Looking Back at the Year

“Never a Christmas morning, never an old year ends, but someone thinks of someone: old days, old times, old friends.”

Days grow short; the air is full of flurries. Planted firmly on the wrong side of Thanksgiving, I consider the final page of the wall calendar and wonder, as even prehistoric man must have when he eyed hatch marks on the cave wall, “where did another year go?”

Nestled in between the holiday hubbub and the folly of New Year’s resolutions is one of my favorite times of year: the sweet season of remembrance. I like to take stock of everything that’s transpired in the past year, remember the activities of each month and season. What worked? What didn’t? What could do with a bit of tweaking?

But mostly I like to remember the people who made the past year brighter. Because one happy memory invariably leads to another, the calendar is quickly abandoned and I find myself tumbling into a thicket of memories.

Suddenly I am viewing a world-class collection of windmills on a Colorado ranch, where the history of the windmill tells the history of the ranch. Then I am in Illinois, watching a constant loop of vintage pickers lumber into a field of corn as thunderheads approach. In Iowa, mammoth steam engines pass by like generals reviewing troops, commanding respect from onlookers.

Every show promises another look at things seen before as well as an introduction to something new. Every show offers the familiar faces of old friends as well as the prospect of new friends, eager to share a story.