Sunflowers Round 3
Sunflower Mini Sessions | Part Three
I am so happy to finally be posting the final round of Sunflower Mini Sessions. Not that I’m happy they are over with. That’s not it at all. It’s just that the folks you see here tonight really got the run around. First their sessions were moved because an exercise on base meant most husbands couldn’t make it. Then we got rained out–twice. But finally we had the perfect evening.
The ground was still a little soggy. My shoes ended the night caked in mud and gravel and a few items of clothing got a little dirty. But no one really seemed to mind. In the end, it was all about capturing a few dreamy North Dakota moments–in the last moments of summer, before winter comes again and we count down the days to another season of cool breeze, open skies, mosquitoes and sunflowers.
That Weird Time at Devil’s Tower
Here’s a story for you. It’s actually a continuation of yesterday’s journey to Devil’s Tower. And I wouldn’t be bringing it up if we’d only gone and walked around, then driven back to Rapid City. But, as tends to happen, an awkward scene arose…and tonight I’ll tell you all about it.
Let me start by saying that Devil’s Tower is fabulous. A friend of mine visited once and climbed it–all the way to the top. Ever since then I’ve wanted to visit. Now I have, and it is as cool in person as his photos made it look. Maybe even cooler.
The great mass of stone seems to come out of no where. It’s only transition from earth to sky being a tier of boulders and crumbled rock around its base. A paradise for fools like me who love to walk along uneven terrain and scramble up rocks.
But alas, as you know, I’m working with an injury. So there was no fun bouldering for me. Derek and I decided that we should stick with the paved trail that goes around the tower. Even that was a challenge. You see, months of inactivity has rendered me physically useless. So the ups and downs of what was marked as an “easy” hike left me winded and in need of frequent breaks. Meanwhile all the elderly who had stopped off during their RV trips “out west” were whizzing by me with legs that worked perfectly.
It was along this trail, at one of my all-too-often bench stops that Derek said to me, “I think I’m going to walk up closer and walk on the rocks instead of the trail.” I sat there, just a touch confused. He was going to leave me to be passed all alone by 70-year-old speed walkers? Then I got a grip. It would be more fun that way…and just because I couldn’t do it didn’t mean no one should. So I watched him walk up to the rocks, then turned to follow an off shoot of the trail to an overlook.
When I got back to the main trail I looked up toward the tower to see if I could see Derek, wondering if he had gotten too far ahead of me. What I saw nearly made me fall over. I spotted him alright. Waaay up high. So high I could hardly see him, above the tree line, all the way up to the point where ropes are required to climb higher. I just couldn’t believe it. He was not just walking along, “a little closer.” He had scaled half of the tower. He was standing where this circle is drawn.
I whipped out my phone. Ah, yes, service. Perfect.
I called him. Why I expected the call to go through, I have no idea–but it did. His ring tone bounced off of the rocks and echoed back to the trail as loudly as if he was standing next to me. The mechanic tee-tee-tee-tee of his Verizon ring tone split the sounds of nature like a hot knife through butter. Awkwardly, this got the attention of all of the other trail walkers around me–who started looking around, then realized there was a man, half way up the tower taking a call.
A crowd was forming and I didn’t want to make a scene. No one likes a naggy wife. So I nonchalantly turned aside and said casually, “Please do not go any higher.” Then added, “Are you insane?”
But, there is no privacy on a crowded Labor Day weekend hike at Devil’s Tower, and soon the group had gotten larger and put the two calls together. There was pointing, laughter, photo snapping, and wry comments about how he “…must not have gotten permission,” and “Look at the guy who climbed all the way up there to take a phone call.” Hardy, har, har.
In Derek’s defense, once he had gotten to the tower base, there really wasn’t any other way to go but up. He had expected the tier of boulders to curve back down, but it never did. He told me he was actually about to turn around when I called.
The crowd dispersed, chuckling, after our conversation ended. Naturally there were a few over the shoulder comments about “keeping a closer eye on that one…” as they all wandered away and I parked it back on a bench to wait for Derek.
