Woman Midwest-style

Pausing only to take these photos, as I walked into the field searching for any spec of brown within my first line of sight.... so it went:   Bunches of these tiny blooms like God's paintbrush dappled across the field. Turkey roosting trees along either side bid me good morning;  3/4 mile walk into the valley, deer paths criss-cross through the grass that will soon yield green with more spring rains.   My photos never look as good as my eyes see nor smell as exhilarating as meadow grass.  I felt the excitement of turkey season upon me.  Sparkling sunshine mixed with cold blustery wind, so chilly I was sure glad I'd grabbed my knit winter cap and leather gloves for warmth. I set up just after sunrise to the left of the path (photo) under a small tree. Toms gobbling on both sides inside the timber, I tried calling, no luck.  I sat there till well after 10, then I moved deeper into the field.  On the right, I walked past a good sized pond noting some ripp

Fishing is best with minimal conversation while occasionally changing bait to best match the fish's patterns… listen... let the breeze and warmth of kinship guide us.      Surgery after surgery for over a year and a half, I've not been the outdoors gal that I'm accustomed to being.  That hasn't stopped me from dreaming.  Because I love fishing.  I literally felt the tug on the line as I dreamed I was fishing.  Fishing dreams are said to have a religious context, but fishing dreams for me are damn near as much fun as the real thing !          At the time I wrote this, there was four days of fluffy snow blanketing the ground.  And more was forecast before the day became tomorrow.  February in Missouri is a plethora of sleet and snow, then a warmish spell teases us of spring.  Then comes fishing.  That time of year I lust for Crappie fishing after all morning turkey hunting so I dreamed of yanking Crappie out of the icy clear waters, a frosty chill to

Everything   is mythical when you're five years old; fathers, mothers, Santa, God.  But the world keeps spinning no matter what the five year old in you believes.   It's not that certain things seem larger than life, it's just life seems larger. And in a thousand tiny surrenders or sometimes in one fell swoop, what you'd seen as truly mythical, you learn is merely myth. The good news is that ultimately you find other myths to believe in.  Other people as well -- you see the myth for what it is, a close-up of a man in his bones.   Smaller and greater and more like yourself than you care to admit.  T he ego falls apart.   Love is not a myth... swirling, enticing as the mythical lunker.  Sometimes myths trump strolls down memory lane.  And that mythical lunker lies just beneath the moss in the next cove. We all yearn for it to be there. Trish L Frommer, 2014