By Wednesday it had stopped snowing, and the snow plows had cleared the roads. We had school like we usually did, and it went well, but afterwards I felt as if the walls of my little trailer were closing in on me. I called Betty to let her know I was coming over, and that I would be walking. She sounded concerned, but I assured her the weather was fine and I couldn’t get lost between my house and hers. I geared up in my carhartt work pants and coat, and my snow boots, and set out down the road. Traffic had been nonexistent since the storm, and I walked down the center of the road at my leisure, drinking in field after field of soft white. It was difficult to tell where the field ended and the sky began because they were the same hue of white throughout.

I had nearly reached the cattle gate that marked the halfway point when Ben arrived on one of the four wheelers. “Mom sent me out here to pick you up.” He helped me on, laughing at my difficulty moving in the stiff Carhartts. “We need you to help us separate some of the cows.” Now it was my turn to laugh. I knew he was joking. I didn’t know the first thing about separating cattle, and what I really wanted was to get out of the cold and spend some time in Betty’s warm kitchen catching up on all the news I’d missed over the last couple of days.

We pulled into the yard and I was all ready to jump off at the door, but we drove right on past. I turned to look at Ben. “You weren’t kidding, were you?” “About what?” he responded, heading toward the bridge. “You’re really putting me to work?” “Yup,” he replied. We stopped at the end of the bridge and he motioned for me to dismount. “Just stand here,” he handed me a big stick, “and hit any of the cows that try to go past you.” With that he zoomed off into the field, leaving me standing with a stick in the middle of a bridge wondering what they heck I was going to do if a cow really came at me.

Here’s something most people don’t know about cows; they’re vicious. The week before the storm, Scott and I had taken the four wheelers out to do a little tagging. When we found a cow with an unmarked calf we pulled out an identically colored ear tag, wrote the corresponding number on it, loaded it onto the ear tagger, and tagged the calf. The tricky part was actually catching the calf. Scott rode ahead of me with a calf hook, leaning out on his four wheeler so he could snag the hind foot of the calf. Bawling in protest, the calf would then be hauled over close enough for Scott to tag it and give it a vaccine. Usually it worked like clockwork, and a tagging would take two minutes, tops. But then there were the mothers. A cow, if she was a good mother, couldn’t stand to hear her baby bawl. On this particular day we ran into the most protective mother in the pasture. Scott knew she was a mean one and had come prepared. When he caught the calf, he made sure to keep the four wheeler between him and the cow, and told me to keep my distance. Feeling useless, I sat back on my machine and watched as the cow came rushing at Scott, disregarding the four wheeler completely. She came right up on top of the machine, hooves resting on the cushioned seat, hollering her protest at the treatment of her son. Scott was forced to use the calf hook on her, beating her nose until she backed down, simultaneously tagging the wriggling calf and injecting it with vaccine. Having nothing else to do, I took pictures. It seemed like a rather morbid thing to do, knowing that the cow could easily have torn Scott to shreds, but I was obeying orders. It turned out alright in the end, except for the calf hook. When we got back to the house he realized the hook was missing. “That’s the second one I’ve broken this week!” he yelled in exasperation. I knew he wouldn’t hear the end of that for a long time.

So, now I found myself, cow-beating stick in hand, ready for the next vicious monster to challenge a human authority. I had to admit, I wasn’t nearly as daunting as Scott’s six foot frame and I was sure a cow wouldn’t hesitate for a second if it had a chance to run me over. I could see the first pair coming now and gripped my stick nervously. They didn’t look too mean, but I couldn’t be sure. They were coming down the hill at a pretty good pace and were headed straight for me. Come on, turn into the field, turn into the field. No, no, you’re coming too fast, turn into the field “Turn into the field!” I yelled as the cow, now mere yards away, had her eyes set on the pasture beyond the bridge. I raised my stick, ready to strike, when she casually turned to my right and loped through the gate into the field, as if it had been her plan all along. And so it continued. Every pair looked as if they would run me right over and then remembered suddenly that their destination was not some distant field, but the one right next door. I ended up spending most of my time talking to them, using my stick as a leaning post. “Why, hello, pair number twenty-nine. Welcome to the field, where those who have gone before are now enjoying a nice pile of hay. What’s that? Tired of men yelling at you to move? Well, if you just keep on trotting to my right here, you won’t have to worry about a thing. Yup, just keep on going. There you are, right through the gate, good job.” And so on. After a couple of hours I had run out of things to say and just sat in the middle of the bridge, hoping the work would be done soon so I could go thaw out my toes. My snow boots were old, probably half as old as me, and whatever insulating power they once had was gone. I needed to get a pair of nice muck boots, like the ones the boys owned, but they ran upwards of $150, and it would take a couple of months for me to save that money up.

This is for my girls who are indignant that I have not yet posted a continuation of my story. This picks up right where my first post ended...the part where I locked myself out of the house. It's short, but a nice little teaser. Ladies, if you really do want to read more, I need your email addresses. There's some sensitive information in this stuff...

And now, another installment from "Fields of Christmas".

I was too tired to cry. I tried the door handle again, just to be sure. Yup, I wasn’t getting back in that way. I checked my watch. 3 am. Ugh. I walked around the house, trying windows and keeping my eyes open for bugs and various creepy crawlies that tend to come out at night. About the third window, I lucked out. The window was broken and the screen had not yet been replaced. Now for the next challenge. The window sat right above my head, and there was no way I could leap from a standing position into the house. Looking around, my eyes fell on the rat-containing garbage can. If I turn it over and stand on it…yes, that would work. Headlights were coming down the road that ran in front of the trailer, but I was too tired to care. Mounting the overturned can, I shoved my upper body through the window and on to the floor, legs flailing wildly. Whoever was driving by at this early hour had quite an unexpected show as my legs jerkily disappeared through the small opening.