When he met up with me I must have shot him one of those looks. Those looks. He just laughed and said, “What?” What indeed. But I just said, “Well, that was exciting.” And we kept walking–together this time–and I told him all about it while we finished the trail.
Aladdin, WY
I guess it’s official. Now I can say I’ve been to Wyoming.
You remember yesterday when I mentioned that Derek has to work from South Dakota for a bit because of a runway closure? Well, the part I didn’t tell you is that when my back was at its worst, I made plans to come and stay here with him for a few weeks. The thought was that here I wouldn’t be lonely, I could do my work remotely and I’d be able to focus on recovery without any distractions. So I got a house sitter and took off.
Things took a turn for the better, since I’m feeling pretty darn good. Meaning that instead of laying around the hotel we’ve actually been able to go out and do things. For starters we went to Devil’s Tower in Wyoming–which is only a few short hours from Rapid City, SD, where we are staying.
Don’t panic. I’m being really good. Walking, yes…but no strenuous hiking or climbing. Seriously. I’m on level with the elderly.
If you follow the Facebook page you probably saw a few images from our journey west when I posted a couple photos from our pit stop in Aladdin. You see, we were nearly out of gas and I was about to wet my pants, so we decided to stop at the next “town” which ended up being this.
Yes, this is the whole thing. It’s remoteness and back-in-time air has caused the general store to become a bit of a tourist attraction. The best part about the town of Aladdin is their fine, hand-lettered signs. They were everywhere. The signs on the door read: “Great deals upstairs.” “This town is for sale. Store-House-Bar-Trailer Park-Post Office-30 Acres. $1,500,000 Firm.” “We will be closing at 4:30 pm for a wedding.”
Naturally upon entering this other worldly place I forgot all about the need for a toilet and went upstairs to see all the great deals. Antiques and curiosities of all kinds abounded. Clothes, shoes, yard games, guns, vintage furniture, antique dishes. It was all there. As with the signs, everything upstairs was hand labeled as well. Including this Swagger Stick. What is a swagger stick, you ask? It’s a really cool cane.
In freezers on the first floor we were blessed to lay eyes on the country’s best bacon.
In the bar, off of the main room there were coolers with all kinds of beverages and another hand written sign reading “Free Beer Tomorrow.” It was shoved behind a book case…apparently they put it out sometimes.
Then I remembered why we’d really stopped. So I asked about a bathroom at the counter. The woman working told me there was an outhouse behind the building. “Oh, how cute,” I thought. I thought I was getting a real out-west experience. I couldn’t wait to see the “outhouse.” I mean, could this place get more kitschy?
What I found behind the building was not a tourist attraction “outhouse.” It was a real outhouse. Just a wooden shack baking in the sun. Inside sat a wooden bench with two holes cut in the seat. As soon as I opened the door I could see all the contents under the seat. The smell slapped me across the face. “Nope, not cute. Not cute.”
I let the door swing shut on it’s spring loaded hinge. And I held it until we stopped for lunch.
Welcome to Wyoming.
Come back tomorrow and I’ll tell you about Devil’s Tower.
Amy
Medical Miracle
{image via}
It’s time I tell you a story. The ending isn’t finished yet, but I’ll tell you what I know up to this point. At the end of the post you might think I’m crazy, or a wishful thinker, or an exaggerator. But I don’t think any of those are true {well…not in regard to this any way.}
On August 13th I had an appointment with the neurosurgeon who performed my microdiscectomy. I was out from surgery about seven weeks. To give you a point of reference, I was placed on restricted activity to recover fully for 12 weeks, then would go on to 12 more weeks of physical therapy before being deemed “healed.” So this appointment was more than half way–and I felt terrible.
Seriously, I’ve had some dark times lately, but this was the worst. I was in constant pain. Unrelenting, awful pain. More {much more} than before the surgery, when the disc was out of place. I was simply, miserable. Everyday I’d find my face leaking. I call it that because I wasn’t meaning to cry, or even conscious of it half the time. The misery I was feeling just leaked out in tears, at least once every day. I wasn’t sleeping, the pain made me lose my appetite, I was dependent on pain killers just to function through the day, the whole thing lent itself to very sad spirits.
