I barely took this picture in time. So, so tasty. Thanks, Katherine.
Hinrichs’ Guide to Fort Robinson
July 7, 2009 at 1:34 am (I'm a Traveling Wo-man)
Marcus and I have planned on going to the Black Hills for several months. We needed something easy. The Black Hills qualify as “easy” because you can drive there in a day (about 10 hours), and you don’t have to do much when you get there (besides see the faces on Mt. Rushmore). This would differentiate this trip from the last two years’ vacations, when we drove all over southwestern Colorado and Washington, D.C.
Oh, yes. I bet you are wondering why my title says this is about Fort Robinson. Or maybe you are used to my free-flowing style, knowing that I will eventually get to the point. Or not.
While planning for the trip, Marcus said he would really like to visit Fort Robinson again. He had gone there in high school for a family reunion. He fondly remembered the chuck wagon and horseback riding.
When Marcus mentioned this, my inner voice said, “Ick.” My inner voice protests whenever someone suggests something that requires:
A. Work on my part, and/or
B. Something I really don’t want to do.
Since one purpose of my husband is to sanctify me, it seems like he is the one that most often triggers the whiny inner voice. When I first got married, I didn’t have an inner voice. Only an outer voice, that voiced its opinion immediately and often. After 17 years of marriage, I have learned to ignore my inner voice, unless it has any significance after time, prayer and pondering. Usually, it doesn’t.
Besides this, Marcus wanted to drive through the sandhills. A different relative always talks about how much she loves the sandhills. I barely look up when Marcus compliments them when we drive by on I-80. I usually nod in agreement, and get back to my book. If I happen to be driving, they don’t even get a nod. I’m too busy man-handling the suburban, checking the camper in the rear-view mirror to make sure it’s still behind me, and wondering whether I should pass a truck with the 50 mile-an-hour gale broadsiding me.
Well…
Shockingly enough, I was wrong. As soon as we turned northwest at Ogallala, I was shocked at the rocks and grassy slopes of the sandhills. Yellow flowers were everywhere. Wow.
One of the main reasons the sandhills looked so appealing must have been the abundant rainfall they’ve had this year, as evidenced by the Hoke’s Cafe parking lot in Ogallala.
And Fort Robinson? Beautiful buttes surrounded a large campus of brick 2-story homes, previously officers’ living quarters. Many of the lovely homes now have rooms you can rent while you stay there. There were also museums, a playhouse, horse stables, an activity center, a pool, the area for the bi-weekly rodeo, and other historical buildings that have been recreated for tourists. They’ve done a top-notch job. By the way, I am not a country-western music fan, and I liked it anyway.
The highlights for us were the horseback ride into the buttes, and “Annie, Get Your Gun,” the musical we attended. 
Marcus loves westerns, and I know he was pretending he was the Outlaw Josey Wales or some such heartless character while we trudged up the butte. Marcus almost didn’t go, because the last time he went horseback riding, he was sore for a week. I’m not sure what was sore, due to his scrawny backside, but I probably didn’t need to point that out.
This very patient cowboy rode next to Rebecca most of the time, ready to catch her if/when she fell off. We were worried because she couldn’t quit cackling, no matter how serious the threat. I’m not sure how she held on, because she had to be weak from laughter. But she did.
Katherine made sure it was glaringly evident that we were city slickers, via her pie-plate earrings and huge sunglasses. If that wasn’t a tip-off, the kids filling out their questionnaires about how much riding experience they had would have done it. Did I mention they all cackled insanely during the questionnaire AND trying to mount their horses? (head shaking slowly)
We were all surprised to see a pronghorn cross our path when we headed back to the stable. Icing on the cake.
Watching Marcus pretend he was Clint Eastwood was pretty entertaining, but not as entertaining as “Annie, Get Your Gun.” The acting, the voices and the script were pure delight. Most of the actors came from North Carolina, and it looked like they put on a show every night of the summer. If we would have stayed longer, I would have been tempted to watch one of the other two musicals they were doing on alternate nights.
On Sunday morning, we wanted into Crawford, 2 miles away, and found the First Congregational Church. The pastor was a missionary from Utah, who felt called to minister in small communities who have no Biblical teaching. He was great! We felt humbled and encouraged that this man, and his family of 4 little girls, was preaching the gospel in Crawford. God is at work. Even in Crawford.
In our down time, Rebecca and I wandered around, enjoying the beautiful weather.
This is actually the road on the way to the tent campground. Like I said, alotta rain.
Maddie joined us one afternoon and made Mermaid Island.
We went on a scenic drive, where we viewed Fort Robinson’s own herd of buffalo. I know they are really bison, but everyone calls them buffalo.
