3 Quarters Today

My Life, my photography, my passions

winter

Day 52/365: Angus Cow

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Day 52: Angus Cow

If this cow could talk it would say. Yeah it’s cold, but we live in Nebraska, so what you complaining about.  These Angus cattle looked pretty comfortable in the corn stalk field as I stopped the car to take pictures. How do I know they look comfortable. They weren’t huddled together to stay warm, but were scattered on the ridge-line casually eating corn and stalks. (There are more pictures of them in my Flickr page.) They probably thought I had some range cubes  or Crystalx tubs for them as they started walking towards me.

Seeing how I’m an Animal Science major from Oklahoma State University I could probably, and should, say more about this breed. But it’s late and I’m behind on my posting. I will that Angus cattle say they are the most popular breed in the mid-west and cows are often crossed with Herefords and called “Black Baldies” (love that name) . Their meat is considered the best in the world and the Japanese especially insist on “Black” Angus  beef. They will even visit Nebraska and inspect the cattle before they are purchased to assure the black purity.

Angus branded beef is considered premium, and displays significant marbling which results in superior taste, tenderness, and juiciness to other domestic cattle. There isn’t anything better than a  Angus T-Bone steak cooked on the grill in the summer.

Day 44/365: Colonial Home

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Day 44: Colonial Home

One of my fondest memories of my teen years was historic old Main Street in South Windsor. I would ride by bike from East Hartford every Saturday morning into the country to look at horses. I was just a little horse crazy as a 13 year old girl and knew where every horse lived on my four mile “route”.  People were more than friendly and let me pet and feed them carrots. This weekly ritual lasted many years and resulted in many friendships that have lasted over thirty years.

One of the families on my route took pity on me and convinced their son to let me ride their horse and eventually give me lessons. I got involved in the Scantic Valley Riders 4-H Club, and showed small sorrel quarter horse, Wimpy’s Kelley at the Hartford County 4-H Fair and the Wapping Fair in the late 1970’s.  She was the first horse I rode on a regular basis and lived over thirty years.

When I moved from New England I began to appreciate the history of the area and homes I took for granted that were built in the 1700’s were suddenly interesting. It’s part of the charm of the area that you can’t get anywhere else in the country. Homes built during the birth of our nation, historic homes still standing, like the one in the picture above that stands proudly under a blanket of snow.

 

Day 43/365: New England Blizzard

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Day 43: Snowy Red Barn, Ellington, CT

Winter storm Benedict brought a record snowfall to the State of Connecticut. I was lucky to be there when I was to remember great snows of my childhood which brought back memories of snow forts, snowball fights, and sledding at Wickham Park.

New England snow is different than Nebraska snow. It is softer, gentler, and quiet. Even though Benedict was officially called a blizzard. Compared to Nebraska storms, Benedict was a whisper.

I spent several hours shoveling snow in the driveway, and enjoyed it. There wasn’t a 50 mph wind cutting through me, and the temperature was almost a balmy 27 degrees with a slight breeze of maybe 10-15 mph. A vast difference from most shoveling conditions in Nebraska when the temperature is in the teens with 50 mph winds.

Bowing to my middle aged years I took several breaks, took pictures of the birds in the backyard, and just let memories linger. As I entered the “plow ridge” at the bottom of the driveway I paused.

Here was another difference. In Nebraska the street plows wait until the snow stops before getting to the residential areas. If a plow had come by my Mom’s once, they came by at least a dozen times pushing and packing snow at the bottom of the driveway. The streets looked good and passable, if you could get out.

As I paused to start the heavy lifting a pickup with a blade drove by, I glanced and nodded. He stopped, asked if I would like the bottom pushed out, and I smiled and gave the thumbs up. In less than two minutes the bottom was clear. Turns out, he was the son of a neighbor two houses down and 45 years later I meet  Bobby Milton. A name I hadn’t heard in many many years. I didn’t know him, and he didn’t remember me, but he was probably 10 years older and into racing cars when I was in elementary school. But when I mentioned his Great Dane, Xeno he smiled and said, “You really did grow up here.”

He then went across the street and pushed out another neighbors driveway where a nine year old boy had been shoveling for several hours. It was a random act of kindness, one of several in the week I will remember.

Day 39/365: Night Trees and Snow

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Day 39: Night Snow in the Trees
Day 39: Snow and Peace

At 1:30 am I walked out of Hartford Hospital feeling numb, exhausted, overwhelmed, and into a surreal environment that did not match my previous fifteen hours. The day started with a morning meeting with my Mothers health care team in the neuro-intensive care floor and ended in the hospital chapel as my Mother was received into heaven into the loving arms of Jesus Christ her Lord and Savior.

The physical difference of the machine dominated room compared to the scene that welcomed me outside made me stop and take a deep breath. Snow fell gently to the ground and I was transfixed. I stood and stared at the wonder around me that looked unreal, pristine, and untouched.

I was alone, not a person in sight, and a great sense of peace and calm overcame me as I lifted my face to the sky and gave thanks to God for His many blessings.  It was only then I felt whole again and not torn or anxious.

God’s reminders are everywhere, His messages are found in unexpected places and unexpected times. This time is was a quiet snowy night, outside the hospital doors.

Day 34/365: Lonely Homestead

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Day 34: Lonely Homestead

This old neglected homestead catches my eye every time I drive by on Highway 34 heading to Lincoln Nebraska. Depending on the season and time of day,  it looks lonely, forlorn, beautiful,  stubborn, or even sometimes as if it’s playing hide-and-seek.

It’s my goal to capture each of the personalities from the same vantage point and mark the seasons.