Naturally, like any 21st century patient, in the days leading up to my much-anticipated doctor’s appointment I turned to Dr. Google for answers. And I found all kinds of things. Scary stats on how many miscrodiscectomy patients have “failed surgery syndrome” and are left in chronic pain for-ev-er. Studies that show that many people re-herniate their disc and are never the same. Testimony pieces from folks who never recovered and their ability to walk was permanently impaired. By the time the appointment rolled around I was terrified. I felt sure that this was my new life, impaired and miserable. But I was also eager to get some answers from a real live person, who had actually touched my spine and knew my case.
I explained my symptoms and pain to the nurse. When the doctor came in he told me he was concerned. Then things got really vague. He didn’t really want to talk about what would happen if things didn’t improve, other than blurry references to more surgery. I pressed him and he did tell me that out of the 500 of these surgeries he does every year, about five fail. Maybe I was one of the five. He wanted to give it six more weeks before taking action. If things weren’t better, we’d get an MRI and discuss what surgical options were available to correct things.
As you might imagine, that was not the answer I wanted. I wanted relief. I wanted to feel better. I didn’t want to wait any more. There was nothing else to do, but go get the new pain meds and cry.
To make everything just a little bit worse, Derek has to work out of a base in South Dakota for a while, while the runway in Minot is repaved. The loneliness added insult to injury. Not only was I miserable, but I was alone. And if Derek wasn’t there, that’s how I preferred to be–no one likes to be a depressed mess in front of friends.
That night when Derek and I talked on the phone I told him everything and cried and cried while wailing that this was how I was going to be forever and ever. I mourned the fact that my life in shambles, since I couldn’t do anything that I loved doing. I also hated myself for being the reason we could no longer do things that we loved doing together: biking, hiking, swimming, boating, anything active–none of that is possible when you are chronically messed up.
Instead of giving in to my pity party–which is what I wanted him to do–Derek told me that we could chose to view this situation another way. We could look at it as an opportunity to grow in an area of our faith that is a little lacking: prayer. Instead of trusting doctors and science, we could earnestly pray, call on prayer partners, and seek God in this trial. We decided to pray that God be glorified through this dark season. If that meant He would show His power through healing–awesome. If that meant He would change my heart and give me the peace and joy to proclaim Him, despite the pain and lifestyle change–awesome.
Friends, I’ve never been witness to a medical miracle–let alone had one take place in me–but that is the only way I can describe what happened next. It took me a couple days to cope and draw the courage to choose to proclaim my God as good no matter what. I prayed that to start me off, God would give me a certain message that things would be okay. That night I ended up at the Sanctus Real concert. They sang this song, which I’d never heard before–but the Holy Spirit spoke to my heart, telling me to put my trouble on Him, that things would be fine. Then, He opened my eyes to His amazing grace {see this post.} Finally, I called some faithful partners who are gifted with a fervent zeal for prayer.
Three days after my appointment I felt a supernatural peace and joy return. I felt better. I was able to stand long enough to take a shower {really, it was that bad.} I could walk. I was sleeping. I stopped taking pain pills. Cold turkey. All together just quit. I didn’t need them. And I haven’t taken another since. It’s been about three weeks since that appointment and I feel that my healing has been put back on track.
I still get tired and have some pain in my legs at times…it mostly feels like cramped muscles in my hamstrings. It’s tolerable and made much better by stretching out. Every day walking becomes more comfortable, every day I feel a little more like myself. Not only is my health being restored, my future is as well. A month ago, as I looked ahead I saw a never ending road of misery, self-hatred and pain. Now I see the possibility of a return to activity, fitness and strength.
I can honestly only describe what has happened as a miracle. There is no explanation for such a sudden shift in my condition, only that something impossible happened. I can tell you that God is a healer, a restorer of peace, the source of joy. My hope is that you will, as I have, see this as a real-world example of the power held in prayer and intercession.
