmet? Maybe a mythical beast of some sort?

Whatever this hunk of limestone might be, it’s truly amazing what a little imagination can invent.

Dead Car Rover

I’m looking over this dead car, Rover, With its parts scattered all over the yard It’s hood is missing, the chassis is gone,

The pickup bed is somewhere else on the lawn.

No need explaining that there’s no seat remaining And the steering wheel will turn no more

I’m looking over my old car, Rover, Which is deader than any door!