I didn’t start here on a ranch in western Dakota, I was a city girl through and through, and this time of year, more than any other, I still can’t believe where I’ve landed. A place so full of ancient truths, the circle of life always turning, and me just one small spoke in the wheel. Living here, it is easy to see why this season has a holiday devoted to all things spooky, and one devoted to gratitude. There is much to be thankful for, but it is also a time of transition. The soft brush of fallen leaves on the path, the ghosts of summer grass in the field.
Recently out for a walk around the pasture in the early evening, I heard the distant honk of geese, then spotted a red-tailed hawk, circling higher and higher, till she was just a dark speck reaching with two broad arms against the crimson and gold of dusk. I stopped for a moment, and stretched my hands up, my fingers spread wide, thankful, to be another wild thing in this wild place.
In the spring, on our ranch, we are busy bringing calves and lambs earthside, sowing seeds, welcoming back sun and warmth. In the summer, we labor in the light and heat. Now, some of the animals we’ve cared for become food for our table, as do the fruits of the seeds we’ve sown. Things grow quieter as the birds leave on their long journeys south, and leaves, berries, and grasses begin their return to the soil. It is a time, more than anything else, for introspection.
For some reason, this season also my brings out my fretful, puttering habits of mind. They seem to increase with the shortening days. I find myself worrying more, the muscles of my memory fretting over all the things left undone on the ranch, but the stories I write leave a trail, so I can find my way back to the beauty of this season on the prairie. Plus, there are the chores that shift with the seasons as well, the necessary mundane, the small details of daily life that need my consideration. And below all else, the vast silence of the plains, where I am called back to my own wildness with an invitation to welcome the stillness in.
Overhead the hawk calls out again, and circles down, looking for a place to land. What is there, finally, to write about, but the wheel of life, and the way it keeps turning. The sun setting in a ring of rosy fire, and then rising up once again.
Eliza Blue is a South Dakota writer, folk-singer, and multi-instrumentalist. In addition to her weekly column, which is carried by five different print publications, she is a regular contributor to South Dakota Public Radio with her monthly series: "Postcards from the Prairie."
In addition to her writing, Eliza tours and performs as a singer-songwriter, as well as with fellow songwriter and banjoist, Jami Lynn, in the folk duo, "The Nesters."
After being an urbanite for most of her life, Eliza now resides with her sweetheart and their two children, in Perkins County, South Dakota, herding sheep, & raising chickens. To hear her music, or find out where she will be performing, please visit www.elizabluemusic.com