I drug myself across the floor, flopped onto the cot, and fell asleep. No amount of skittering could move me for the next three hours.

Morning came, and with it a new resolve. I would not live in this house. Besides rats jumping out of cupboards and the permeating smell of mouse in every part of the house, there was no drinking water and all of the wires to the electronic appliances had been chewed through by the sharp little teeth of dirty rodents. The stench was so overwhelming that I couldn’t eat, and every minute spent outside or at the school was a blessed relief.

Cleaning desks, organizing books and games, setting up computers, and lesson planning consumed all of my waking hours. There was no tv, internet, or cell phones to distract me from my work, and the days passed quickly. The pastor was at the school quite a bit getting the bathroom ready for the year. We had to install a new toilet and clean out the pipes that hadn’t been used for the last two years. I was thankful that we wouldn’t have to use the old outhouse. I’d been forced to make use of it at my interview and couldn’t envision a winter of traipsing out through the driving snow to that.
>While Todd waited for a pipe to drain, or the silicone to dry, we chatted about the surrounding community. He informed me that he pastored a church seven miles down the road that met twice on Sunday, once on Wednesday, and had the occasional special meetings during the month. I was eager to share my musical expertise where I could, but he said they already had a really talented pianist who played every Sunday, and they didn’t like really fancy services. One piano player was enough, but if she was ever sick, maybe I could fill in.

During one of our talks he relayed the heightened expectation in the community that surrounded my coming. “We all wanted to know if the new teacher was cute. You know, we want someone who’ll marry one of these boys and stay for a good long while.” I made sure I was busy, I’m not sure what with, and asked, “Well, what’d they say?”

Todd laughed as he remembered Trent’s reaction to his question. “He said, ‘You can’t ask me questions like that! I mean, um, I suppose, yeah…geez.” I laughed along with him and took personal pleasure in the belief that, if they hadn’t decided I was cute, he wouldn’t have shared the story. I informed him again that I had no intention of marrying anyone in the area, and they could do their best, but I was here to teach, to add what I could to the community, and that was all.

A knock came at the door, but before either of us could answer it, it swung open. A man in a plaid shirt, baseball cap, jeans and boots walked in followed closely by a pleasant faced woman in a t-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. They introduced themselves as Dave and Betty Thomas, the owners of the nearest ranch and, incidentally, the owners of the land the school sat on. They were making their way around the neighborhood inviting folks to a barbecue at their home after church on Sunday, and they wanted to personally invite me to attend. I liked them right away. As I told Todd later, they were “comfortable” people.

Dave pushed his cap back and scratched his graying hair as he observed the room. “Well, lookin’ pretty good in here. You makin’ out ok?” His eyes crinkled in the corners as I nodded and he looked around again. “You need anything, anything at all, you just ask.” Betty nodded and joined in, her soft voice complementing her gentle eyes and angle-wing hair. “We want to make sure you feel a part of the community. We’d really love it if you could make it on Sunday.”

“Wow, thank you so much. I’d really love to come on Sunday, I’m anxious to meet people.” I hesitated. “There is one thing. The house I’m living in is, well, at the risk of sounding like a city girl, it really stinks of mice. I mean, I can’t even eat the smell is so bad. And there’s no drinking water, and I don’t know if all of the water out here is bad, but the stuff I’m showering in…,” I trailed off as I saw the couple exchange knowing looks. Dave spoke. “You’ll have to talk to Elaine about housing problems, she’s the one in charge o’ that, but as for the water, that’s just the way it is out here. Folks have to get systems for their homes to make it drinkable. Some have to haul it. We have a water cooler you could borrow and fill up at our house.”

“Mm-hmm, and if it turns out you need a place to stay for a couple o’ nights, why you just come right over,” Betty added. “Don’t hesitate, we love company. All our boys except one are gone right now, and it gets a little lonely in the house now and then.” I assured them I would think about it, thanks for the offer, and I really must get back to work now. “And we need to finish handin’ out these invitations.”

("Fields of Christmas" excerpt)
By the time I wandered back out of my own thoughts, Allie had moved on to the massage booth, priced their wares, and returned to where I was checking out the candle selection. “Want to go do something else for a bit?” I suggested.

“Not much to do in Evansborough on a Saturday. What did you have in mind?”

I’d become a real caffeine hound. “How about finding a place that makes a latte?”

Allie laughed. “Good luck. Actually, now that I think of it, the restaurant might have an espresso machine. It’s worth a shot at least.”

We gathered our coats and scarves from behind the jewelry table, told Charlene we’d be back, and walked into the crisp November air. We could have easily walked, but chose to be warm inside my car instead. Turning on to main street was a treat, as the snow had been packed down enough to obscure all lines designating lanes. I wasn’t worried, though. It was a small town with little to no traffic, and most everyone was up at the bazaar. About halfway down we spotted the Wagon Wheel, a little hometown restaurant, and I turned across the street to park.

The curb we pulled up to was painted yellow, something I hadn’t seen from the road. “Awww, man, this isn’t a valid parking spot at all!” Car still running, I sat there weighing my options. “We won’t be here very long,” Allie offered. “And it’s Evansborough, and I’m pretty sure I saw the only cop in town up at the bazaar.”

As she was speaking, I noticed a little old man who had been shuffling down the sidewalk. He’d stopped when we pulled in, and was staring at us in a very peculiar way. “Uh, Allie, do you think he’s upset that we’re parking in a no parking zone?” She looked over to where I was pointing. “I don’t know.” Her voice lilted a bit with concern. “Is he coming over here?”

“No, no, looks like he’s walking away…wait, now he’s sat down on a bench and he’s still staring! What on earth…,”

A loud rapping on my window nearly made me choke on my heart and I turned around to see an officer only inches from my face. I couldn’t find the door handle fast enough. “Yes, sir, what is it?” I managed to gasp out.

