Just the Right One {Fine Art Photography, Watson, Illinois}

  We piled into my dads farm truck yesterday and went Christmas tree hunting. And we found just the right one.

My mom and I wandered through the set aside ground down in the bottom inspecting each tree. There were deer beds ands deer paths everywhere so we tried to follow them and not get too caught up in the sticker bushes.  I didn't succeed all too well. By the time it was over, I had broken off stickers in my hair, jeans and coat.

The weather was a bit cool but it was so nice to be outside.  My mom collected miscellaneous dried flowers and seed pods, as she does, and Tharin stuck close to grandpa.  Pretty sure it was because he got to ride in the back of the truck while we were down there.

After deciding on and cutting down the perfect tree, my dad and Tharin went to count the cows.  If you're not familiar with having cattle, you have to count the cows every so often to make sure they're not out in the neighbors field, stuck in the mud, fallen upside down in a ravine, have a dog hanging from their face or any number of other misadventures.  And yes, all of those things have happened to my dads cows.

When I was in high school, while my parents were out of town, I was lucky enough to discover the cow with the dog attached to it's face. Scared me. As soon as I saw it, I ran to the house, because if a dog is willing to attack a cow a heck of a lot bigger than me, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have a problem going after me.  I called our neighbor who had to come over and shoot the dog.  It wasn't about to let go of that cow no matter what we did.  And it had a tiny little companion dog yipping at it the whole time.  So strange, almost like a cartoon.

But on with my story.....after counting the cows we drove over to visit my great uncles grave.  He asked to be buried on land of my parents where there are three other graves from way back when.  We've lost track of those graves now but before my uncle died, he had his own gravestone made and put where he wanted to be buried.  He even picked his own date of death, 2010.  He died in 2000.  He was ten years off. He was a real character, as pretty much ALL of my moms relatives are.  He rode the rails when he was younger, herded sheep in Montana, and led a pretty tough life from what I can tell.  But I sure liked him.  He had a really unique voice and he had some great stories. My family and I live in his house now.  He was one of kind. I really should make my mom write everything down about my older relatives because with my memory, I'll forget.


He spotted just the right one

The one

Counting Cows

Helping Grandma collect seedpods for a wreath

Heading to Uncle Bennys grave

Remnants of the homestead that use to be here. Some of those homesteaders are now buried nearby in unmarked graves.