I call them very large, and a bit intimidating.
Tag, anyone?
One of the only hiccups on the trip came from my inner voice escaping in Rebecca’s hearing. Marcus was taken by a lookout we had seen, and wanted to have a picnic at the spot. I had chicken thawed, and didn’t want to haul raw chicken up to the lookout, and try to cook it with no way to wash up anything. Bleh. But I said we’d go if Dad “really wanted to.” As soon as Dad walked up, Rebecca informed him Mom thought hauling raw chicken up to the lookout was really gross, but I’d do it for him. Thanks, Rebecca.
We made the most of it, by penning up Maddie in the gate around the picnic table. Not sure why picnic tables need protection. It was best not to be negative at this point, so I acted like it was natural.
Ashley tried to find her own seating, but found yuccas inhospitable.
The other hiccups came from cottonwood seeds.
We had to try not to inhale or swallow them. But the cottonwood trees surrounding us were majestic.
Oh, yeah. My point is that I really enjoyed our time at Fort Rob, and recommend it if you like history, musicals, buttes, bison, or horseback riding. The end.
P.S. I have many more bison pictures, but was advised not to put them all up.
Writer’s Block
June 17, 2009 at 2:39 am (I'm not sure what this has to do with anything.)
Warning:
I’m pressing through writer’s block, and have absolutely nothing worthwhile to say. But I’m leaving Friday, so I thought I should leave you with something. How about an interview?
Interviewer (IV, or Ivey): Why haven’t you blogged about anything compelling or interesting for a very long time?
Burdenofglory (Bog): I’ve been thinking a lot, but not anything I feel like writing about. I’ve also been thinking about ME a lot, which isn’t my favorite topic to write about.
Ivey: What is happening in the gardening department?
Bog: Since squash bugs annihilate every vining plant on the premises, I decided to plant Yukon Gold potatoes this year, and not give those nasty critters any fodder. The potato plants are 3 feet tall, and I found some pretty tasty morsels under them the other night to eat with roasted chicken and gravy.
Ivey: Those look tasty, minus the dirt.
Bog: Yes. After washing them, they slid down like buttah. An irrelevant sidenote is that the skins were so tender, I scrubbed them off with the dirt when I washed them.
Ivey: Have you grown potatoes before?
Bog: Yes. When I was pregnant with Maddie, I planted them. I remember digging all the potatoes up when I was horribly nauseous, crawling on my hands and knees in the dirt. Maybe that is why it has taken almost 14 years for me to plant them again.
Ivey: Oh, my. Perhaps another topic?
Bog: Certainly.
Ivey: Ashley finally finished her quarter at SCC. What is she doing with her time off?
Bog: Working for Marcus. They left at 7:00 am to install a kitchen yesterday. She could already be thinking school wasn’t really that bad. But probably not.
Ivey: All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.
Bog: She did have a cookie baking/nail polishing/dancing/Jane Austen movie extravaganza here the other night. Even with her work schedule, she manages to find a bit of time to socialize.
Ivey: I’ve heard rumors that Ashley actually received 2 speeding tickets under 24 hours yesterday. Is there any truth in these rumors? Or are they malicious lies?
Bog: Hmmm. I’m not sure I’m at liberty to disclose that information.
Ivey: I believe it is time to change the topic again.
Bog: Very observant.
Ivey: Reading any good books?
Bog: Oh, yes. I finished What Every Church Member Should Know About Poverty by Bill Ehlig and Ruby K. Payne, Ph.D. I agree with the title: we all should be reading this. Sample kinds of questions from Chapter 11 really struck me:
- How many one-on-one relationships were established with individuals from poverty?
- How many new faces were in your congregations in the past year?
- How many individuals were helped with the transition from poverty to work?
- What is the congregation’s long-range plan for working with the poor?
- What specific interventions were made in educating mothers in poverty?
God keeps teaching me more and more through reading and actually doing at the same time. Ten years ago this book would have been interesting; now it explains so much about the behaviors and worldviews of the girls I help minister to. This book may have finally convinced me I need to go to the Christian Community Development Association’s conference this fall. I actually told people I’d go with them; I can’t back out now.
I’m also reading a compilation of short stories by F. Scott Fitzgerald. I never was a fan of the short story, but I am of these. It is fun to read many of them and see patterns and similar characteristics in the main characters.
I’m taking a stack of books on vacation; we’ll see how many I actually consume.
Ivey: Vacation?
Bog: Yes. We’re going to Fort Robinson, then off to the Black Hills next week.
Ivey: Anything else you’d like to share before we close?
