Another Day in the Country
The fly-by
© Another Day in the Country
It all began in the 1980s, when my sister and I started coming back from California to Ramona more regularly in the summer.
First, it was just a Schubert family reunion at the senior center.
Then, it was the Ramona centennial, when I stayed with Aunt Anna, who was pushing 90, and she said, “It’s hard for me to have company anymore.”
And then it was a summer when we were coming back for a family reunion, and I got the bright idea to organize a parade.
It’s a small town, with an even smaller business district, so why not have a parade with an influx of people like the Albert Schubert family?
We had enough relatives that we could put on a parade all by ourselves if need be. We had cars, tractors, and trailers available, and even a motorcycle enthusiast in the lot, and the Fourth of July was the weekend we were getting together — perfect for a parade.
Some of my Fike cousins enjoyed shooting off fireworks so much that they almost could put on a fireworks show by themselves. So why not pool our resources and have a really respectable fireworks show in town?
My young friend Brendon, who had helped us the summer we bought the house in Ramona, was the mayor at the time and barely out of high school.
As I recall the story, his election campaign started out as a joke instigated by his older brothers. But here he was, the actual elected mayor, so I called and said, “Can I get permission from the town council for a parade and fireworks display?”
Those first few years, we funded it on our own, cajoling family members to help out, and then we moved here and asked Tampa State Bank and influential farmers in the area to help fund it.
I’m so proud of the fact that Ramona has had a lot of delightful parades through the years and that every year since then, there’s been a wonderful fireworks display.
For years now, the volunteer fire department has put it on, and they do a bang-up job — pun intended!
What I remember with a chuckle from that first parade was how few people showed up to watch — a handful.
Our aunts and uncles, cousins and kids who weren’t on a float came down to the main street to cheer us on, but very few other actual residents of Ramona were there clapping.
I also recall a couple of Cessna planes flying over on a joy ride, checking out what was happening in Ramona.
We got a kick out of that, but even more memorable were the two local ladies we met in a store in Herington the next day.
“Oh, we loved the fly-by,” they said. “Wasn’t that something?”
Jess and I smiled and nodded, and once we’d left them behind turned to each other and said, “Fly-by? What were they talking about? Those little planes?”
It was then that we knew how hungry a small town can get for a little excitement.
I’ve been excited the past couple of weeks by another kind of fly-by. It’s the monarch butterflies in our gardens.
Zinnias are the major blooming flowers in my backyard, and my sister has them all along the front of her house.
Betty Ohm used to have a vegetable garden on 4th St., and she always planted a row of red zinnias along the street side.
That was usually the first place I’d spy monarch butterflies in the fall, and my camera was clicking.
Thirty or forty years ago, we used to see flocks of monarchs on their yearly migration, coming through Ramona. I have pictures of trees in the park hanging heavy with resting butterflies.
Sadly, the monarch migration kept dwindling. Until the last few years, there have been hardly any monarchs at all.
It was a more local breed that we’d see — a somewhat bigger monarch butterfly than the migrating strain, but never in numbers you could count
This year, while I was trying to see how many Kansas butterflies I could find and photograph in my yard, I saw a lot more swallowtails than monarchs.
Even the red admirals were few and far between, and they used to be dominant in Ramona.
I was so excited the day I finally saw a monarch this fall. I grabbed my phone and took pictures even though I have taken way too many photographs of a single beautiful monarch sitting on top of a red or orange zinnia.
Then I began to see more and more monarchs in town. They were hungry — looking for food. Every day, more and more. They still weren’t a flock, but at least a welcome bunch.
The zinnia plants are starting to die off at the bottom this time of year. Some of the leaves have mildew, so they don’t look their best. But we keep watering them, trimming off the old blossoms so new ones can sprout.
Just now, I counted 30 monarch butterflies sitting on top of zinnia blossoms in Jessica’s front yard patch.
They were holding on for dear life, riding out the tumult while they sipped their favorite nectar as the prairie wind whipped them around, tossing them into the air as if they were riding that magical old carousel in Abilene’s Heritage Center.
There is absolutely nothing more thrilling than standing in the middle of a flower garden, camera in hand, with butterflies flying all around you in a breeze, sometimes brushing your hair, which also is flying in the wind.
Thanks to all the gardeners and farmers who plant milkweed and limit spraying chemicals in nature-friendly corridors alongside their fields.
Maybe in the future, flocks of monarchs will be flying over Kansas again on their migration to winter in Mexico — instead of just a few in a fly-by on another day in the country.