Some of you have asked what it was like growing up in a blowaway town on the High Plains.  This is what a typical Sunday was like:


After getting dressed up in Sunday whites it was off to church first thing.IMG_0061The priest tried to keep people awake but his sermons never got anyone excited.IMG_0032After church  Lena our neighbor to the north would come to visit.  Lena was always in good spirits.  She’d stay for a while and then go visit other people.IMG_0018IMG_0019Dad put up a feeder so when we stood at the kitchen sink we could birdwatch.  We had a guidebook but sometimes the birds came and went so fast IMG_0053we weren’t able to identify conclusively.  Also the guidebook was often vague and unhelpful.IMG_0038  Sunday nap was almost as sacred as Sunday Mass.IMG_0034 In late afternoon we would take a drive and look at the wheat.  By late May  some was already turning ripe IMG_0046though often a lot was still green and was beautiful swaying in the wind.  IMG_0029IMG_0064We’d get home in early in case the relatives came for a visit.IMG_0059Everyone played cards, pitch or pinochle, sometimes poker, and went home before midnight.    IMG_0049

Sometimes I get nostalgic for those Sundays,  forgetting how tedious they really were.  I suppose I’m getting old.IMG_0071



  1. Louis Bixenman

    It gives me a new appreciation for graphic novels!

  2. I used to dread those occasional Sunday visits to my dad’s people in central Illinois. The parlor smelling of Uncle Rein’s cigars. The state of the corn crop. The only family still there–my gay cousin who returned from an adventure abroad, told his mother who he was, and promised never “to act on it.”

  3. As I sit here on Sunday morning, I do recall those days, but I don’t remember the birds looking quite like that. These are more colorful than the western meadowlark or the red-winged blackbird.

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