Bog: Since you asked, I consider my hydrangea bushes absolutely breathtaking. I’ve tried growing them before, but they are rather fickle, thumbing their noses at my clay soil and lack of abundant water. However, I’ve made many promises to these bushes. Water, mulch, and fertilizer in abundance. Hopefully they survive.
God’s handiwork constantly amazes me, and the field by our house is the current wonder. I finally braved the chiggers this evening to have a closer look:
Whoops. How did that get in there? There has been much ado about a popular blogger’s husband’s forearms. Honey, we ain’t too shabby in the forearm department around here, either. That’s all I have to say about that.
Ivey: Thank you for your time.
Bog: No problem. The pleasure was all mine.
Just plain hard
June 11, 2009 at 2:08 am (Children)
I am emerging from my Feeling-sorry-for-myself, pseudo-midlife-crisis phase. It began to set in as my oldest daughter showed bona fide signs of growing up when she started dating and talking about moving out at the end of the summer.
Huh?
Why is this a problem? Well, I’ve been trying to figure that out.
I know I am mourning our (my) life as we know it. My Little Women. All my British orphans with horrid British accents. All my pupils diligently (not) studying, either in front of the warm fire, or shivering in their rooms.
One of Ashley’s friends suggested that this was a downside of homeschooling. Homeschool parents just can’t let go, and want to keep controlling our children. Nice point. We didn’t have the kindergarten moment, and all the successive moments to help us lessen our grip. In my defense, I must add that Ashley and Katherine used to ride their bikes down the road and back, like I really was letting them go to school. Kidding aside, Ashley has many freedoms, like no curfew, to allow her to make good (and late) decisions, while under our roof. And for the most part, it has been good.
After our prayer meeting today, a dear kindred-spirit mommy hugged me (twice – I must look peaked). I told her I was better, but I had talked to other moms, and my mourning was not an isolated incident, but rather common. She told me we didn’t want our kids to make the same mistakes we did. (Amen) And even if they do make mistakes, God can use them for His good, just like He did in our lives. We want them to believe us when we say how hard things are when you go down “that” road. However, from God’s perspective, all is not lost, even when they stumble. We have the passion for certain ministries God has called us to, in part, because we made BIG mistakes, and can minister out of our brokenness. (I know. But my heart doesn’t want my kids to be broken, really.) You know what else she said? She said Ashley knows what is right. (This is true.)
Now, like never before, I have to trust God.
I have to trust God that even though this beautiful and incredibly fulfilling season of my life as a mommy who is needed 24/7 will pass, my purpose is not decimated. God has something equally extraordinary prepared for me in the future. It won’t look the same, but if I am serving Him wholeheartedly, it doesn’t matter. I don’t know what that is yet, but I think about it. Is it urban ministry? Loving my husband, children, and grandchildren faithfully, and being a light to younger families? When I look in our church at the Johnsons, who celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary, I know there is much more to come. And it is good. But it frightens me, because it won’t be the same. I feel comfortable with “the same.” “Unknown” is scary. I have to trust God with these unknowns.
So, dear first-born, I cannot promise I will always be The Rock, who is always strong for you, and always has it together. Once in a while, I may still get a bit damp in the eye, and my look will be distant, as if I was remembering something precious. But there is a growing part of me that looks forward to being the mother of an independent young woman. And a still smaller part of me, which wonders what God has in store for just me and Him.
What’s going on?
June 3, 2009 at 12:31 am (Family)
What’s going on in this picture?
A. Maddie and Marcus are comparing leg lengths. (Hinrichs girls, if you can help it, don’t marry a man with long legs, or your children will have no torsos.) Have you ever noticed that Marcus’ legs come up to my shoulders?
B. Marcus is comforting Maddie before he removes her appendix. Need to save money for college and weddings, you know.
C. Marcus is Maddie’s psychiatrist, and he charges her 25 cents an hour to hear all her 13-year-old angst.
D. Marcus and Maddie are looking at the clouds, seeing what their shapes remind them of.
Hint:
Tired
June 3, 2009 at 12:18 am (Children)
OK. I’ve been tired. Sleeping seems to be optional lately, from my body’s point of view. Saturday I noticed that other people in my family are exhausted, too.
Watching the swing dance Friday night (fantastic, by the way), going to archery camp from 8 – 3 on Saturday, and cleaning up for the next graduation bash was the limit for Rebecca.
When Maddie ran to tell me Rebecca fell asleep in the tub, my first response was horror, thinking she had drowned. However, she had the foresight to drain the water and wrap up in a towel before conking out. Whew.