“Miss, now, I realize that there’s a lot of snow on the ground, and you can’t see the lines, but you cannot take a left in the middle of a street to park. That’s illegal. Were you aware of that?” I nodded, my eyes unable to tear themselves away from the handle-bar mustache that was wagging in front of my face. I defy even Wyatt Earp himself to find such a mustache I thought, as the thing continued to wag. “Whatcha gotta do is drive all the way down to the end of the street, make a U-turn, and then drive back down and park the legal way. Am I making myself clear?” I nodded again, this time because I knew if I spoke, all that would come out was laughter. Make a U-turn? Do something that is generally known as dangerous and expressly forbidden in exchange for something I did getting my coffee every morning at home? And that mustache! It was really just too much. “I’m letting you off with a warning this time. Just make sure you watch what you’re doin’ next time, alright?”

“Yes sir. Thank you very much sir.” I watched him walk back to his unmarked vehicle that had been parked in the middle of the street through the entire conversation, and didn’t realize until he’d driven away that there’d been no mention of being parked in a spot that wasn’t intended for parking. Allie and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. The nervous energy we’d been holding inside came running down our cheeks till our sides hurt. Wiping away the tears, I looked up to see the old man, who’d been sitting on the same bench the whole time, get up and shuffle on down the street. “Allie! That old man wasn’t going to tell us to move!”

“Whaaa?” She asked, still lost in the sheriff moment.

“The old man! He saw the sheriff stop in the street behind us! He was just waiting to see what was going to happen!” Another fit of laughter took over. “Ohhh, whew, aha..ahahaha…I bet that was the exciting highlight of his week, that old man. Eheh, eheh, ahhhhh.” Forgetting completely about the coffee, we returned to the bazaar to relate our strange story to Charlene and Co. “Oh, that was probably Rudy,” she said, as she laughed along with us. “I saw him here earlier. Oh, here’s his wife now!” I was promptly introduced as the “girl who just got pulled over by your husband”. Not my most favorite introduction ever, but definitely the most unique!

(Another installment in the "Novel in a month" series)
My intentions, as I was headed out to this new job alone, were to get a cat to keep me company in the evenings and during the winter months. My brother had raised a great protest against this saying, “Awww, don’t get a cat, that’s like saying you want to be single for the rest of your life. You don’t want to be the single cat lady teacher. Get a man and a horse.” After assuring my brother that I would not be “that single cat lady” forever, and that horse costs too much and men are too much work, I stuck to my decision. It would be nice to have something in the house to blame the noise on, and something to talk to, even if it couldn’t talk back. The housing situation for the first few weeks had proved difficult and I was glad I hadn’t brought a kitten with me. However, now that I had my own space, even if it was just a camper, I was ready to get my own cuddly companion. Trent had told me that they just had a new litter of kittens, and that the black male I was looking for was included in the bunch. I made plans to come down to their house and check the little guy out.

There was a swarm of kittens all over the kitchen when I walked in the door. They were all attacking a single bowl of food, walking in it, falling out of the bowl, chasing each other’s tails. It was a lot of fun to watch. The little black kitten wasn’t too interested in me, but a cute little tortoise shell with seven toes on her front paws kept sniffing at me, and decided I would be fun to climb. Trent’s girls and I sat on the kitchen floor and played with them and cuddled them. “They’re about four weeks old, “ Dahlia, Trent’s wife, said. “You can’t really take them from their mother until six weeks, but they’ve already begun eating solid foods, so I don’t think you’ll have to wait much longer.” She scooped up the black kitten and plopped him in my lap. The tortoiseshell didn’t think much of his being there, and neither did he. He clambered over my leg and scampered back to the shelter of the table, eyeing me for a minute and then walking away with a disinterested air. The kitten in my lap stared up at me as if to say, “See, he doesn’t care about you, but I do. Pick me?” I had already made my decision. I wanted a kitten that looked like the cat I had when I was growing up, black with a white splotch on his chest. The disinterested kitten fit the bill, and as lovey-dovey as this other one was, I wasn’t about to change my mind. “Oh, she likes you!” one of the girls exclaimed. “You could take two kittens, if you want.”

“Oh, no thank you,” I replied. “One kitten will be quite enough work. It’s been a while since I’ve had a pet, and even then he wasn’t really my responsibility. I think I have enough work cut out for me without adding another to the mix. Besides, “I continued, “the camper doesn’t have enough room for one cat, let alone two.” I finished my visit, setting the affectionate kitty on the ground and promising to return in two weeks.

A fortnight later, little Zuriel cried himself to sleep in the makeshift house I had made for him. He had crawled all over the car on our trip home, and then crawled all over the camper. I was so afraid he was going to pee on the carpet that I kept throwing him back in his box where the cat litter was. “I can’t have you wandering all over the place while I’m sleeping, “ I said as he tried climbing up my pant leg. “Ow, hey, stop that!” He’d managed to get halfway up to my knee, his sharp little claws catching my skin. “I’m just going to have to make you a nursery.” I found a cardboard box that could hold the catbox and left him a little room to lay on a towel, away from the litter. I gently set him inside with a bowl of water and food, and placed a towel over the top of the box. He immediately began to wail. I tried to ignore it as I got ready for bed, brushing my teeth as loud as possible to drown out the noise. After a few minutes I didn’t hear any more crying. Peeking around the corner, I could see the towel on top of the box moving. It had developed a lump on one end and the lump was moving and twisting. A couple of seconds later, Zuri came tumbling out of the box, landed on all four, shook himself, and then unsteadily wobbled in my direction, mewing away like anything. He was too cute to be mad at, but after five more of the same scenario, I was done being nice. “I have to get some sleep, cat, and you aren’t helping.” I put him back in the box and looked around to see what I could keep him inside with. Hmmmm. I need something heavy that he can’t push off the top. Well…that space heater is pretty heavy. Let’s see…yup, that’ll fit across the box without falling in. Now, something else…After trying several things, I concluded that a cookie sheet weighed down by a pair of my shoes and the space heater were the only things that would keep the little explorer in his box. “It’s just temporary, “ I assured him through the towel. “I’ll have a real home soon, and you can have your own room, and you’ll be litter box trained by then. Hang in there.” I fell asleep to the sound of his cries and worried all night that he’d be squished under one thing or another, but all was well in the morning.

