View From a Prairie Home

by Hege Hernfindahl, Columnist

I sit here at my desk. I put my desk in front of the window so I could overlook the prairie. No houses or cars block my view. There is nature. Only nature. My dear husband seeded the prairie behind our house to rye last year, because we need a cover crop to prevent dirt blowing in the ever present prairie winds. The whole landscape is a vibrant, deep green. The prairie and the lawn. The birch next to my window has tiny leaves; my mother used to call them tiny mice ears.

Mornings. My favorite time of the day. When I am awake and the world is still. When the busyness of the day has not yet interfered with my mind. When my feelings are not muddled. When I can be alone. A new day. God made it. It is bound to be good. A day can be good, even when tears well up. So many deaths. So much tragedy.

Life can end in an instant. Two people driving down the road near their home. I don’t know if they were talking or being silent. They had been married for almost 50 years and must have been comfortable with silence. I knew them from church. She was a talker and he was the silent one, but I am sure when they were alone, they would both talk. Or be silent. They were driving home from a meeting in Willmar on familiar roads and before dark. I don’t even think the sun was low enough in the sky to interfere with their driving. Anyway, it wouldn’t have mattered. They collided with a car coming from the opposite direction and were both killed.

I was told the next day. I know that about the time they were killed, I had been messaging her about a church issue we both were involved with. After she was killed, I realized she had messaged me not long before her fateful drive. Our issue about making sure all our past pastors have a portrait on the wall of our church seemed trite now. In the midst of such a huge tragedy. They were the anchors of their family with three adult sons and grandchildren that they frequently cared for. Joyce was also a faithful Sunday school teacher with a knack for connecting with kids. She had taught Sunday school for over thirty years. A big hole left behind.

I know how fast death can interrupt a life. A life that we often take for granted. The life God had given us can be torn from us in a minute and there is no yoga, exercise, special diet and games-to-improve-your-mind to prevent us from being hit by a car or any other calamity that will tear your life away and change the lives of all the people who love you in an instant.

“Seize the day.” “Carpe diem.” “Live like you will die tomorrow.” There are many more ways to urge us to live with purpose and open eyes. To not let the mistakes we made yesterday and the regrets we have destroy our days. To not worry so much about what is to come that we can’t enjoy the moment.

But it’s not easy to do. Personally, I have struggled with worries about losing more family members after losing both Erland and Patrick suddenly at 42. “What if…” I think and I seem to have a hard time stopping myself. I also tend to think back and lament my lack of enjoying life when our family was whole. And the moments tick by and I am unaware.

But then, I walk outside. My tulips, now blooming all over thanks to my dear brother-in-law who came last fall and planted a multitude, nod their heads at me in the gentle spring breeze. The earth smells fresh with new life. The male goldfinches have changed color and fly back and forth, their feathers gleaming in the spring sunshine. And I raise my face to the warm spring sunshine and thank God for spring with life returning after a long winter. And for this day.