Music
May 31, 2009 at 3:39 am (Children)
As if you didn’t have enough music recitals of your own. Sorry. I’m shameless. But Maddie devised her own song this semester, and her teacher let her play it at her recital. Even though she had a fever, she brought the house down.
I love hearing the girls practicing in the house. I may have to take up piano myself when no one is left to practice.
It is a bit quiet at first, so if you really want to hear it, hang in there:
Memorial Day
May 26, 2009 at 12:30 am (Family)
I actually did write other blog entries this week, but they remain in the unpublished file. They pretty much lament the fact that Ashley is growing up, I’m not getting any younger, and pretty soon no one will need me anymore. Blah.
It’s a good thing Marcus planned a Memorial Day outing, to give me some perspective.
First we went to Wyuka. They have a service at 9:00am every Memorial Day. A parade, complete with bag-pipes, marches through the cemetery to start things off. Those bag-pipes always get to me.
We say the Pledge of Allegiance, someone sings “The Star-Spangled Banner,” and there is always a speaker. The speaker is usually a veteran, and explains to us why freedom isn’t free. Two years ago a soldier from Afghanistan told us the media does not reflect the reality of what is really going on, and newspapers are bad for the soldiers’ morale. He told us how important their work was over there. It was really good to hear that. Today a general told us to teach our children about the sacrifices made for our nation. Because if a generation doesn’t have to pay anything for their freedom, they won’t appreciate it. He is right. Humans have a way of forgetting their blessings.
Later in the ceremony, people line up to put up wreaths to honor dead soldiers. This is a extremely moving. Many people in the line must be assisted, since they are elderly. A Vietnam vet always brings a rifle, a pair of muddy boots, and a helmet to lay down at the memorial. When he salutes it, there isn’t a dry eye in the place.
Finally, balloons are released, “Taps” is played, and there is usually a flyover (not today). Very cool. We are always glad we went.
After the service, we all met at Woods Park to play softball.
Don’t you love how Maddie hops onto home plate?
Then off to Aunt Rachel’s house for a picnic. Cooper enjoyed the watermelon, and we enjoyed watching Cooper enjoy watermelon.
The baby robins in Rachel’s tree wanted to picnic, too. We had a lot of food, but no one remembered the regurgitated worms.
Driving home in the Chevelle is usually an adventure, but not enough to keep anyone awake in the backseat.
Happy Memorial Day.
Thirteen: The Celebration
May 17, 2009 at 4:00 pm (Children)
Alfredo sauce, focaccia bread, strawberry-spinach salad, and lemonade.
Uncle Luther and Aunt Angie.
Ashley and Maddie.
Good thing Marcus built this table for 16.
Columbine, allium, and Maddie.
Grandmas.
Hilarious one-bounce volleyball.
Maddie, Tori, apple crisp and homemade vanilla ice cream.
Marcus trying out Maddie’s new birthday bike.
Later…
When everyone besides the overnight cousins left, Marcus watched Pirates of the Caribbean 2 with the girls. This morning he asked Maddie and Tori what the heck that movie was about, and stated that he would have to watch five movies to cleanse himself from the neural damage the movie had wrought. Besides that, a great time was had by all.
Thirteen
May 17, 2009 at 3:21 pm (Children)
When you were a wee little babe, Mommy sang this to you:
Maddie-poo
We love you
With a love so rare and true.
Oh, Maddie,
Our Maddie -poo-oo-oo.
Oh, we love you girl, yes, we love you Maddie-poo. (Please sing to the tune of Peggy Sue.)
When you were born you had hair like Elvis, thick and dark. The nurse who bathed you in the hospital took forever styling your hair, and gave you a duck-tail. I remember feeling frustrated, wondering when it was my turn to hold the baby.
When you learned to talk, you sounded like an elf. I remember Kelli wishing you would stop having birthdays, knowing you probably couldn’t continue elfspeak much longer. You didn’t, and I miss it a little.
You were so content, and a smile lit up your face much of the time.
You have never really minded your own company. You used to pretend to read books or play by yourself for hours. Now, even if we have company, you sometimes disappear to quietly work on a project in your room.
You are the maker of Grandma Maggie’s chocolate chip cookies, and eater of copious amounts of dough.
You see beauty and wonder in so many places, places I forget to look now that I’m a Responsible Adult.
You have watched so many westerns with Dad. How many times have you watched War Wagon?
I am so grateful that you understand God’s grace so thoroughly. You told me that you had wanted to be a medical missionary several months ago. Recently, you said you used to worry about going to hell, and had thought that being a missionary could help you get to heaven. However, now that you understand works don’t get you to heaven, you’ll just be an artist.
Happy birthday, dear girl. We love you.
