In July of 2005, I went back to the Bultsma ranch--I'd been there before--and part of the reason, as I remember, was to take pictures. I hadn't grown tired of northwest Iowa landscapes, but--how can I say it?--I'd been to the mountain: I'd seen the Missouri River, its hills and its valleys and the river--even the lakes formed by its dams, and I came away permanently slack-jawed. Loved it.
When I got home from the visit, I messed around a little, making a cover like the one above. What I'd done was get myself up before dawn to drive to a place where I thought a clear dawn might just be offered. I was wrong about that--the day was clear and bright, just a whisper of clouds, no glancing morning sunlight. But there was still the species of beauty that stills the storm in mind and soul.
So I missed the big dawn that morning, which forced me to focus on other things around me. That was good for me--there's a sermon there, I'm sure.
I'd like to live somewhere out there for a couple of summer months sometime, just to be around the awesome beauty of the Missouri River valley--say, Platte to Chamberlain. Makes me heart swell just to remember. Takes my breath away.
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