Wood and Wire, Missoula, Montana

Ranching friends remarked last week that they just finished replacing a corral fence that their dad built 25 years ago with help from my husband. Our farm fences always sported loops of jaunty blue and white baling twine on varied posts as a handy repair medium - so you could avoid replacing any segment for as long as possible.
Barbed wire fencing brings to mind cross-country treks with my siblings to pick wild strawberries in the next pasture, or to go sledding on the big hill at Grandpa's farm. It was always nice to have someone hold the wire strands apart as you hunched through to the other side, especially if you were cocooned in a snow suit. But no matter how careful we were, someone invariably snagged the fabric on their backside or pant leg. My mother definitely knew what she was doing when she insisted we change into play clothes as soon as we got home from school.

Alien Blooms, Missoula, Montana

A lovely work perk of my current job is the delivery of a fresh bouquet of flowers every Monday. (While I realize that they're not for me, per se, they are in my principal work area and I do spend the most time in their lovely presence, so just let me pretend, already.) The arrangements are always fabulous and often feature unique flowers, like this one picture above. As a side benefit, when annoying callers waste our time, the blooms are a demure reminder of the attractiveness of a peaceful mind. (Okay, Jane Austen is now leaving the building.)

Christmas Decor, Missoula, Montana

My 5:00 drive home in the dark is cheered by an increasing array of Christmas lights. Interestingly, my bah-humbug toward early Christmas music does not apply to the visuals of the season. Bring on the garland, the lights, the shining stars! One roadside business lit their frontage trees with a moving cascade of lights that are dangerously mesmerizing; I have to pay extra attention to my driving in that block.
Attachment to Chrismas decor harks back to when I was small and would scootch behind our luscious fake Christmas tree into a me-sized corner formed by the wall and the large wooden stereo turntable cabinet.  I'd hunker in there for what seemed like hours, happily listening to the weekend sounds of my family bustling about the house. It's amazing what you learn when no one knows you're listening. Eventually, of course, someone would realize I wasn't dusting, and I'd hear the first strains of, "Where's Cinderelly?". That was my cue to carefully ease unobserved back into the room, preserving my hidey place for future reconnaissance, and commence dusting as if I'd never stopped.  But, after a few false starts, my prince did eventually come and sweep me away to a life of love and happily twittering songbirds.

Keeping Watch, Corvallis, Montana

Gracefully aged barns are not necessarily common in the Bitterroot Valley, but there are quite a few fines ones still in use on family farms. The way this barn is perched on a slight rise overlooking the pasture makes me wonder at some numbers: how many seasons of hay has it stored? How many litters of kittens sheltered in its stalls? Has it lost track of the number of hawks observed hunting small prey in the field below? I often wonder at the stories old houses have to tell, but I think the tales a barn could share might be earthier, warmer, versions of beginnings and endings, small joys and sorrows.

Cheer With A Vengeance, Missoula, Montana

With no prerequisite for snowfall in the valley, The Dreaded Deluge has begun - rather, is in full swing. Before the turkey was even cold enough to qualify as leftovers, radio stations and shopping malls and department stores commenced with the playing of Christmas music. It's not that I have a problem with Christmas in truth, but seriously, a whole month is too long to be subjected to jingle bells and cheery fa-la-la-la-las.
Da-da-DAH! To the rescue: a new breed of Christmas music that blends smooth sarcasm with tight harmonies. Click here to experience the full audio and visual force of the latest offering from our good friend Chip Whitson and Bob Wire and friends that skillfully play a jug. There's more bah-humbug offered at their site http://offwhitechristmas.com/.
(In case she views this post, a big thanks for today's title to my not-so-red-headed stepchild, whose personal cheer slogan was too apt to not rip off.)

Small But Loud, Missoula, Montana

Tromping through a field requires watching your step, unless you don't care if you track home, ummm, unsavoury particles on your boots. After successfully avoiding multiple gucky clumps and piles of bones and fur, my wintry trek was arrested by this bright arrangement of pebbles and moss. Driving home, a snatch of song on the radio made me think of a Bible verse that says the rocks will holler out praise to their Creator if we who have a more available voice do not speak up.
I've heard this passage used to pound hearers into feeling inferior if they're not enacting the pounder's interpretation of this verse. Pounding tends to annoy me. But truth is truth, and if we look at it for what it is, we can see past misrepresentation. The promise is that the sincere seeker will find. These little pebbles, bursting with vibrancy, are already declaring their Crafter's delight in detail and unique beauty, simply by virtue of their existence, being what they were made to be, doing what they were made to do. Sometimes we garner unwarranted anxiety by forgetting that shining our light may not look exactly the same as in the next person.

Winter Sky, Missoula, Montana

These golden weeds are everywhere in western Montana. Yet, despite their prevalence, I don't know what they're called. Sad, isn't it? They look like they should be "Western Goldenrod" but - no.
More sadness: Google was no help. Yellow wildflowers, yellow weed flowers, golden weed flowers, ..... no hits that match. And, honestly, I just didn't want to spend any more time looking today.
Additional sadness: we've become so impatient, taking for granted the plethora of knowledge immediately available at our fingertips.
So, if you can identify , please take pity on my ignorance  and leave the flower name in a Comment. (Hint: if you Comment as Anonymous or Name/URL, you don't have to jump through any sign-in hoops. And you can leave the URL of your very own blog or site & hope that someone new clicks on it!)

Update: Thanks to Andrei for identifying these (see Comment below)!
If I correctly remember, tansy is often mentioned in Victorian novels as a cure for what ails you.

Mindful of Heavy Lifting, Missoula, Montana

"Angels do the heavy lifting in God's eternal purpose & must not be taken lightly."

- Philip Comfort/ Daniel Partner, "One Year Book of Poetry", in commentary for poem "To St. Michael the Archangel", by Henry Constable (1562-1613)

Sometimes we forget we are not unaided, and we become discouraged, bitter, perhaps angry.
But remembering and being thankful breeds courage and - hopefully, eventually - joy.

Interesting - encouragement and courage, it seems, can both begin with gratitude.

So, be courageous, starting new on this day set aside for giving thanks.
(I hope you, too, can jump-start your for-this-I-am-greatful list with something as inspiring as, "turkey and my brother-in-law's fabulous stuffing.")