Thankful for Kansas on its birthday

Facebook is full of Kansans extolling the beauty of Kansas, mostly from the standpoint of defending it from the perception of it being a through state rather than a destination. 

Since I do love Kansas, I spent my writing time today thinking about it

I find Kansas beautiful.

When Chuck and I take winter trips to the coast we make a point of watching sunrises and sunsets over the ocean (depending on which coast).

 

I find myself realizing that I take those so for granted at home. Living on a farm, I have both just outside my window twice a day. In summer I have to leave the house to see them well because the sun sets far enough north that the trees and farm outbuildings block the view of the horizon.

Sometimes when I take Harvey out for his morning relief, I go only intending to stay as long as necessary. Then the colors of the sky catch me up and I grab my coat and gloves for a longer walk that includes a quiet wait while the sun crests the horizon.

What is it about that moment when the light arrives into the sky? or the instant when it leaves at the end of the day? There is the anticipation of the colors,

 and then the flash of just an edge of brilliance,

 

 and then it seems almost holy and outside the confinement of time and space. It rises and the progress of the sun is visible as it edges over the horizon. At the end of the day again the colors appear, and then the sinking of the sun, and then...if there are any clouds at all, an intensifying of the colors as the sun's final rays have their last hurrah before nightfall.

Kansas has a quiet beauty that is so different from the mountains or waterfalls or towering forests that we usually think of when we talk of the beauty of nature.

It's akin to the single candle burning on a table adorned by wildflowers in a quiet room instead of the cathedral with frescoes and stained glass windows. 

It is the hug of a friend instead of the adulation of a crowd. 

 

It is opening myself to see what is here instead of being knocked over by the grandeur. 

It is mindfulness instead of drama. 

It is terere with friends on the front porch on a hot day instead of amusement park rides. 

It is my hands in the dirt and eating vegetables for supper that were harvested that morning instead of wine and gourmet cuisine.

 

 The point is that all of these things have their place. 

I don't want a world without cathedrals or amusement parks or gourmet food...or without mountains and canyons and waterfalls and forests. But I will continue to cherish the everyday sunrise/sunset tall grass prairie beauty that is as calming as a lit candle in a darkened room which holds the aroma of an all day soup and warm hearty freshly baked bread.