Prairie Blog
My Heaven.
Daily, I step onto the land with an expansive view beneath an endless sky limited only by the changing light, weather, and seasons. I share slices of life unfolding on the prairie—reflections about its people, the wildlife, and untamed nature.
Dad’s Anniversary.
W. Reynold Brown On August 24, 1991, my father, W. Reynold Brown, died in West Nebraska. His remains are buried in the prairie cemetery near his home. I dislike using the word “died” because the accepted euphemisms conjure the same limited thoughts. Passed. Expired. Perished. End.
A Great Surprise
I have been sitting on this news for over a month. July 22, 2023, Cynthia Springs, author of her Greater Reality trilogy, called in excitement, “Book Three, Seven Stories To Light the Way Home, is out on Amazon, and your writing is featured.” “You’re published!”
Our Daily Bread
It’s Wheat Harvest Season. This may be my favorite time of the year –or one of many. Checking the wheat for harvest. It has been a difficult wait for the grain to mature. This summer brought lots of rain, and the grain slowly matured. Finally,
June came and now…. GONE!
Wet, Wild, and Wonderful. June came through here fast and furious with all the furor Nature could bring. Inches of rain poured down upon the land. Wheat, alfalfa, and pasture grasses drank up the moisture as fast as she could send it. We have been
Dentist, Cicada and Me
I looked like a mess. My shirt was thoroughly wrinkled, and my hair stuck out in every direction, but I went out the door looking like this anyway. My 4×4 TrailBlazer, well, that, too, needed to be washed. Several inches of mud coated the inside
Life on The Edge
I live on The Edge. My home is on the edge —where the prairie meets the forest. Here, the Sandhills border farmlands. Wildlife and domestic cross along the same game trails. I climb to the top of the sandstone buttes behind my home. There, I
The Cowboy and the Farmgirl
Since spring is happening on the prairie, it is also in young men and women’s hearts and thoughts. It is hard to find a partner when there are more cows than people. Most of the time is spent riding fence lines or planting for the
Mariah
Nearly every day, I listen to Mariah. Her voice — constant, from a light breeze to a fierce energy-pummeling force. She carries dust, dirt, snow, and rain; occasionally, she lightly drifts in with the softest of whispers, gently stroking the prairie grasses along her path.
Moon of the Pinks
On this full moon, I am entering a new phase of joy. I never thought that life could get better, yet it does. This moon is about opening a door, the tent flap, or a teepee’s buckskin entry and letting the air blow through, carrying