Janet's Blog

Fall has arrived and, with it, I can't help but notice the timely arrival of the Canada geese. They are everywhere, swimming in every river and lake for miles around, or grazing in the open fields. They fly in lopsided V formations at sunrise, and again at sunset, honking wildly as they search for a place to forage for food or spend the night.  Canada geese, sometimes called Canadian geese, are common thoughout much of North America. Many of them breed in Canada, as their name suggests. Some flocks winter in southern Canada, but most travel further south to the US or northeastern Mexico. A good number spend the winter here in Nebraska. They are large birds, with wingspans reaching from four to six feet. They mate for life, and can live from 10 to 24 years in the wild. Most flocks of geese migrate every spring and fall, at the rate of 40 to 70 miles per hour. With a favorable tail wind, Canada geese can fly as far as 1500 miles in a single day! As you would expect, Canada geese eat

My four local grandkids ate lunch with me on Tuesday, as they usually do while their mother, Meagan, is working at the church. After I put all the fixings for tacos on the table, I encouraged everyone to wash their hands before sitting down at the table. Since Levi didn't have school this week, he joined us for lunch, too. When I asked for a volunteer to say the prayer, two-year-old Ari waved both hands in the air while grinning from ear to ear, and shouting, "Me!" As everyone else bowed their heads, Ari folded his hands, bowed his own head, squeezed his eyes shut, and said these words, very clearly: "Thank you for this food. Amen." Then he opened his eyes and beamed at everyone gathered around the table. This Thanksgiving is going to be very hard for many people. We are missing loved ones who usually join us for dinner. Some of us are sick with Covid, or still recovering, or concerned about friends and loved ones who are sick or even in the hospital. Some of us

I've heard that it was a good year for pumpkins. Meagan grew more than 30 nice, orange pumpkins in her garden. My grandkids know that I never have much luck growing pumpkins, so they made my day when they brought me several from their abundance. I plant pumpkins and various squash every year, but I feel blessed if even one of the plants produces anything but leaves. You see, my garden is just too shady to grow much besides tomatoes and green beans. That doesn't stop me from planting pumpkins and squash anyway, because their vines produce some good ground cover even if they don't give me any squash or pumpkins. This year, I was thrilled to pick several zucchinis and yellow summer squash. The acorn squash I planted didn't grow at all, but I ended up with a prolific pumpkin vine that invaded the onions and green beans, climbed the tomato cages, and even scaled the wood fence that separates my garden from the neighbor's yard. Unfortunately, it was all vine and leaves, o

I was hiking along the old Oregon Trail the other day, on the path that leads to the west from the Scotts Bluff National Monument Visitors' Center. As the sun was just disappearing behind the nearby bluffs, half an hour or so before the official sunset, I started to think about the pioneers who had traveled that same route so many years ago.  My trek was easy: I just drove my car the short distance from home, then got out to walk on the path for a while before heading back home again, an hour later.  Those long-ago travelers didn't have such an easy time of it, though. They had to plan carefully, leaving Missouri in early April so they could make it to Oregon before winter. They didn't have any convenient bridges or paved roads, and no motorized vehicles. They had to depend on simple, canvas-covered wagons with wooden wheels, pulled by a team of mules or oxen. So much could go wrong. The trail was littered with belongings cast aside to make the load lighter, and graves of s