They Collided

A few weekends ago, I met my mom and dad out by the farm where my dad grew up.  The mission was to take pictures of the sunflowers as they go on for miles and miles this year.  It never gets old seeing my parents in their element.  Never.  

And my favorite pictures are always the ones when people have no clue you are taking them.  The ones where it's just someone doing what they do.

It's been raining pretty much since that weekend and rain during harvest is like a cat in my house, never a good idea and really not a good thing when it actually happens.  

Which makes me even more thankful that on a Saturday night in August, I met my parents and we spent a couple hours looking at the fields against the setting sun.

This morning, it's drizzling again after a steady rain all during the night.  This morning, the prognosis is a bit sad.  Yesterday was a day of finally looking like maybe it was turning to more normal - they combined barley, I mowed the farm yard, my sister and I smooshed in the grain cart tractor cab with Momma Debi, I ate part of my brother's lunch while we waited in a semi (it's amazing to me how we revert back to being ridiculous non-adult siblings in about two minutes), and sister-in-law late night visiting with texts coming in they finished the barley capped it off.  Normal.  It was a normal and full fall day.

Before they left for the field and before I spent the afternoon getting dirt in my eyes, Sister Pister and I packed Dad's lunchbox for the day.  I drizzled olive oil on baby tomatoes before sprinkling with pepper and salt and she made homemade bars and then we wrote a note.  Like the old days.  A have a great day Dad note.  Hopefully he still has that note today.  

Back on that mid-August Saturday evening, as the sun was just about to dip all the way, I heard from Dad, "Right here.  You need to stand right here."  And he was right.

The above picture was from that exact moment in that exact spot he was standing and it is now hanging on my wall as a reminder to me - to take the time when the time is there. 

This sounds corny but sometimes I am corny.  I believe we all have gifts.  It's not vain to notice your gifts or to use them, rather it's why you they were given to you.  My family has the gift of growing in fields and I have the gift of capturing with my camera.  It was more than special to me they collided together while Dad and I stood on the back of the pickup, him commenting on the crop itself and me commenting about the angle of the light shattering through.