Blasting the Winter Blahs

I don’t know about you, but for me, January is the longest, dreariest month of the year. Daylight hasn’t increased enough to improve my outlook on life, it’s cold, and it’s either brown or white. I have to self-talk my way through this 31-day marathon with adages like “spring is around the corner, and days are growing longer.”

If those pep talks don’t inspire me, I resort to a baking spree. That adds to my depression when I realize I have to lose added pounds because I self-medicated my doldrums with a pan of brownies or chocolate chip cookies.

A third low-calorie solution is to take mini-vacations to banish these post-holiday pity parties. You might think that’s expensive or impossible when you work. Nope, this part of Kansas has wonderful and free or inexpensive museums and galleries a short distance from your home. You can clean house, do laundry Saturday morning, and still find time to check out a local historical society or art collection.

A previous Dane G. Hansen Display

Anyone living near Hays can visit the Hays Historical Society, Sternberg Museum, Moss Thorns Gallery on campus, or the Hays Arts Council exhibits. Hays Medical Center and the library also display outstanding art for public viewing.

Stay on I-70 and drive to Russell to investigate the Oil Museum or head west to Wakeeney to learn more about homesteading on the High Plains and then to  Oakley to view the Fick Fossil Collection and the Buffalo Bill Statue. If you have extra time, tour Main Street for a peek at the past and maybe sample an old-fashioned sundae at a real soda fountain.

Those who live north can explore their community stories as well. A trip to Phillipsburg to check out Fort Bissell Museum with its Kingery Gun collection and Rock Island railroad memorabilia housed in the old Glade Depot won’t disappoint locals or visitors. A lively business district invites attention as well. 

The crown jewel in Phillips County is the no-fee Dane G. Hansen museum with its permanent gun and Asian collection and traveling art exhibitions. It’s easy to think we’re too rural to see famous art, but that’s not true in Logan. Several times a year, the small museum hosts exhibits on loan from major institutions, including the Smithsonian.

The current display from Ohio’s Springfield Museum of Art is Associated American Artists by Subscription. Sketches of every day American life by artists including Thomas Hart Benton, John Steuart Curry, Grant Wood, Mabel Dwight, Lawrence Beall Smith, and other early and mid-20^th century artists will sweep the winter cobwebs from the corners of your brain. If you want to see this exhibit, hurry to Logan in the next couple of weeks. While you’re in town, tour the charming downtown and the historical society displays.

 If you’re feeling clever, turn one of these mini-escapes into a scavenger hunt or funny photo shoot with inventive backgrounds. It might take extra work, but the memories will be worth it.

Some of us are bound to suffer from winter blues, but we don’t have to give in. With a little effort, we can banish them with dinosaur days, pioneer times, oil boomtowns, or excellent art. Plan a blah-blasting holiday soon. 

A Dog with a Secret Talent

Our last dog came to us as a mature hand-me-down. Our daughter adopted him as a furry, white puppy with appealing eyes. He was small enough to fit in her housecoat pocket. His mom was Shih Tzu and reportedly his dad was Lhasa Apso, so Dudley should have remained tiny and cuddly. Six years later, he weighs 45 pounds and comes to my very tall knee. While he isn’t purse pet material, he’s still lovable.

He ended up at Grandma and Grandpa’s because he didn’t want to share his world with our first born grandchild. Initially, his presence was an act of duty—we couldn’t risk that his growls wouldn’t turn to bites as little Grace learned to crawl and grab soft, curly fur. We also didn’t want our kids to make a tough choice about their beloved pet. Now he’s part of our pack, and we can’t imagine life without him.

Although some of Dudley’s distant ancestors originated in the royal courts of China, he came to us from a farm. Instead of being a pampered pet who spent days warming a lady’s lap, this guy knew outdoors offered premium fun. He understood cattle pens and chicken yards contained interesting critters. What he didn’t understand was hunting.

The moment he joined forces with our Jack Russell, boot camp began. Buster immediately taught Dudley how to find packrat nests and demolish them. The two roamed our property, searching out piles of leaves and sticks and then capturing those vile rodents. While Dudley hadn’t been a barker before, the little terrier made it clear this activity required strident vocalization. We knew when they hit pay dirt by the intensity of their yaps.

In no time, Buster also instructed Dudley in squirrel games. The two dogs would sit at the dining room window spying on a nearby elm. As soon as they saw old Bushytail exploring a branch or using it as a path to the bird feeder, a  race to the back door began.  I’m surprised they didn’t wear a path in the linoleum, considering how often they spotted these visitors.

After we moved, the boys joined my husband every morning as he ventured out on his own hunts. Buster had accompanied him for years, scenting game and alerting his master. Taking him along was a pleasure because he followed commands, waited patiently, and worked in tandem with his human.

 Dudley, on the other hand, didn’t have clue about hunting procedures. He didn’t know how to wait, he ran too far in advance, and he had absolutely no nose. As a result, he constantly piggybacked on Buster’s finds, much to the smaller dog’s disgust.

What Dudley did quickly learn how to do was roll down the passenger window so he could cruise down the road while wind rippled his silky coat. Our terrier had ridden shotgun for years and never messed with the up and down buttons on the door handle. A week of Dudley constantly lowering the glass forced my husband to solve the problem: duct tape over the control panel or leave the fur ball at home.

Apparently, he couldn’t resist those pleading brown eyes as he and Buster hit the road each morning. Now folks who hop in the passenger seat discover they have to ask the driver to roll down the window. 

When they ask, “Kid lock?”

My spouse answers, “Nope, Dudley lock.”

