Dadda...

He drove a red pick-up truck.
His words dripped Texas drawl thick as summer honey.
Laughter came easily and often, the echo of which remains in husband's joy.
His hands... rough, stained, black soil planted into the crevices of his palm.
Solid as a mountain path. 
He was proud (in the sweetest of ways).
God bestowed upon his shoulders many names...
farmer
husband
brother
son
Dadda
father
Grandpa
G
He believed that the moon could hold water... that cardinals signaled things to come.
He was flawed... and wounded... and lovely...
A fine masterpiece, with rips and coarse repairs around the gilded edges.
Heritage and stories clothed him with their strong fibers...
His legacy courses through the veins of husband...
A crimson arrow through the tomorrows of my children.
The earth he loved was turned by his hand even after his final breath.
His sanctuary was his tractor... dusty glass instead of stained...
Simple.
Strong.
True.
He is loved.
He is missed.
We are better because we knew... and were known by him.
Every day... but especially today... we remember.

Mighty Fine.

Catching Up...

My meandering path has been strewn with distractions since the holidays.

My time whittled away with... life.

Let's catch up.  

We had an adoption in the family. An Australian Shepherd Christmas Eve Puppy.
Don't be deceived by this innocent looking picture... she is trouble and a half...
but we wouldn't trade our Shelby girl.

Cows have been fed, calves have been born, fences have been mended.

Husband and I ran away to Seattle... just for a week, and had a blast!

Traditions have been carried forward alongside cattle auction veterans... and a few newbies who were fascinated (as most city folk, including myself the first time) with the selling of the vials of semen.  Yes.  That's how they do it in the cow world. They're not shy about it either.

I was privileged to capture a small role in an epic love story.

(I got to make the cake and could not have accomplished the feat

 ~ a week before Christmas in Houston ~

without the help of farmer husband).

Thanks hon for being willing... being my chauffeur... being on "cake" assembly duty ...

and even having fun in the process!

Here are the lovely bride and handsome groom, Lindsey and Juan. 

It was a wedding filled to the brim with faith, hope and (of course) love.

Mom and I stealing a moment... despite Houston Dad giving us all a scare by passing out TWICE after the I Do's.  We were left with stories to tell (as usual).

Seasons are changing in our lives... and in the lives of those we love. 

Our farm matriarch is diminishing... and it is normal and expected, but grieves us all nonetheless.  Most especially her... after spending a life of filling her cup...

now her palms must open to let things go. 

I so hope that she finds pools of solace... and joy in the midst of this hard change. 

I hope it for husband as well... and for his sis and brother. 

 Boys are busy growing up... and stretching us all... and learning... and occasionally calling a truce.

Soil has been turned... fragrant and black.

Corn and maize seeds have been tucked in, all snug in their rows...

and are, this moment awakening from their dreams.

Nudged by the alarm clock of moisture and warmth... and Texas black land prairie.

We find ourselves on the precipice of Spring.

I've been pining for flip flop days... and alas... they are now upon us!