Tag Archives: photography

It’s summer now…

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It’s summer now and the days are long, the sun moving slowly across the sky and hanging at the edge of the earth for stretched out moments, giving us a chance to put our hands on our hips and say “what a perfect night.”

It’s summer now and before dark officially falls we ride to the hill tops and then down through the cool draws where the shade and the grass and the creek bed always keep a cool spot for us.

Because it’s summer now and things are warming up. The leaves are out and so are the wildflowers, stretching and blooming and taking in the fleeting weather.

It’s summer now and the cows are home…

and so is Husband, home before the sun sets. Home to get on a horse and find Pops and ride fence lines.

It’s summer now and the dogs’ tongues hang out while they make their way to the spot of shade on the gravel where the truck is parked. They are panting. They are smiling. They just got in from a swim.

Because it’s summer now and the water where the slick-backed horses drink, twitching and swiping their tails at flies, is warm and rippling behind the oars of the water bugs, the paddle of duck’s feet, the leap of a frog and the dunk of a beaver’s escape.

It’s summer now and we keep the windows open so even when we’re inside we’re not really inside.

We can’t be inside.


Because it’s summer now and there’s work to be done. We say this as we stand leaning up against a fence post, thinking maybe if we finish the chores we could squeeze in time for fishing.

Because it’s summer and we heard they’re biting.

Yes, it’s summer and we should mow the grass before the clouds bring the thunderstorm that will wake us in the early morning hours of the next day. And it’s summer so we will lay there with the windows open listening to it roll and crack, feeling how the electricity makes our hearts thump and the air damp on our skin. Maybe we will sleep again, maybe we’ll rise to stand by the window and watch the lightening strike and wonder where this beautiful and mysterious season comes from.

And why, like the storm, it’s always just passing through.

Little Man, right before our eyes…

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This is what Little Man does when he comes out to the ranch.

Little Man is my nephew, for those of you who just got on board here at Meanwhile. He’s my little big sister’s first and only son, our first and only nephew and the first and only grandkid, so, well, you know, his life’s rough.

This is what he used to look like before he grew up into a little boy who thinks he’s big enough to drive 4-wheelers.







Right before our very eyes! How did that happen?

Anyway, see that there? That’s him looking for the key to start up the machine. He knows we hid it from him.

We hid it from him because we knew if found it he would surely drive off over the hill with the puppy on his tail, flying fast, shifting gears, ramping rocks and cliffs and screaming through creeks and puddles.

He’s got an adventurous and mechanical mind.

He’s got overachieving coordination, just the kind you need to manage things like computers and iPads and lawnmowers and 4-wheelers.

He’s got an obsession.

I swear, he could sit on this thing for hours, and that says something, you know, for a two year old with an attention span of, well, a two year old.

That damn 4-wheeler, it’s one of a thousand tools Papa has to win his spot as Little Man’s favorite. It also helps that he has horses, a garden full of dirt, a really loud and funny monster impression, patience and a general willingness to allow Little Man to do whatever he wants.


Good thing Gram has fruit snacks or she wouldn’t stand a chance.

I know how she feels. I mean, Papa and Little Man are downright inseparable. When they’re together not one other thing exists in the whole entire world.

Except maybe the movie Despicable Me. Little Man loves Despicable Me, so I guess Gramma has that going for her too. It’s possible Papa could be ignored if she were to turn on Despicable Me.

But say the words “4-wheeler” or “horses” and all bets are off.

And that’s that.

So you see, if I don’t steal Little Man away from Papa when he comes out to the ranch, if I don’t bribe him with pug kisses and string cheese we wouldn’t get to bond over reading books, throwing the stick for the lab and playing “Hook” with the kitchen utensils.

Playing “Hook” means playing “Captain Hook” and that means playing swords.

Turns out my hamburger masher is a perfect sword.

So is my ladle.

I love Little Man. He’s such a cute little weirdo.

Now, if only Papa would go on vacation and his mom would let me keep him, I’d have everything I ever need 🙂

Just a short vacation Pops, you know, take that 4-wheeler and go fishing or something…

The evolution of a season.

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It’s another rainy, windy afternoon at the ranch. It seems like once the sky decided to open up it just can’t stop. It feels like March when the sky wouldn’t stop snowing. It feels like this spring has been finicky and harsh and extreme and it has enjoyed every minute it has kept me waiting.

