Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Little Popsicles on the Prairie

Sabbath afternoon, Tiggy and I piled the two dogs in the car and went forth to explore. The wind was biting and cold, even though the temperature itself was a nice, mild mid-30's. It has been weeks since I've taken the dogs for their weekly jaunt and I was determined to go, even though it wasn't exactly---comfortable---outside.

But even I couldn't make myself walk around in the cold to see the same old places for the thousandth time. All the interesting stuff was too far away as cold as it was, so we decided to drive to a little prairie cabin we'd never explored, but that wasn't too far from the road.

Or so we thought.

We dressed warmly---almost too warmly.

Or so we thought.

Ten feet from the car, we'd already discovered that there was no such thing as "too" warm. But we pressed on, while the dogs cavorted obliviously across the field. Stupid dogs, don't have enough sense to freeze when it's freezing.

And the house, which had seemed so close from the warmth and security of the car, began to recede ever further under our shivering gaze.

We were sure we'd never make and they'd find our frozen bodies in the spring (oh, wait, it IS spring). But at last, we reached the house, though we walked sideways part of the way in order to keep our backs to the wind.

I'm sure we would have looked strange to passerbys had there been any. Thankfully, the house is on a pretty low-traffic road (as in, in the hour and a half that we were on the road, I saw one car go by).

And there the house sat, wide open to the insistent prairie wind. Once it had been a shelter to some hardy pioneer---perhaps a family had huddled together for warmth in its one little room. Now only weathered boards are left precariously standing as a testament to their struggles


The house was swaying back and forth in a fascinating---yet somehow alarming---way. Every gust would move the house visibly to the side. I took my life in my hands and got close enough for an indoor shot.

Then looked in the camera and saw that my lonely farmhouse had been photobombed.

Thanks, Tiggy. If the house had fallen on me, at least it would have been worth it to get this picture!

Best friend selfies to remember the day we froze to death---together!

Maybe the wind died down. Maybe we were just going numb, but it didn't feel as cold after a while. We took a few minutes to explore the relics around the house. Out here, people didn't much haul their garbage away. Instead, it was laid out in state in neat, orderly rows behind their houses. There's always some fascinating bits of rusty history to find.

Then we had to walk back to the car. No problem. It wasn't that far.

Or so we thought.

So sad, and at such a young age, too....

(That tiny blue dot at the top of the page is the car. Nope, not far at all.)

I made one more stop before we headed home. I wanted to photograph the icy lake across the road. The patterns and textures of the ice were quite interesting and demanded a closer look.

Or so I thought.

I took one quick picture so I'd have something to show for my foolish detour from warmth and comfort, but then I strolled back to the car. In the same way that the Olympic 100-meter dash is a stroll.

This was the sight that greeted me upon my return.

I think I'll need to wash my windows soon!

It was nice to step back in time for a few minutes, to listen to whispers of the past. A reminder that everything passes away---nothing lasts forever

Except for Jesus and His love for us. That will never change, never rust, never fade.

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