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I think it’s time to swipe the Preacher’s desk. It’s become more of a catch-all, really, where he piles and stashes all his stuff. And the surface is completely hidden, more like non-existent—absolutely no room for studying there. So, he doesn’t need it.



Before you label me as cruel, though, he and I have an understanding: I overlook his piles. He overlooks mine. Even when the kitchen table disappears beneath my latest project, and daily meals are relegated to the coffee table.

But back to the desk…

After last night’s storm the clouds and sun are playing hide and seek this morning, dappling the green hills surrounding our house with sunshine and shadows. Cottonwoods line the creek, upper branches waving in the breeze. It’s springtime in Gold Country. And for the first time in months I am sitting, enjoying nature’s merriment, watching the clouds drift by. This is the beauty of country life.

Hornitos, Spring, Hills

But please don’t misunderstand… after twenty-five years of marriage we did find our dream house in the country (*read* major fixer-upper, requiring major time and money we never seem to have in sufficient proportions within the same month). We’ve lived here over a decade. But, a lady of leisure I am not.

If you read one of my previous posts, you’re aware my hours lately have been consumed with tax prep and paper work (ahem, piled on the kitchen table), among other things. Recent weeks have flown by, and it’s already the end of April. Didn’t we just celebrate the new year?

The closest I’ve been to my flower and vegetable gardens this season is: quickly walking past my rosebushes on the way to or from our Subaru, or standing at the window and looking at our iris blooms.

Longingly. Dejectedly.


Iris, med. purple

But this morning I woke up early, spent some quiet time, cooked oatmeal for the Preacher, and ate my bowl of shredded wheat (with blueberries, coconut, walnuts, flax seed and grated unsweetened chocolate drenched in rice milk)… then after cleaning up a bit, I opened my bedroom window to drink in the new day.


There’s something about the seasons in between… when the breeze is cool but not too cold—refreshing, invigorating, without chilling a body to the bone and driving us indoors. I’m sure I’ll see snow-covered peaks on the way to town later. And even though it’s late-April, California ranchers and city-dwellers will welcome the dip in temperatures, brisk wind ushering in heavy clouds, dumping moisture in any form on this drought-parched land.

Leaning on the window sill I breathed in the fragrance of damp earth and new grass and pollen and roses and new morning freshness and all the other wonderful outdoors-in-the-springtime smells.

And I watched… butterflies flitting, birds in search of something tasty, resident felines wandering about.


I noticed a clump of lettuce growing on the wrong side of the gopher-proof box, and admired healthy weeds and grass growing inside the boxes. (Made a mental note to carve out time very soon for pulling those weeds while the ground is soft. Less work that way.)

And that’s when I wished for a desk, right here by this bay of windows in our bedroom. Tucking that thought into a mental “future home decorating projects” file, I cleared one half of the top of my dresser, pulled up a chair, and positioned my laptop just right—I can write and gaze out on this gorgeous countryside at the same time. Brilliant!

While nature has her seasons, life too has seasons… times when we’re pulled this way and that, finding fulfillment in meeting needs, getting things done, teaching, encouraging, organizing, with hardly a moment to call my own…

Then on a stay-at-home day I’m surprised with a precious gift of time, an hour (or two or three) when all is still…

as sunshine and shadows play chase across the landscape, and my Creator’s brushstrokes color earth and sky.

Ever so lovingly He whispers to my own parched soul, Good morning. Do you like it? I painted it just for you.