Waiting for the snow to stop.

Waiting for the sun to shine.

Waiting for the rain to come.

Waiting for it to stop raining.

Waiting on the sun to shine.

I know there will be a time this summer where the dust will blow again and we will pray for a bit of relief from the heat and the dry, but where I come from there is not a balance.

There is only extreme.

Extremely cold.

Extremely windy.

Wind

Extremely hot.

Extremely green.

Extremely wet.

Extremely dry.

Extremely perfectly beautiful.

Some days I feel like the weather. These days especially. The windows have been streaked with rain for a few weeks and I have been suffering from a weird sort of lingering head cold that refuses to break up and leave like the damn rain.

I’ve been working hard to ignore it, to say the rain will clear and I will feel better, but today I submitted. I stayed home under a blanket to watch it fall.

I’ll feel better tomorrow.

Head cold or no head cold, it seems I’m always so affected by the seasons and how they change, like the weather and my mood hold hands to greet the day accordingly.

Which makes me wonder how annoyingly bright-sided I’d be if I lived in the sunny, 70 degree climate of southern California.

It sounds nice right now, the sun.

But I think the constant change of seasons help me and what my husband refers to as my “restless spirit.” He says it’s hard for me to sit in one place. It’s hard for me to be comfortable in routine.

He says it’s good for me to have all this space to wander out here.

Maybe he’s right and maybe it’s hard to understand how a girl can be so rooted and so restless.

But it’s no worry to me really. I know where I belong out here, changing with the weather.

Evolving with the season.









The living room sessions

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Maybe
Jessie Veeder Living Room Session
Listen Here:

Maybe we’re supposed to be brave
I don’t know what we are but we’re not made that way
We’re meant to be broken, put together, then saved
Maybe we’re supposed to be brave

Maybe we’re supposed to hold on
when it’s hard to admit it’s gone when it’s gone
In the bright light of morning we’ll be glad we were strong
Maybe we’re supposed to hold on

If love’s not for sinners who is it for?
If luck’s not for hard times who’s keeping score?
I used to know better, I don’t anymore
These mountains we’re climbing lead to the shore

Maybe we’re not supposed to know
every leaf on the tree
every last flake of snow
Because we’re just like the wind, how we come and we go
Maybe we’re not supposed to know

Our hearts can be broken our lives can be saved
In bodies too heavy to just fly away
There’s things that I know and things that I should
Maybe we’re just supposed to be good

Maybe what we have is enough
stop fixing and fighting to own all this stuff
We were meant to be brave, to hold on and give up
For sinners like us, what we have is enough

A summer list…

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Summer is looming and North Dakotans everywhere are tuning up their tillers and mowers, digging out lawn chairs, filling coolers, firing up grills, fixing fences, plotting out garden space, cutting up watermelon and making plans to take advantage of our favorite season as we monitor the growth of green grass and the buds on the trees…

Yes, summer is coming and summer is short. We all know it. We know only have three whole sunshiny months to cram in as many sunshiny activities as possible. It’s a frantic thought, but a fun frantic thought, one that includes fishing, lake swimming, fireworks, deck sitting, margaritas, fresh garden tomatoes and getting some chores done while working on our tans.

And I know I’m not the only one who has a summer list floating around in my head, one that has been discussed all winter as a sort of spirit lifting promise to myself:

“This summer we’ll work on getting the boat fixed.”

“This summer I’ll wear that dress.”

“This summer I’ll be in shape. Like Jillian Michaels shape. Might even start on that marathon thing I’ve been talking about. What? I haven’t mentioned the marathon?”

“This summer I’m planting pumpkins.”

“This summer I think I’ll get a few pigs. Yeah. No big deal. Bacon. You like bacon right? Yeah. I think I’ll raise some bacon this summer.”

“This summer we’ll get the deck built and the garage up and the fences fixed and the barn redone and the old garage tore down and the junk pile cleaned up…”

Wait…that’s not where I wanted this to go.

No. No. North Dakotans get the month of  May to do the dreaming, and that’s really my point here. We get May to make plans. And while the leaves on the trees work on budding, the wildflowers make their way out of the dirt,  the sun works on warming the horses’ backs and the wind takes away their wooly coats we buy brats to cook on the grill, grab a beer, pull our short shorts out of the back of the closet and blind the world with our pale legs while we say “gosh, it’s so nice out. It’s so beautiful. Summer’s coming, I mean, look at that, it’s already 55 degrees!”