Zuri quickly learned to like his new home. He would follow me around the camper, talking away in his little cat voice, blue eyes wide as he ducked into corners chasing imaginary mice and dust balls. The students loved him and it was hard to get them to focus on their work when they saw that tiny tail waving like a flag as he trotted past their desks.

He seemed to be fitting in well, but I was a little concerned. Life out here was busy and there seemed to be something going on nearly every evening. Sunday morning and evening we had church, Monday was free but now and then we had movie night. Tuesday evenings I spent at Dave and Betty’s watching tv and eating supper. Wednesday night was church again. Thursday and Friday were always tricky, because card parties and hanging out would crop up, and Saturday’s were when we went to town. Plus, there seemed to be extra church activities, bazaars, and various other things. My mom told me, “You’re busier there than you ever were here. How is that possible?” But it was, and I was quickly becoming the pet owner that neglected their pet. He hadn’t been too much trouble to train, and really wasn’t much responsibility beyond feeding. I thought about the little tortoiseshell again and wondered if I should give it a try. “Dahlia, “ I said when she answered the phone, “I think I need to borrow another kitten. I want to see if they’ll do well together, maybe give each other some company?” She was only too happy to give me the kitten. Ranch cats multiplied themselves all too quickly and the ranch wives were always looking for ways to get rid of them. That weekend Dahlia and her girls drove down with little Arabella and we put the two of them together to see how they’d do.

It was not love at first sight. They seemed to have forgotten that they were brother and sister, or that they’d even met before at all. A series of hissing, spitting, and back arching began as Bella attempted to eat out of Zuri’s dish. Unfortunately for Zuri, she was the bigger one and when it came to wrestling, he always ended up on the bottom.

The kids were thrilled to find another kitten in the classroom on Monday, and by the following weekend, I was sure that I would keep them both. They’d stopped spitting and hissing so much, and would occasionally fall asleep curled up on one another. When I left the house I didn’t feel so bad. They’d chase each other around the room, stop to groom one another, wrestle, and then chase some more. Bella had the unfortunate habit of sucking on clothing or anything soft, leaving the material drenched in cat spit. She liked to sit on your lap and be petted and scratched, but she wouldn’t let your face near hers. Zuri, on the other hand, felt that if you weren’t looking at him he wasn’t getting your full attention. He’d sit on my lap face to face, staring into my eyes, and if I stopped petting or looking at him, he’d reach a paw up and stroke my face, or nuzzle his nose right under my chin.

I kept the cats indoors, for fear that a hawk would swoop down and snatch them up, or that a skunk or coyote would attack them. The students ran into the classroom one day in an excited flurry, “Miss Cook, Miss Cook, “ they yelled, “a baby fox, a baby fox is in the yard!” I rushed back out after them to see what they were talking about. A baby fox? Surely not. I rounded the corner of the old trailer to see a mangy, matted, full grown fox skulking in the corner of the schoolyard. The students advanced toward him and he made no effort to run away. “Kids,” I said, “come back and stand behind me. That’s a full grown fox and he doesn’t look very healthy.” They all came to stand behind me and stared in fascination as I yelled and ran at the thing. It stood for a moment, apparently unconcerned with my presence, and then loped off into the field. I told the students they’d done the right thing in letting me know right away that it was there. Talking with one of the parents later they said, “Sounds like that animal was sick. Mighta’ had rabies or sumpin’ worse. Let us know if it comes around again.” I saw it a couple more times, always when I didn’t have a gun handy. We found it dead under my trailer a couple of months later. “Most sick animals crawl into a dark place to die, “ Todd said as he examined the carcass. “It’s a good idea to keep those cats in the house and keep an eye out for any other sick animals. There’ve been quite a few of ‘em lately.”

“We’ve got lots of single boys out here, and I like to do weddings. You should have several proposals by the end of the year.” I looked the gangly local pastor in the eye as best I could between his six foot plus and my five foot two frame. “Mister, I came out here to teach, and that is the ONLY thing I intend to focus on this year.” I turned back to my unpacking, ignoring his “you-don’t-know-what-you’re-in-for” grin as I chatted with his young, blonde wife. Their two boys ran from one end of the trailer to the other, exploring the empty spaces of my new home. Their hooting and hollering echoed down the hallway and spilled into the kitchen, and with it came the reality of my situation. This was my new home.

The previous spring had ended on a bit of a rough note. I ended my brief career as a tour actor with a local children’s theater in order to return home and find some life direction. This meant a lot of coffee shop time spent staring at a computer and filling out resumes. In the four years I had held a teaching license, not one of them had been spent in a classroom. I figured it was about time to put my “higher learning” to use, so I began applying all over the state of Montana for an elementary position.

Several rejection letters later, I finally secured a phone interview with a school on the other side of the state. The secretary and I had exchanged a few emails and I was informed they would be making a conference call.

The phone rang at the appointed time. I nervously looked over my prepared questions and cleared my throat.

“Hello?”

Static.

“Um….hello?”

There was a loud scraping noise, more static, and then a voice asked, “Is it working?”

I suppressed a giggle. Another voice.

