To say that Alaska is wild, that Alaska is big, that Alaska is beautiful is sort of like saying the most gloriously beautiful sunset - one of those that invite you to remember Gerald Manley Hopkin's "all the earth is alive with the grandeur of God" poem - is just a sunset.

The call of the wild is singing in our ears this night as we gather our stuff and our selves for a two-week journey into the wilds of Alaska.   Most of our time will be spent touching earth and sky in places far off the beaten path.  Our two sons who call Alaska "home" will make sure of that!

Abundance.  Pure and simple, generous and astounding abundance fills the gardens and prairie with an overwhelming sense of the goodness of Creation and Creator these days.   As we drink in the abundance and beauty of this spectacular season, there is so much that it dribbles down our chin - leaving spots of wonder over our very being.

As I sit in the garden, I am held by the sweet songs of birds, the feathery breath of the wind on my face, and the glorious vision of flowers dancing at the height of their glory. I can't help but drop to my knees in gratitude for the generous spirit of our creative God...

Our neighbor died last week, on the same rich soil on which he was born and lived most of his life.  His parents bought the farm in 1929, and his family has lived there ever since.  It is an old farmstead - complete with big old trees, a Sears and Roebuck house, and a sprinkling of rusty machinery lined up in the grove.  Although the nine children of this family scattered world-wide, the draw of this sacred place calls them, their children, and their grandchildren home to the table of family again and again.

"Inch by inch, row by row, gonna make this garden grow, 
All it takes is a rake and a hoe and a piece of fertile ground."
David Mallett
 

This year, we have increased our garden space hugely, and I mean HUGELY!  We've disked up some ground in front of our old finishing building, and tilled up yet again the space that was Gordon's grandmother's and mother's garden. 

And so it goes. Every spring, after the first rains soak the fertile ground and the glorious sun warms the soil, my tummy begins to savor the thought of fresh morel mushrooms.  Even more, my heart yearns for "mushroom day" - my annual pilgrimage into the wilds of our timber to hunt these illusive fungi.

 Greetings!

This time of year, when the hearts of many turn to Spring, our hearts turn to the power of fire - specifically prairie fires.  You see, in order to keep the weed and volunteer tree population under control in our prairies, we take drip torch in hand and set the fields of dry debris from former years on fire - sort of reliving the role that lightning played for thousands of years.