And we sit like that, in a sort of beer and sun induced summer illusion where woodticks don’t exist, and neither does that fencing project, every day is 70 + degrees, we don’t have a tiling project and we have all the time in the world to plan our fishing trip.

And refine our summer list.

So here’s mine:

1) Wear colors. Every color. On my toenails. On my fingernails. Around my neck. On my head. Enough with the black. It’s summer. Wear orange or something.

2) And while I’m at it I’m gonna wear my swimming suit, my whole collection accumulated over years of the sort of wishful thinking you experience while sitting on the couch with a bag of chips in the middle of a blizzard thumbing through the Victoria’s Secret catalog . Because really, I don’t get to wear them too often, you know, with all the snow and that whole delusional thing. But screw it,  I think I’ll wear the shit out of them this summer: while I’m digging in the garden, chasing cows, searching for wildflowers, feeding those pigs, cutting up limes for my margarita and reading my magazines on the deck…shit…

3) We’ve got to build that deck.

But once that deck is built, I have plans to:

4) Make dinner a picnic.  If the sun is shining and the wind isn’t threatening to blow away my burgers, I am going to eat my meals outside under the big blue sky.

Campsite Grilling

Because everyone knows food tastes better this way. And so do margaritas.

5) Did I mention margaritas? Yeah. Margaritas.

6) Oh, and we have kayaks. Remember? They’re just sitting in that old garage we need to tear down. This summer I’m using those kayaks. I don’t care if it’s on the dam outside our house, I’m kayaking. I am.

7) But if I happen to make it to a lake with that kayak, I am not wading in like a wussy. I am going to jump in with enthusiasm, screaming at the top of my lungs.  This summer  I will do this every time I’m given the chance.

Pug's version of swimming

8) I will also keep a fresh bouquet of wildflowers on my table at all times. Currently in season: The crocus

9) And  I will sleep with my bedroom windows open so I can fall asleep to the croaking of the frogs

10) And I will sweat. It will be hot and I will sweat and I won’t apologize for it. Because sweating is better than freezing. At least if you ask me. Little Sister might disagree.

So yes, I will welcome the sweat as I’m

11) Riding my favorite bay horse through pastures of sweet clover

12) Helping Pops and Husband dig post holes

13) Climbing to the hill tops to catch thunderheads rolling through a pink sunset

14) Following a deer trail through the thick trees to a juneberry, chokecherry or raspberry bush

15) Planting corn and peas and tomatoes and cucumbers and carrots and beans and radishes and pumpkins, watering them, weeding them, picking them and serving them up fresh and delicious with a margarita on my deck in my bright orange swimming suit after a long day of kayaking under the big, blue, beautiful summer sky we’ve all been dreaming of.

So what’s on your summer list?

Crocuses and how it could keep getting better…

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It’s officially crocus season, and that’s good news out here on the edge of the badlands where we’ve all been patiently waiting for them to arrive, as if the blooming of the first flower gives us permission to pack away our sweaters and pull out the short sleeves.

Well, that’s what I did anyway. I made a mountain out of the sweaters shoved in my closet. I pulled them out ceremoniously flinging them to the floor, purging my room of winter before I stood back and seriously contemplated throwing them out the window and lighting a match on the whole damn pile.

But that would have been crazy, and, well, let’s be honest, I’ll need them again in a few short months. Anyway, I didn’t have time for that. Little Sister was coming over and she had plans to soak up the sunshine and I had plans to procrastinate painting the bathroom.

So we grabbed our cameras and the herd of dogs…

One…

Two…

Three…

Four.

and went climbing around, scouring the ground for the purple flower.


Turns out we didn’t have to go far.





When you become familiar with a place in all of it’s seasons, you memorize where the crocuses bloom in the spring, where to go to pick chokecherries and raspberries in the summer, and to always, no matter the season, watch out for cactus.

We know these places because prairie people like us have vivid memories of hunting for crocuses with our grandmother, sisters, mothers or fathers, bending over to pull them from the tangle of brown grass while the warm spring wind picked up the loose hair that escaped from our ponytails.

I’ve been living back at the ranch for three springs and I will be here for the rest of the springs I am given. I will never forget what it felt like to climb to that hilltop and pick the first crocus of the year as I stood with my husband we looked down at our home.

