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A Little Photobombing

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Almost every fall, just as the leaves are showing off their vibrant colors, my daughter, Meagan, decides to take family pictures of her children and, of course, she wants at least one good picture that includes Andy and her, too. So, most years, I go along to Northfield Park (or wherever she decides to go) to help with crowd control and snap a few pictures of the whole family with her camera, after she sets it on the tripod and makes all of the necessary adjustments. I usually have to make a fool of myself in an attempt to get everyone to look at the camera, and maybe even smile, but the final results are certainly worth any momentary indignity.  Getting ready for the perfect family photo I love going along because, along with schlepping equipment from one promising spot to another, helping kids with wardrobe issues, and entertaining the little ones who are waiting their turn, I get to snap a few photos with my phone. Unfortunately, sometimes I get to do a little unintentional photobom
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This Old World

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It was the first day the bridge was closed on the Scottsbluff/Gering Highway, and I told myself, as I climbed into my car, to remember to turn left at the stop sign. But, wouldn’t you know it, I turned right instead. And in the midst of my turning the wrong way, I started singing a line of music I had never heard before: “It’s gonna take some time to change my muddled mind.” I took that as a sign from God that it was time to write a new song. As I mulled that over, I realized that a lot of us are dealing with much harder changes than an annoying bridge closure.  I had to turn around and head towards this bridge instead,  one of only three others that crosses the North Platte River between Gering and Scottsbluff. Life has been difficult this year for many who have been dealing with accidents or injury, illness, retirement, grief, or one of numerous other unexpected struggles. It doesn't help that the world around us is evolving in ways we never thought possible, with drastic weather
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Living in the Moment

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As I've been walking this week, enjoying the last mild days of autumn, I can't help but dread the long, cold days ahead. Even though this fall has been beautifully balmy, I know what's coming, and I'm not looking forward to it.     Fall might have to be my favorite season if it only lasted longer, and if it didn't lead, inevitably, to winter! I love the crunching sound of the fallen leaves as I swish my way down the winding path. I wish I could enjoy it like I used to, when I was a young child who didn't know what foul weather was just around the corner. I love the majestic Cottonwoods' golden leaves, brightening even the dreariest, drizzly days of autumn. But, it's hard for me to appreciate them as I should, when I know that drizzle will soon give way to sleet and snow. Even worse, I dread the coming of the Brown, when there is not even any snow to add a touch of brilliance to our dull winter landscape. But then, God reminds me that I can become like
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Emma's Project

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I received an unexpected package in the mail today, from my sister, Laura, who forwarded me her granddaughter, Emma's, school Geography project. Emma lives with her family in south-central Nebraska. Her fifth grade teacher has directed her students to mail a journal to a friend or relative, with instructions to write about the area where they live, and then dispatch the journal on to someone else. By mid-April, when the journal is supposed to be returned to the school, each student should have journal entries from several people all over the country. In addition, each writer is asked to mail a postcard to the school at the same time they mail the journal to the next person, so all of the students can see where all of their journals are going. This sounds like a good way to get young students excited about Geography. After I finished writing the letter for Emma's journal, I realized that many of my blog readers might enjoy reading it, too. I've touched on some of the content
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'Toria's Favorite Moose

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It was Tuesday morning. All six of Meagan's kids were at my house while she was working at the church. Victoria had come to help, as she usually does, so she can tend to the two youngest while I help the older ones with their homeschooling assignments and, eventually, make lunch for everyone. The older kids worked hard on the letters they were writing, so they finished quickly and moved on to building things and playing Minecraft in the family room. Three-year-old Ruthie came into the kitchen to paint a beautiful picture with watercolors, and Evie eventually joined her. The painting was done, and I was just starting to boil water for the macaroni and cheese when Aunt Victoria carried Ruthie back into the kitchen. Ruthie was near tears as she held out a small stuffed animal in one hand, and a stubby little leg in the other hand. All she said was, "It's b w oke!" As I took the moose and its leg from Ruthie's outstretched hands, I told her it was okay; I could fix it
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Country Kittens

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Who doesn't love a cute, cuddly kitten? Kittens are such fun to hold, and to watch, as they explore their surroundings, inevitably getting themselves into some kind of trouble, and getting themselves out of trouble again, just as quickly. I guess that's why people say that cats have nine lives... My local grandkids have been enjoying their excess of kittens all summer. Kittens are nothing new in the Stobel household. Their first two kittens were found, abandoned at the end of their lane, a few years ago and the rest, as they say, is history. Meagan and Andy were pleased to find that their cats were excellent mousers, or perhaps I should say,  volers , because they took care of the burgeoning vole population in record time, after all kinds of traps failed to make a difference in the hundreds of voles that had made their home in the Stobel yard. Since Meagan and Andy prefer cats to voles, the cats are there to stay. And, really, that is the main reason why cats have been domestic
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The Rubber Rabbitbrush

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For several years, as I walked near Scotts Bluff National Monument, I couldn't help but notice a golden, globe-shaped shrub that burst into glorious bloom every September. I wasn't familiar with it, since it doesn't grow in eastern Nebraska, where I grew up, but it lines the fence along the path I walk, and grabs my attention every year about this time. So, last year, I took its picture and let my phone's plant-identifying app put a name to it. Each oddly-named Rubber Rabbitbrush shrub is normally two to six feet tall and two to four feet across. I learned that it grows best in the dry, wide open spaces of the western United States, pollinating and blooming in late summer and early fall. Since Rabbitbrush pollen is a common trigger for allergy sufferers, it might be part of the reason for my fall allergies. Rubber Rabbitbrush is fast growing, reaching maturity in less than four years, and having a 20 year lifespan. It thrives in full sun, tolerates perpetual wind, and i
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