This past week brought the return of Sister Leslee Brock. She’s been serving faithfully in Rancagua, Chile. She came home on Tuesday, and was greeted by her favorite niece and nephew. After the airport hullabaloo, we went to La Puente, where Carrie had planned a little surprise welcome home party with some of her favorite peeps. I pressed, but she doesn’t seem to have plans for the rest of her life (seriously, what’s the problem?) But I do think she’ll probably live in St. George at least until the start of next semester. But she will be back in Salt Lake on Sunday for brownies and a movie.
About
It's time to start making all the yummy recipes I'm collecting on Pinterest.I {Heart} My Kid’s Art
A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes
The new country lay open before me: there were no fences in those days, and I could choose my own way over the grass uplands, trusting the pony to get me home again. Sometimes I followed the sunflower-bordered roads. Fuchs told me that the sunflowers were introduced into that country by the Mormons; that at the time of the persecution, when they left Missouri and struck out into the wilderness to find a place where they could worship God in their own way, the members of the first exploring party, crossing the plains to Utah, scattered sunflower seed as they went. The next summer, when the long trains of wagons came through with all the women and children, they had the sunflower trail to follow. I believe that botanists do not confirm Fuchs’s story, but insist that the sunflower was native to those plains. Nevertheless, that legend has stuck in my mind, and sunflower-bordered roads always seem to me the roads to freedom.
— Willa CatherArtsy Fartsy