“Yep, I think it’s a-workin now. Just press that button to turn on the…oh, it’s already…Hello?”

“Yes, hello, is this June?”

“No, this is Chester. Actually, this is alluv us. We’re conference callin’, but the phone ain’t very good so you’ll have to speak up.”

A strange mixture of relief and anxiety fell on me. These people sounded as prepared as I was for the interview. What was I getting myself into?

The interview was brief, partially because they didn’t ask many questions, and partially because the pervasive layer of static made it nearly impossible to understand every other word. We were able to decide that I would drive the nine and a half hours across the state for a face-to-face meeting.

This native Montanan was astonished to find how large her homestate really was. I drove for nine solid hours and never left the state. Mountains faded into hills, hills faded into prairie and the prairie stretched on to meet still more prairie. I finally traded the pavement in for a gravel road and gingerly made my way through the surrounding ranch land. With every turn of the wheels I could hear gravel pelting away at the undercarriage of my poor Subaru, even at a slow 45mph. A pickup bore down on me from the other direction at a ridiculous rate of speed, barley allowing me time to move aside. “You’re insane, “ I muttered as I inched my car back on the road. “Seriously, who drives like that on gravel? And what is up with these sheep?” I turned a corner in the road only to find my path blocked by at least 30 wooly heads. By now I was a few miles in and was sure the school couldn’t be too far away. Edging my way around the sheep, I continued my trek to the middle of nowhere. Anxiety grew with every mile. I was sure I should have arrived by now. She said the white building next to the green trailer. Twenty miles in. Surely it’s been twenty miles by now. More gravel. More ranch houses. No school. Maybe I should turn around. I must have missed it, taken the wrong gravel road maybe? The car rose over a small swell in the road, and there it was; The little white schoolhouse in the middle of the prairie, complete with outhouse, swingset, and sagging green trailer. Still, no sinking feelings yet, so with a sigh of relief I swung in and parked in the schoolyard.

The school board was waiting inside. Eager to make a good impression, I smiled my brightest and quickly introduced myself hoping they couldn’t see my quivering insides as I sat at the small table in the center of the room. Chester and June were present, as well as Elaine and Trent. I presented my resume and portfolio and quickly understood that, while they appreciated that I brought my credentials, they didn’t really care about what I’d accomplished in previous jobs. They just wanted to know if I could handle teaching in such an isolated area. “It can get awful lonely out here,” volunteered Trent. “But this here’s a real good community, they’ll see to your needs and teach you how to make do.”

After a tour of the school (it took all of twenty seconds) we piled in our vehicles to check out the housing situation. It seems a local rancher and his wife had purchased a trailer for a hired hand two years previous, and the hired hand ended up leaving after six months. The trailer had been sitting empty since then, and the school board had asked to rent it for the incoming teacher. “That school’s been closed for two years, and the previous teacher smoked like a chimney, so the trailer next to the school isn’t fit to live in, “June volunteered. “This place would suit just fine,” she added as we traipsed into the trailer, “uh, just as soon as we get this all cleaned up.”

Dark mounds of mouse droppings littered the floor from one end of the room to the other. Well, Sam, can you live with this? I asked myself. Don’t look like the city dude, show them you can handle it. “Well, this can be taken care of, right?” Brave, Sam, be brave. Elaine, who was obviously the one in charge, answered. “Oh, definitely, no doubt about it, we can get a carpet cleaner in here and get it cleaned right up, no problem.” Hoping to distract from the evident neglect, she spent the next ten to fifteen minutes pointing out all of the good attributes of the trailer, the other members offering head nods and “yeses”, all the while gauging my reaction. Struggling to reveal nothing, I listened and smiled and weighed my options. By the time we went back out to our vehicles, I had decided.

“I’ll do it.”

Four incredulous faces stared back.

“You’ll do it?” Elaine asked.

“I think it will be a good opportunity for my first teaching assignment, and you seem like good people, and as long as that mouse poop gets cleaned up, yes, I’ll do it.” The words were barely out of my mouth and I had a pen in my hand and a contract laying on the hood of the car. Chester, June, and Elaine leaned in to watch while Trent busied himself with something next to the car. I guess he felt like if he watched too I might get claustrophobic and change my mind.

Four weeks later I made my way back down the gravel road, this time carrying my life’s possessions with me. The prairie lay before me, vast fields of green, yellow, and white. Sunflowers stood like sentinels along the side of the road, and meadowlarks sang gaily to one another from atop their fenceposts. The sky, like a giant vaulted ceiling, stretched its blue from one horizon to another where, in the distance, I could see the finger buttes jutting their gray heads up from the earth. Breathing in the fresh air I rejoiced in my good fortune. What a place full of life! I began my unpacking box by box and had the last bag of clothes in the house by the time the sun fell.

The carpets had been shampooed twice and all sign of mouse eradicated. As I fell into my little cot and stretched out to sleep, I thought of the day ahead. So much had to be done before school began in a week, and I hadn’t even seen the curriculum! An hour of fretting and planning passed before my eyelids closed, but they didn’t stay shut for long.

A skittering sounded above my bed. My eyes shot open. Skitter, skitter, skitter. Skitter, skitter, skitter. Thump, thump, thump. Either there was an elephant in the ceiling, or something was being thrown. I sat up. There it was again. Thump, thump, thump. The sound was coming from the bathroom. Careful to make as little sound as possible, I crept into the bathroom. Thump, thump, thump. The cupboard door was moving. My sleep-deprived brain struggled to wrap itself around my situation. I looked around for something to defend myself with. The toilet plunger was nearest at hand. Armed and prepared for anything, I flung the cupboard door open and jumped back. Nothing appeared, so I crept closer and peered into the blackness. The cupboard seemed to be empty. I listened again, but heard nothing.