I understand that not every story will end like this, but for whatever reason mine did. I cannot guarantee that healing will always look the way we want it to, but I can tell you that if you earnestly seek to glorify God, He will provide a way for you to do that. Through choosing to glorify Him healing, restoration, peace and joy will return.
xo
Amy
Art and Autocorrection
After I posted the first Community Canvas I did for Minot’s Arts in the Park program I got a lot of positive feedback. Enough people took notice that I was contacted by someone involved with the Festival on Main, an annual end of summer street festival. She asked if I’d like to do a canvas that would be on display for a while the morning of the festival that kids and families could paint on.
Yes, please!
So I made a canvas. This canvas to be exact. It’s “downtown” themed and inspired by the actually buildings on Minot’s Main Street. I like it a lot.
Then the weather turned and I heard that the festival was cancelled. To confirm I texted my contact to be sure. This is how that came out.
Nothing like an awkward auto-correct to a person you don’t really know. Especially when it’s someone you would like to think you are professional and responsible…a person appropriate for public events.
So awkward. And the worst part is, I sent this when I was at a birthday party, so I wasn’t really paying full attention. I didn’t realize what I’d said until the next day. The. Next. Day. I wrote back saying that I meant “canvas” not “Canadian.” She hasn’t responded.
Why would I have a Canadian all dressed up? Darn my will to be witty. Just a little witty. Very little.
The moral of the story? Read your texts.
xo
Amy
Rippling
image via
Those of you who have worked with me or close to me {especially in my early self-employment years} know that I’m not opposed to taking unusual payment. I guess in that sense I’m very old fashioned. The kind of girl who could accept a dozen eggs for an hour of cow milking. Okay, so–maybe that exact deal never happened anywhere. Ever.
But I have been known to accept the world’s greatest chocolate chip cookies, meals, banquet tickets, and {recently} a Muppet-esque puppet made to my likeness. {It’s not quite done but I promise I’ll show it to you when I get it.}
My most recent barter was exchanging some graphic design for two tickets to a local positive music festival called Rock the Leaves. If you live here in Practically Canada you should check them out. They put a second event on in the spring called Beardstock, which I’ve heard had a pretty cool promo in the Rock the Leaves program.
You got me. I made that. To be fair–I genuinely do think it looks cool.
As part of my payment I got a VIP experience with this year’s headliner: Sanctus Real. I took a friend and together with the other VIP ticket holders we got to hear Santus Real play two songs from their new album acoustically followed by a question and answer time, followed by photo and autograph time.
Something they said in response to one audience question really stood out to me. A man asked what the best part of their job is as a touring band. In response, lead singer, Matt Hammitt, told us that the absolute best part is when they meet up with people from the audience who share how God has used their music to speak to them. He told us that he uses song writing as a way to cope with hard times and turn to God. He said he loves learning how God has used the words He inspired to work in others’ lives.
I love that. So what I’ve been mulling over is the idea that we all have songs and music running through our lives. Maybe not literally–believe me, no one wants me to write a song, much less sing it. But our struggles, the way we move in times of hardship, our testimonies, the stories we share, the words we use…these comprise our song. The same way God can use their music to reach someone, help them, pick them up, direct them, affirm them–He can use our lives’ songs to do the same to all the people we see and interact with.
It’s a ripple effect and I believe most of us will never know just how far our ripples have spread. Hard times are…well…hard, but if we use our free will to choose to continue to proclaim the goodness of the Lord, He will carry our song far and wide. The strain of a trial and the victory found afterward become our song, a song that can speak volumes to an unknown mass.
Michelle and Dan {Mystery solved.}
Mystery solved. It’s Michelle and Dan! A long journey has led to this point and I couldn’t be more thrilled to share their pregnancy announcement with you. For the record–this is my favorite chalkboard I’ve ever drawn for a session. So sit back and enjoy. Bask in the glow of happiness and triumph.
