August In The Midwest

The mornings are drenched in dew that clings to everything it touches, coating even the silken strands of a spider web. The heat comes early and tries to claim each droplet as the cool earth pulls it back into white waves of fog before letting go. As the sun climbs higher the fragrances of the wet grasses and musty soil give way to ripening fruit and the earthy smell of mushrooms and nuts.

The sun, intense and relentless, fills the days with heat and humidity, helping to slow the frantic pace of parades, picnics and family vacations. The sounds of fireworks and brass bands are replaced by a symphony of insects and birds that reaches a crescendo with the rhythm of the cicadas. The trees, so laden with leaves they seem weary from holding them up, are motionless in the still heavy air.

The evening ushers in breezes with a hint of coolness but so thick with moisture that they seem to caress the skin. The cool clamminess is a welcome exchange for the stinging heat of the days. The night song of crickets and frogs join together, rhythmically rising and falling like the chords of an organ, soothing and peaceful.

August is not the end of summer it is the peak of summer. It is God’s nature on joyous display and a time to rest, before the harvest, in the fullness of His creation.

I Know You Don't Hear a Word I Say

I know you don’t hear a word I say
But I only wish there was a way

To tell you how important it is
To heed the advice I’m about to give

On the highways and the byways
Danger lurks both night and day

Any driver can make an error
And there are some that just don’t care

You wouldn’t believe the things they’ll do
Instead of watching out for you

I wish I could communicate
And save us all from the heartache

Please look both ways and make sure it’s clear
You’ve got to be very careful - Deer

The Wreck

The no nonsense, 75 year old cook ran the kitchen with a cast iron fist. We were a bunch of unruly teenagers that saw our summer on the guest ranch as more of a working vacation then a job. She didn’t like it when we got rowdy and would only allow a few boredom breaking activities. One that she tolerated was singing. We sang show tunes, country western ballads, and our favorite – TV show theme songs to pass the time. She only drew the line when we started making up our own lyrics because well, let’s just say they may have been a bit off color at times.

She would not put up with any horseplay like food fights or chasing each other around. If we started any of that she would come out from behind the work table wielding a large spoon or rolling pin and threaten to let us have it. She couldn’t have weighed more than 97 lbs. soaking wet, but nobody dared find out if she really meant it.

One day we walked in to see her standing at the top of the basement stairs, shaking with laughter with tears rolling down her cheeks. We ask her what happened and she pointed down the stairs and choked out the words “We’ve had a wreck”. We all ran to look and there at the bottom sat someone, almost unrecognizable, covered in flour with clouds of white still billowing around him. It was our dishwasher who, when trying to carry a 50 lb. bag of flour downstairs, had missed the last step. We all laughed so hard we cried, not just because of the wreck but because of the sight of her complete loss of composure.

Eventually she pulled herself together and told us to get it cleaned up and get back to work. Still feeling lighthearted someone started to hum until everyone burst out singing “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas”. Out of the corner of my eye I caught her quickly turning to stir a pot so we couldn’t see her smile. Still fighting to maintain order she grabbed a large metal spoon but when she turned to threaten us, couldn’t keep from laughing and ended up using it to direct the choir instead.