By now I had half-convinced myself that I had dreampt the whole thing, so I returned to my cot. Mmmmm, sweet sleep. Now, where was I ? Oh, right, I need to organize the shelves, put the class rules, up, and – A loud thump broke into my reverie and this time I knew I had not dreampt it. I leapt to my feet, charged to the cupboard and yanked open the door. “Aggghhh, come out already!” I yelled in frustration. How was I supposed to get any sleep like this? I better just sit here, wait for him to show his sniveling little whiskers. I wasn’t so sure what I was dealing with, but whatever it was, it was ruining my sleep. I sat crosslegged on the floor, plunger in hand. The peanut butter I’d grabbed from the fridge sat in front of the open cupboard door. I didn’t have to wait long. A long, whiskered nose and two beady little black eyes poked their way out the door, followed quickly by a meaty, brown body and long, sleek tail. My impression of a lifeless statue could have won a few prizes in the local wax museum, I’m sure, but the rat wasn’t convinced. An eternity passed before he felt safe enough to eat the peanut butter and then – wham! The plunger-turned-bludgeon came out of nowhere and dazed the sleep thief, causing him to run straight for my foot and up my pants. “Agghhhh!!!” I yelled to no one in particular, shaking and beating my leg with the plunger, “get it off, get it off, get it off!” The rat apparently enjoyed my pants as much as I enjoyed him being there and chose to run out again, this time into my garbage can.

Plunger thrown aside, I pounced on the can and tied up the bag before he had a chance to escape. Flinging wide the screen door I tossed the entire can into the front yard. “And stay out!” I yelled. Turning back, I grabbed the door only to find – I locked myself out.

This week the young women who live out here in the wilderness began a weekly "bible study". It's actually more like a "book study" with some bible quotes thrown in. The book, "Disciplines of a Godly Woman" is all about being disciplined and submissive in your relationship with God and in everyday life. When addressing the difference between disciplin and legalism, the author points out that legalism is self-centered and discipline is God-centered. What you do should be motivated by your desire and love for God rather than a set of rules. The only thing I really enjoyed in this chapter is this quote from John Wesley;

"O God, fill my sould with so entire a love of Thee that I may love nothing but for Thy sake and in subordination to Thy love. Give me grace to study Thy knowledge daily that the more I know Thee, the more I may love Thee. Create in me a zealous obedience to all Thy commands, a cheerful patience under all Thy chastisements, and a thankful resignation to all Thy disposals. Let it be the one business of my life to glorify Thee by every word of my tongue, by every work of my hand, by professing Thy truth, and by engaging all men, so far as in me lies, to glorify and love Thee."
I love that bit about "Let it be the one business of my life to glorify Thee...". If I were to evaluate my life right now, it's more like a glimmer than a beacon in the glory department. I guess that's where the "zealous obedience" comes into play. Out here on the prairie it's easy to do your own thing. With your nearest neighbor over a mile away, there's little to no accountability with how you spend your time, who you talk to, etc. That's kind of the point of this bible study, another round of accountability. Being submissive is not exactly at the top of my list...this should be entertaining at the very least!

1 Peter 2:9 “But you are a chosen generation” He chose me! “a royal priesthood”. Not only did He choose me, but I am allowed into His inner court to stand before and minister to Him! “a holy nation”. He has placed me in a family with the same dreams and desires and goals and by doing so He has clothed me with a new identity. “His own special people.” He looks on us with great love, pride, and joy. “that you may proclaim the praises of Him”. Our only responsibility in this new identity is to let every part of our lives reflect Him and His glory. “who called you out of darkness”. Again, He called to you while you were stumbling around in the dark. “into His marvelous light.” We are now clothed in glory, radiant and pure, adorned with joy and truth!

The State of our Nation - Jeremiah 14:10

Thus says the Lord to this people:
"Thus they have loved to wander;
They have not restrained their feet .
Therefore the Lord does not accept them;
He will remember their iniquity now, and punish their sins."

A Prayer for the Nation - Jeremiah 14:7-9

"O Lord, though our iniquities testify against us,
Do it for Your name's sake;
For our backslidings are many,
We have sinned against You.
O the Hope of Israel, his Savior in time of trouble,
Why should you be like a stranger in the land,
And like a traveler who turns aside to tarry for a night?
Why should You be like a man astonished,
Like a mighty one who cannot save?
Yet You, O Lord, are in our midst,
And we are called by Your name;
Do not leave us!

Thought for the day:"Reasoning with some people is like talking into a tin can; they tell you exactly what you just said, only louder, which makes their words sound hollow. "
My new favorite verse is 2 Corinthians 10:12. "For we dare not class ourselves or compare ourselves with those who commend themselves. (Here's my favorite bit) But they, measuring themselves by themselves, and comparing themselves among themselves, are not wise." The picture in my mind as I read this verse is that of a man saying to himself, "Hey, look how far I've come! I used to do all of this stuff, and then I decided I wanted to change my life, so I stopped doing all of that bad stuff, and now I'm a pretty good person!" When we start evaluating ourselves according to how far we've come or improved, according to our standards, we look foolish. Because our eyes are on ourselves, everyone can see what we cannot; we are not yet like Christ, but we act like we've made it. Keep your eyes on the REAL model, the TRUE standard. Just because you've cut your swearing down a bit and go to church MOST Sundays doesn't mean you've made it...