And we were happy to be together, happy for summer to arrive and happy to stand on that hill for a moment that we were sure couldn’t get much better from here.

Then my Little Sister moved to our hometown and now the whole family is together and close and on Monday mornings I can expect a call asking me what I’m doing this weekend. Because my Little Sister plans ahead and I’m glad to be consulted on those plans.

So Saturday’s plans made room for crocus hunting in the warm sunshine next to a girl who used to follow me on my after school walks up the creek to my fort. I used to wish she would leave me alone then. I used to holler at her to stop following me and when we came in the house crying and fighting, our mom would promise us that someday, we would be best friends.

Funny how moms are usually, most likely, pretty much, always exactly right.

Funny how some things change, but I still haven’t mastered the art of convincing Little Sister to help me with my chores…like, oh, you know, painting the bathroom.

Funny how she still doesn’t listen to me.

Funny how the crocuses bloom on the same hill every year and someday we might have a chance to watch our own children run to the top and pick us a purple bloom.

Funny how it could possibly keep getting better.

A walk.

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In honor of spring and the wind and the sun and the green grass poking up around us, I would like to take you along on my favorite trail, the one that leads to the east pasture from our house, up along the buffalo fence, to the top of a rocky cliff and then down again to the stock dam and back toward home.

Next week this walk will be a little bit greener, a little bit warmer and, hopefully, I’ll find some crocuses.

Next week maybe I’ll leave the damn dogs at home so they don’t scare away the wildlife with their slobbering, panting, running, and puking.

I guess that’s what happens when you run at full speed after a duck, ignoring the screams from your owner to come back.

That’s what you get when you try out your instincts after seven months of lounging.

It’s been a long winter.

I would have puked too.

Anyway, I hope the sun is shining wherever you are and you have the chance to explore your favorite spot this weekend.

Now, off we go…

Sorry weird cat, you gotta stay home…

























Take a breath. Take a walk. Take a break. Take some time.

Happy, happy weekend.

Our geese.

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Our summer guests showed up this morning. I heard them honking when I woke up, but I didn’t think it was them. I thought it was another flock flying over, looking for the river, the neighbor’s stock dam or the big lakes east of us.

But the honking persisted.

So I got up from my desk to look out the window and up at the sky where there were no geese, just blue and I thought I’d  gone crazy.

It was possible, seven months of winter will do that to a woman.

I sat back down with my coffee and heard Husband call from the kitchen where he stood with his face plastered to the sliding glass door.

“Look down there,” he said, pointing to a patch of brown earth below the house.

“The geese are back.”

And so they were.

The geese.

Our geese, who spend the summer floating and canoodling with the pair of ducks in the stock dam outside our window.

The sight of those big, lanky birds walking around and honking between the snow banks was a welcome sight. We had been waiting for them to show up, as if their appearance solidified what is still quite unbelievable to us.

Summer is coming.

Summer is coming.

Summer is coming.

And just like spring, I would have loved to welcome this couple a bit sooner, but they know what they’re doing.

This isn’t the pair’s first trip back North. It isn’t their first spring together.

And had they arrived Monday they would have come home to this.

But they didn’t. They arrived on a day that turned into sixty degrees. A day I imagined they spent getting reacquainted with the place and showing the third guy around.

I’ve never seen a third goose. I wonder if he’ll stay?

Husband and I opened the door to let in the sunny morning air and watched as the familiar animals waddled and honked and moved closer to the house. We laughed as the pug stood stoic and protective outside the door, contemplating the size, shape and strength of the intruders before deciding to retreat.

We wondered what the hell our bird dog was doing in a time of such an invasion?

We said we loved these geese and were glad they were home.

We said, it’s nice to see them isn’t it?

We said, isn’t it amazing that they keep coming home?

We said we were glad they were still together.

And then we turned away from the window, back to work,  back to life and into another season together.

How spring is springing. Contest Alert!

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It seems I woke up today to find that my positive attitude about all of this snow storm bullshit has melted away.

Unlike the snow itself.

No, that snow is not melting any time soon. In fact, it’s settled in nice and compact and crusty on the top of my car, which I attempted to dig out of the icy, hard snow this morning on my quest to get to town.

