THE TWO SENTINELS

365 Days of Thanksliving — Day 270

Day No. Four of the staycation is officially in the books—another splendid day of sleeping in and kicking up dirt on dusty roads. Today’s adventure dragged me south, just north of I-90, to a Lutheran church in rural Trimont. The little congregation on the prairie just celebrated its 127th anniversary. Not too shabby.

I was in absolutely no rush to leave the house this morning. With the sun shining spectacularly (and oh-so-blindingly), I didn’t want to fry my retinas trying to compose a shot. So, with zero pep in my step, I putzed around and caught up on editing some photos.

After mowing down a breakfast-style lunch I affectionately call “redneck eggs benedict,” I uttered the magic words to the doggos: “Car ride?” Cue the cocked heads, waggling butts, and frantic circles before they practically crashed into the door. Well, okay then. Guess you’re coming along. I grabbed my gear, opened the doors, and away we sped.

Our route took us through St. James—the perfect excuse to detour to Schmidt's to see if they had any magical pastries left for tomorrow’s breakfast. Fat chance. Not a single donut, roll, turnover, or anything of the sort remained in those sad, empty cabinets. Coming up completely short on the fattening treats, I fired up the GPS and pointed us toward Trimont.

Having only traveled that southerly route a few times, I actually had to pay attention for once. With about six miles to go before Waverly Lutheran, an old barn way off in the distance caught my eye. It wasn’t exactly easy to make out while speeding along at 60-plus MPH, but the old girl appeared to be standing out in the middle of a field, perhaps keeping company with another structure.

If I can only find it, I thought. “Perhaps on the way back,” I announced to the boys, who were, naturally, ignoring every single word dad was saying.

Ten minutes later, the boyos and I pulled up to Waverly Lutheran. What a beautiful old church—the absolute perfect target for a nightscape. Not wanting to get ahead of myself, I did my usual detective work, pulling up PhotoPills and AI to imagine the place beneath a starry sky. Let’s just say another trip (or two) is officially in the works.

Mission accomplished, it was time to head back. With dog tongues hanging low and actively dispensing slobber all over the backseat, I cranked the A/C full blast, rolled up the windows, and hit the road. But knowing mama was still working, we had some time to kill. Why not try to find that barn? What’s a little more dust on the car and dirt in the trunk at this point? “Let’s go!” I yelled. (They still weren’t listening. I digress.)

Trying to retrace my mental steps to locate the barn, I drove at a grandmotherly pace. Knowing it was roughly six miles from the church, I kept a sharp eye out, and bingo—there it was. The only question was how on earth to get to it.

Taking the first available eastward turn, I hooked a right and bounded down the dusty trail. A mile later, another right. It has to be close, I muttered. Cue the dramatic entrance: no sooner did I think that, there she was. The old girl and her companion structure, standing like two sentinels keeping watch over their fields.

I had absolutely no idea who owned the property, and there wasn't another modern structure in sight. Just an old barn and a Quonset-hut-style building that looked like a leftover WW2 barracks (though I’m sure it was just a mundane machine shed). Regardless, I popped the trunk, brushed off about a cup of fresh gravel dust, grabbed my gear, and clicked away. First the 70-200mm, then the new lens.

I actually felt pretty energized out there in the late afternoon sun. The doggos just looked on, peering out the windows and doing their vital duty of keeping the car free from rogue critters and bugs.

Twenty minutes later, the boys and I finally aimed it for home, thanking God the whole way for the unexpected surprise: two prairie sentinels that have stood watch out there for over four score and seven years.

Thank you, Lord, for a wonderful day of adventuring down dusty roads to find and photograph these aging treasures on the prairie. Thank you for rejuvenating my spirit once more, and for reminding me of the blessings of living in this beautiful land.

What are you thankful for today?