"I will lift up my eyes to the hills (I will look up and beyond my own strength and wisdom)
From whence comes my help? (Why am I staring upwards? Just wait...)
My help comes from the Lord
Who made heaven and earth. "(Because when you look up, all you see is the vastness that is the sky, and you are reminded that the God who spoke THAT into being with one breath carefully planned and orchestrated you, and the problem that seemed so big a moment ago is nothing to Him.)
"He will not allow your foot to be moved; (when you stand on His promises He will uphold you.)
He who keeps you will not slumber
Behold, He who keeps Israel
Shall neither sleep nor slumber." (He's not going to be caught off guard by you or anyone else.)
"The Lord is your keeper;
The Lord is your shade at your right hand.
The sun shall not strike you by day
Nor the moon by night." (He will shelter you and ensure your safety, even if it doesn't look the way you expected it to.)
"The Lord shall preserve you from all evil;
He shall preserve your soul. (Circumstances may be dire, and your body may even take a hit, but the part of you that is eternal shall be eternally His.)
The Lord shall preserve your coming out and your going in,
From this time forth, and even forevermore."

I will lift up my eyes...

No eloquent words for me today. I just want to make note of the fact that I love the prairie at night. You can see every single star, the milky way looks milky, and a shooting star is nearly a guarantee. The sky is so vast I got lost looking for familiar constellations. I found the Big Dipper! I know Orion is around there somewhere, but the thousands of stars I couldn't see before suddenly sprang to life and obscured my view. I think I finally found him, but it took a while. I could lay out for hours under the stars, searching for the known and unknown shapes, thinking about God, creation, eternity, contemplating the truly important things in life. Perhaps when it gets too cold for mosquitoes I'll spread my blanket and stay awhile under the stars...pondering the existence of mosquitoes...

Songs trigger memories, some as strong as the day they were made, some we'd rather forget, and some that have faded to nothing more than a feeling.
Doris Day's "Secret Love" came on the radio today and I was, for an instant, swept back to the warmth of my parent's room so many years ago.
Our Sunday evening tradition was to pop a double-thick brown paper grocery bag full of popcorn, cut up a few veggie sticks, and watch our favorite movies. Calamity Jane was our all-time favorite. When the Deadwood Stage came rolling down the road, Doris had her own crew of back-up singers right there in the room.
The room was all braids and glasses and braces, an hour or two of sequestered bliss. Kids were piled anywhere they could find space. There was usually a race for the bed, a brief tussle, and the losers got the floor.
Elbow to elbow, we'd lay with our chins in our hands, popcorn disappearing from our bowls as quick as we could put it away. No one wanted to be last in line for seconds.
I still remember Pat's wrinkly nose grin that revealed the damage he'd done to his upper lip in a tricycle accident years before. Dan, her thick mousy-blonde hair in a long braid that was quite tousled by the end of the day, had a laugh that made her eyes sparkle with mischief. Kim would get so lost in the movie, her curl-framed face would screw itself into seriousness with her "I want to be her" look.
Thanks to Doris for her bittersweet time machine that allows me to hold my family in that moment...forever.

It is with mixed emotions that I delve into the world that is my mind. Swirling with questions, feelings, doubts and hopes, it is a treacherous world that only the bravest dare enter, myself only reluctantly included.

There are thoughts I wish to block out entirely, yet they remain constant beggars at my door. I command them to leave and they only cry out more insistently.

Then there are the thoughts, the ones I want most to dwell on, that always seem just out of reach. Slipping through cracks, ducking round corners, tripping through the dusty hallways in the back of my mind are the answers to every question, the very things that will set my heart at ease.

I find myself joined in a battle with the unwanted who come willingly to torment me, whilst simultaneously pursuing the very desires of my heart that flee before me. I am weary with pondering and wrestling. I am ready to lay down my meager weapons and allow the one who is much stronger than I to do battle in my stead.

"I’m in love with Montana. For other states I have admiration, respect, recognition, even some affection. But with Montana it is love. And it’s difficult to analyze love when you’re in it."
~John Steinbeck

Avalon and Sleep Panda went everywhere together. They ate breakfast together. They napped together. They played in the yard together. They even went to dance class. They decided to take up kickboxing instead. One day, they went to the zoo. Avalon introduced Sleep Panda to his Panda family. It was very exciting. Another day they got lost in the Museum of Natural History. Sleep Panda helped find their way back to the family. Avalon and Sleep Panda also shared corner time.

One day, Avalon could not find Sleep Panda. She searched hi. She searched low. She even looked inside the neighbor’s cat. No Panda in sight.

Avalon could not sleep. Where could Sleep Panda be? Outside, alone, in the dark? Or, even worse, had another kid found him and taken him home? Avalon shook mommy awake and together they searched the house for the millionth time. No Panda.

Morning came and Avalon was cranky. No Panda to share breakfast. No Panda to help pick out her clothes. No Panda to protect her from daddy’s morning tickle-fight. “Eat your breakfast, punkin, mommy needs to do some laundry and then we’ll go grocery shopping.” Grocery shopping was no fun without Panda. Mommy started cleaning up breakfast dishes and was loading them in the dishwasher. Avalon brought her plate over and started to put it in the top rack, when she noticed a little black and white ear sticking out from underneath a bowl. “Panda!” Out came Panda, a little damp and smelling like milk, but none the worse for wear. “I’m glad you found him, but what was he doing in the dishwasher?” asked Mommy. “He needed a bath?” suggested Avalon. Mommy shook her head and laughed. Pulling Avalon and Panda close she squeezed them tight and kissed them both on the head. “I’m glad you found him, but let’s keep the dishwasher baths to the dishes, ok?” Avalon nodded, and skipped off to her room, Panda by her side. She was so happy to have Panda back, she didn’t mind his new smell or wet nose. Besides, she thought, there’s always the toilet!

