Weather Forecast


Old Cowbelle: Echos

--Ina Murray

A few weeks ago I featured a poem I had written about out little dead-end road. Over 50 years ago my Mom, Lillian, also wrote about this little road. It was written when our old farmhouse was the only house on the road. Our house, the barn, granary and a corn crib were the only buildings here then.

Her article was published in a couple of magazines. One was “The Messenger” and the other “The Sunshine Magazine.” I don’t know if they even exist anymore.

Just for fun I am sharing her article. It’s another trip down memory lane for me. (We old folks really do like to live in the past.)

The Road, by Lillian Olson

There is a little road running along the edge of our daughter and son-in-law’s farm. A stub of country road that leads to nowhere.

There are chokecherry, ash and elms along the way, and the ruins of an old log house at its end.

Every year I take walks down this shady road. No traffic disturbs the peace. No hustle or bustle along its way.

It is a lonely road.

Time was… and not so long ago…there were grandchildren walking there with me. Picking the first violet…finding a pretty rock…gathering a bouquet for Mommy. Once there was a wee nest by the roadside with four tiny eggs. In the fall, milkweed seeds to set flying.

Sharing our walk was Dusty, the dog; a cat or two; later the pony, Shadow.

Now I walk the little road alone.

But I am not sad! In memory they are still scampering ahead of me.

Nothing can change the fact that, for a little while, I shared with them the simple wonder of childhood.

And I am never alone!

The vaulted blue sky, with fleecy clouds sailing…the liquid notes of a lark; the rolling green hills…the never-ending magic of the changing seasons. Even the approach of a summer storm speaks to me of the nearness of God. It brings me assurance of His steadfast love and ties my puny, unimportant self into the “Great Plan.”

Always, I stop at a certain point where the view is clear and free, and the words of the 121st Psalm comes to me…

“I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills….”


Thanks, Mom

Cowbelle, El Paso,