Now that Dudley’s mastered this little trick, we’re optimistic we can teach him to hunt—with Buster’s help, of course.

Joining the Big Sister Club

People join clubs for different reasons, and sometimes they gain membership because of something someone else did. That’s certainly the case for those initiated into the big sister or brother club. Affiliation with this organization has nothing to do with a child’s intentions. Involvement is totally a result of parental action. 

First off, mom and dad had you before they had another baby. If you’re the eldest in the family, everything was rolling along beautifully until the day your momma took her swollen belly to the hospital. When you finally visited, her tummy had shrunk considerably and there was doll-size creature wrapped in a pink or blue blanket and wearing a tiny stocking cap. It squeaked and mewed like your best friend’s kitten. When it did that, everybody in the room, including your momma, paid immediate attention. What was this thing that drew everyone’s eyes like a magnet draws iron filings?

Did it have anything to do with the new t-shirt you wore that said, “I’m a big sister”? Could you trade that interloper for the puppy you really wanted? Could Mom and Dad leave that bundle at the hospital and take you home so everything could go back to normal?

For all of us who have younger siblings, entry into that elite organization changed our lives forever. In an instant, we were no longer the center of our parents’ lives. Suddenly, we had to share attention, toys, snacks, beds, and more. Routines we’d come to count on changed overnight. Mommy and Daddy didn’t have as much time to color or play games. Mommy’s lap was now a shared haven, not a private outpost.

That word share became the mantra over the next months. Toys and cups that used to be just ours suddenly were now community property. That baby had a stake in our stuff.

After my brother was born, I discovered I not only had to share toys and parents, but depending on where we lived, I sometimes had to share a room. As we got older, we drew imaginary lines across the floor to designate one another’s territory. Supposedly, we couldn’t trespass, but you know how that goes when siblings aren’t in sight. Both of us invaded foreign  space to play with one another’s  games, dolls, and trucks.

For a toddler, learning  to share is a tough lesson. It took years before I decided my sibling was a blessing. Now, I can’t imagine life without him.

He’s the only one who knows what it was like to move and make new friends often. He’s the only one who shares memories of our secret hiding places. He’s the only one who recalls me coaching him to jump from a swing at its highest arc and the resultant crash landing. I can mention long vanished places, friends, and loved ones, and he relates immediately without any explanation. He understands joys and grief connected to our early years that my husband can’t.

Our granddaughter is still confused to find her mom and dad’s arms occupied by someone else. Looking back on my entry into the big sister club, I advise her to give it a few months or maybe even years. Over time, she’ll realize brother is way more fun than any puppy could be.

Gabbles from Gooseland

When I was a kid, I lived 11 miles from Disneyland. I took for granted that I’d visit the happiest place on earth several times a year. And I did. Due to immaturity, I didn’t understand why my out of state cousins were so excited to visit Southern California and the Magic Kingdom. They were giddy about meeting Mickey and exploring Adventureland, and their enthusiasm for something so commonplace as Disneyland escaped me. After all, it was just a big amusement park with a bunch of costumed characters walking around waving at folks.

If I’m not attentive, it’s easy to have that same take-it-for-granted-attitude about living in the Central Flyway. The CF is a place where those in the know can observe a wealth of bird species that are either migrating through or live here. Those of us who live in mid and western Kansas have opportunities to enjoy birding and bird hunting that few share. Most of the time, we don’t have to travel much distance in order to add another species to our birding list or to bag our limit of geese, duck, or teal. A step out our doors and we are in Gooseland.

This time of year, it’s necessary to go outside to enjoy the gabbling coming from south of the house. I’m not throwing open the windows in these icy temperatures in order  to hear thousands of snow and Canada geese that hang out near our water treatment lagoons  and sound like a stadium full of cheering fans. I’m sure the designer of these ponds had no idea how perfectly suited these water holes are to host multitudes of honking birds, but if they had intended to lure geese close to town, they couldn’t have planned better.

Not only is my neighborhood home to scores of winged, web-footed creatures, but so is Ellis. For decades, the city lake has drawn hordes of Canadas into town. Some of these long-necked critters walk around the community looking as though they wonder why all these humans and their houses and vehicles are in the way. Sometimes, they’re downright unfriendly in the way they honk and peck at their human neighbors. These actions end up getting them transported to a less populated neighborhood…or into a roasting pan.

Not all geese want to land so near to human beings. During my long drive home from school, I frequently see several thousand birds settling into either stubble or green wheat fields for their evening roost. When this many snow geese land in the same place, it’s easy to see how they got their name. Packed in tight, they look like a wintry landscape that happens to move. They might be able to use their deceptive camouflage except they can’t be quiet. When I stop to watch them, I can hear their nattering even before I roll the window down.

When I rode into the countryside with my husband the other day, he pointed out geese far in the distance. Initially, I didn’t see what he was directing me to see. I thought I was looking at corn stalks rising from prairie soil. After zooming in with my telephoto lens, I realized what I thought were upright canes were actually geese craning their necks to look my way. They wanted to see what was in the distance every bit as much as I wanted to examine them.

My spouse told me to keep my eyes peeled because I might see some eagles as well. A pair of them were ranging the area, probably hoping to feast on goose stragglers. That would have been a real bonus if I’d gotten to photograph an eagle along with the honkers. I was reminded again of how lucky we are to live amongst such amazing bird diversity.

I hope I always remember how fortunate I am to call the Central Flyway home. I’m glad I traded Gooseland for Disneyland every time I see those Vs needling across the blue horizon or hear their raucous cries.