The shadows grew as they lay huddled in the corner, too stiff and tired to move. The way had been difficult, and even Toller lay in a heap, panting and twitching.
Had the children each known the thoughts of the other, they might have given up altogether, for even as Gwen smiled and cajoled, she longed to turn her feet towards home. Fin had kept a steady pace and held Gwen when she fell, guiding her through the roughest parts, all the while scared to death of the road ahead. Yet both remained silent, allowing the other to press on in ignorance. And so they slept.
Morning arrived dark and damp, yet even at this hour footsteps could be heard outside. Father is off hunting very early, thought Gwen as she snuggled deeper into the downy comfort of her bed. I wonder why he did not wake me to say goodbye?
Plop.
Gwen reached up in her sleep to wipe away...a raindrop?
It's raining in my bed.
Plop. Plop.
What?
Plop, plop, plop, plop.
The rain fell faster and harder, until it was a wall, a sheet of water pouring from the ceiling, through the hall. It was coming for her. She could hear her father running back to the house, running, the gravel crunching beneath his feet, running, rain pouring in the windows, beating at the roof, her body, rain beating her, and now she was running, running from the storm, running down the road, nowhere to hide, soaking, crying, running, where could she hide?! Where, where, whe -
Gwen jerked awake, eyes wide with fright, staring straight into the eyes of - "Toller! Ewww, Toller, no!" Gwen wiped her slobbery face on her shirt as Toller stood grinning with the satisfaction of having awakened her. "Fin, wake up and take care of your dog."
Fin, after a severe shaking, grudgingly awoke. He opened his mouth to protest, but the words never left his mouth. The sound of footsteps could be heard on the other side of the wall, and this time it was no dream.

Joy. Wild ecstasy. Throw your head back, laugh in the face of life, joy. Every breath deeper and sweeter than the last, flying on the back of the wind, soaring , rising, watching the landscape fall away, leaving the shell of yourself below, the core of you finally free to dance with the wings of the dawn.

One day every knee will bow
And every tongue confess
That you are Lord of all we see
A King, who reigns with righteousness
The angels gather, throngs will sing
With adoration, to this King
Who, with selfless grace did fling
Away His rights and humbly stay
On earth as man, with men to live
His very flesh and blood to give
And make a way that we might see
His glory for eternity
That we, no better than the mud
Are chosen His eternal bride
Is like a story from a dream
A dream that waking does not fade
But we, with unveiled faces shine
The brighter as He draws us nigh
And as the flower tracks the sun
Our hearts are ever His alone

The wind stirred the heat slowly across the prairie like a giant convection oven, browning the fields evenly on all sides until the earth began to split from lack of moisture. A lone figure walked along the dusty road, stopping occasionally to look over its shoulder. Two shadows trotted faithfully beside it, leaving only to chase a grasshopper or pounce on an imaginary dust devil.

The sounds of the prairie were strongest in the shade of the solitary tree that sat on the road’s edge. Here a small pool had managed to keep its shape and all manner of things had taken refuge near its life-giving waters. Sand pipers, their long thin legs wading in and out of the shallows, were dining on the less fortunate water beetles and mosquitoes. Frogs lay nestled deep in the mud, their eyes ever alert for a wayward cricket or horse fly. The tracks of cattle and antelope made convenient water dishes for the lone skunk and a few field mice.

The two shadows ran quickly for the pool, tongues lolling and sides heaving, anxious to get in a few licks and then perhaps a bird or two. The figure continued to walk, unaware and uninterested in the life that lay so near. It continued to look over its shoulder, now running, now walking, looking back again as if expecting to be rundown at any moment.

So, funny story. I was instructing the students in the appropriate care of mealworms when I noticed two strange men walking through my yard. We don't really get door-to-door evangelists out here, so my immediate thought was, "Someone must be lost. Great, and they're here in the middle of school." The kids forgot all about worms that eat meal and were running around in a panic trying to figure out who these guys were. After getting them settled in their desks, I walked into the yard to see what was going on.
A tall black man in a Dish network t-shirt and a shorter, perspiring, roundish fellow were standing on my doorstep. No vehicle was to be seen.
"Uh, hello, yah, we work for Dish network and our van blew a tire a little ways up the road. We are looking for some assistance," queried the Dish man in a distinctly Jamaican accent. "We don' really know what to do, we need a tow truck, maybe from Ekalaka?"
I didn't know what to do, but I invited them in and gave them some water (roundish guy looked like he might pass out if he didn't get some soon) and started to call around. Of course, no one answered - you don't find too many folks inside before seven during haying season. Finally someone called back, and I got the information I needed. After calling Ekalaka twice, I discovered the closest towing establishment was in Rapid City, South Dakota, at least two and a half hours away. The guys, Adrian and Nate, finally decided to take my jack and see if they could remove and repair the tire. They took my car to their van, got the tire of, and discovered it was completely destroyed.
In the meantime, my students were struggling with handwriting and who should appear? BOTH of my superintendents, popping in for a surprise visit. I got them sequestered to the back table and began the students' homeward preparations. During this time the guys returned to share the news that their tire could not be replaced. After getting the run-around at his home office and a quick call to Ekalaka, Adrian and Nate took my car to town to pick up a new tire.
The students were shuttled home (finally), I had a nice long visit with my superiors, and then I waited to see when and if my car would come back.
Around five-thirty a Dish van and my little green subaru rolled into the yard with a very grateful Jamaican inside. "You are such a sweetheart! I tell you, you ever go to Jamaica? You call me, some friends and I have a condo there and you ever want to vacation there, you just call, I will take care of you. God bless!" A quick hug, exchange of phone numbers, and the Dish van was rolling again.
Which just goes to show you, God can use you anywhere. And get you sweet Jamaica vacations and Dish discounts to boot.

Wow. It's been three years since I've used this blog. So much has happened since then. My purpose in using it now is to share some of my writing with those of you who would like to help me become a better writer, those of you who would take precious time out of your day to peruse my work and comment on its contents. I hope to write something every day, good or bad, and post it. I don't know that anyone besides Pat and Jesse will read it, but that's all I need. Perhaps, someday, I'll be able to finish that children's book...