The Wind is Too Much With Us

The wind is too much with us; late and soon,
Grabbing and spinning, it lays waste our hay:
Little we see in nature that the wind doesn't blow away!
It would blow even our hearts away, if we wore them on our sleeve
This wind that bares our bosom to any who can see;
The winds that are howling at all hours,
And we are up-gathered by it like dead flowers;
For this we are out of sorts.
It moves us plenty.--Great God! I'd rather be
Out standing in a quiet lea,
Than have glimpses of tumbleweeds going by;
At the rate of four to the seventh power.

Well, that's a poor imitation of William Wordsworth, "The World is Too Much With Us," but it sure fits. That wind has just been brutal the past two weeks. I guess it wouldn't be Wyoming without the wind.

I can't believe I've been early retired more than a year now. Where has the time gone? I think of Henry David Thoreau and his WALDEN: "Where I Lived and What I Lived For." I keep asking myself what I am doing this for. I feel like I'm just putting one foot in front of the other. I guess such is life, but I surely thought I'd have accomplished a lot more by now. Oh well, there's another year. Thoreau lived at Walden for two years.
My son should be home this fall, so I won't be out here alone anymore. I thank God for my little church in Lance Creek. I don't know what I'd do without the fellowship of the believers. I think I'd go mad.
It's a boring little church. We go, we all sit in the same place every week, we sing songs of praise to God, listen to a sermon, then dash out the door, unless we happen to be having pot luck. I guess it's easy to get in a rut, and I know God wants us to sing His praises, plus just being there is a witness to unbelievers in the community, of which there aren't many. Lance Creek is not even an incorporated town in the least populated county in the least populated state in the U.S. Many people are surprised we even have a church. Ranchers come in from about a 70 mile radius and there are normally 25 or more people in the pews on any given Sunday.
Some of the ladies that live way out started bringing baked goodies and someone puts a pot of coffee on before we get there. Ranchers bring eggs and milk to swap with their neighbors. I said that gives a whole new meaning to coming to church to get "fed."
Pastor is just an old cowboy who preaches in jeans and boots. He's a good preacher and you sure don't go to sleep in his sermons. You never know what he's going to say next. We've seen many hardened old ranchers come to Jesus since he came, because he makes the rounds with his horse, helping with gathering, branding and weaning. Next thing you know, some crusty, formerly hard-drinkin, old rancher that no one ever thought would come, takes their place in the pew. So I guess habits are good when it comes to passing yourself by the Lord's house on Sunday.