But, as most simple tasks go around here, it didn’t happen without a fight. Nope. Even after letting the defrost do its thing for a good twenty-five minutes I had to attack the three foot snow drift on my windshield with the power and might of Wonder Woman if Wonder Woman’s weapon of choice was an ice scraper.

Which it is not. I guess I’m not sure what Wonder Woman uses to combat evil, but it has to be something besides her leotard…wait…I’m  Googling it…

en.wikipedia.org

Oh, look at that, it’s the Lasso of Truth.
And indestructible bracelets.
And, of course, her tiara.

But since the snowdrift wasn’t lying about making my morning difficult and beating the car or throwing a fancy but dangerous  piece of jewelry at the thing wasn’t going to help me with the task at hand, I summoned, unsuccessfully, the aid of the Hulk instead.

But he must have been busy trying to control his uncontrollable rage, something that coincidentally I was practicing at the moment as well, so I was on my own.

On my own with the windshield wipers and my ice scraper as I freed myself from the drift and headed up the icy hills sending snow chunks flinging off my car in every direction, just rolling down the highway like Cruella DeVille.

And then I heard on the radio that it’s supposed to snow this weekend.

And then I screamed: Waaaahhhhhh!!!!!

Screen shot 2013-04-17 at 4.14.12 PM

So, to make myself feel better I decided it’s time for another contest ya’ll (Yes, I’m bringing ya’ll to the North Country…maybe it will make us warmer).

I know there are a few of you out there who are living in much warmer climates. Climates that are actually accommodating and welcoming green things by now.

I want to see them.

But most of all, I want to see what spring is doing in other parts of the world.

So whether it’s blossoming or blowing snow,  whether you live in the North Pole or down in the heated heart of Texas where, unlike me, they actually pull the whole “ya’ll” thing off, I want to see your photos!

Here’s how it works. 

  • Visit Meanwhile’s Facebook Page www.facebook.com/veederranch and share your Spring 2013 photo on my wall. (you may also shoot me an email at jessieveeder@gmail.com)
  • Tell me where you live and how your spring is shaping up and Husband and I will take a look and pick a winner.
  • I will share all of your spring photos on Monday’s blog and our favorite submission will win a copy of my CD, “Nothing’s Forever” and a matted print of my favorite spring photo. 

Let the games begin!

Peace, love and  lilacs already!

Jessie

Close up!

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I’m obsessed with observing. I could sit on the top of a hill in the spring and listen to the wind, watch the bugs come to life and inspect the ground for any sign of green for hours. I’ve been known to do it.I’m also known for bringing my camera every where I go, another little obsession and one my family and husband don’t always appreciate, but will thank me for when they are old and gray and trying to remember where they put the glasses they have dangling around their necks or pushed up on their heads.

I will show them these photos and remind them how young and beautiful they used to be.

And they will love me for it.

Anyway, on Tuesday a little treasure I’ve been pining for for a few years showed up in the mail, and I was like a kid on Christmas, rushing to get home so I could try it out.

A few years ago I wouldn’t have guessed that something like a camera lens would provide me such joy, but there I was, running around the countryside, putting my nose near the dirt next to an acorn, squatting down to inspect the mud, leaning in to see what that horse hair looks like dangling from the  barbed wire, because now, with this new little miracle piece of equipment, I was able to capture it.Because I’ve always been fascinated with the way our world looks close up. I generally don’t care so much for bugs, but when a photographer can show me the sparkle of their wings or the dynamics of their eyes, I suddenly think flies are beautiful.

So when my lens arrived I went on an all out mission to find a some sort of living, flying thing out there so I could test my macro-photography skills.

Little did I know that the only living insect in North Dakota was currently coming back to life in the windowsill of my bedroom.

But that’s ok. I needed practice on non-moving things before I moved on to tiny, living things that move really really fast.Taking a look and seeing the familiar a little bit differently is a nice little adventure.  And so I relished it a bit because I knew what was waiting for me when I got inside involved mortar and holding heavy things.

So here’s what our world looks like right now up close.

Green grass,and mud,and barbed wire,and horse hair,and left-over flowers,and rocks,and lots of brown things.



And although my little sister, who once declared brown as her favorite color because she felt sorry for it, would commend me for finding the beauty in the mud, I just really can’t wait for wildflower season.

And I really can’t wait for this house to be done.

So if you need me, I’ll be avoiding it and out looking for some color.