Welcome back to the Front Porch. I’m glad you could stop by for a few minutes.

Lately I’ve found myself thinking about simple things.

Trees.

Wildflowers.

Birds.

Butterflies.

Forests.

Streams.

The ordinary things that make a place feel alive.

Perhaps it comes from spending so much time wandering through Honey Hill Country. Or perhaps it simply comes with age. Either way, I found myself sitting with a thought the other day.

Not a complicated thought.

Just a hopeful one.

 

I hope the next bird finds a tree.

I hope the next Monarch finds a patch of milkweed.

I hope the next rabbit finds clover.

I hope the next fox finds a field to cross.

I hope the next deer finds a quiet stretch of woods.

I hope the next trout finds a clean stream.

And I hope the next generation finds them all.

 

 

Over the past few weeks I’ve watched sparrows raise their young just outside my window. A Cardinal stopped by for a visit. Butterflies have drifted through summer gardens. Hummingbirds visited the feeders. The trees have offered shade through another hot Missouri summer.

None of these things are especially remarkable by themselves. And perhaps that’s exactly the point. They are ordinary. They are everyday.

They are the small pieces that quietly make a place feel like home.

 

It occurs to me that we spend a great deal of time worrying about what the future may bring.

Perhaps we should spend a little time hoping for what it might keep.

I hope there are still creeks where children can turn over rocks looking for crawdads and arrowheads.

I hope there are still fence rows alive with wildflowers and cover for quail.

I hope there are still woods where deer slip quietly between the trees.

I hope there are still summer evenings filled with lightning bugs.

I hope there are still quiet ponds where a child can catch their first fish.

I hope there are still birds singing from trees on spring mornings.

And I hope there are still places where a child can discover these things for the very first time someday.

 

 

The future doesn’t always change because of one great act. Sometimes it changes because enough people choose to do a few simple things, one day at a time.

And perhaps that’s the comforting part of it all. Most of these hopes don’t ask anything extraordinary of us. We cannot do everything, and we cannot save everything. But we can notice. We can care. And together, we can do a few simple things whenever we can to leave our little corner of the world a little better than we found it.

We can plant trees.

We can plant flowers that give bees and butterflies a reason to stop by.

We can allow dandelions to bloom for a little while longer each spring for the bees before reaching for the mower.

We can leave a few fallen leaves for the little creatures that depend on them through the winter.

We can hang a bird feeder outside the kitchen window and enjoy the company.

We can take a child fishing, or simply for a walk, and let nature do most of the talking.

We can leave room for wildflowers and native plants.

We can teach little hands to plant seeds, even if they get planted a little crooked.

We can pick up litter that doesn’t belong to us, simply because it belongs to all of us.

We can slow down long enough to notice what has been there all along.

We can appreciate the living things that share this world with us.

And perhaps most importantly, we can pass that appreciation along.

Because every generation learns what matters from the generation before it.

So I find myself returning to that simple thought . . . .

I hope the next bird finds a tree.

I hope the next Monarch finds milkweed.

I hope the next rabbit finds clover.

I hope the next fox finds a field to cross.

I hope the next deer finds a quiet stretch of woods.

I hope the next trout finds a clean stream.

And I hope the next generation finds them all.

That all seems like a worthwhile thing to hope for, doesn’t it?

Till next time then —

Jim (and Red!)

P.S. from Little Red Bear —

I figure the birds, the rabbits, and the butterflies were all here before I came along. Seems only neighborly to leave things nice for ’em after I’m gone, too.

—  Red 🐾

Images have been created for this piece with the assistance of AI . . .  lovingly prepared and styled for Honey Hill Country and the world of Little Red Bear.