I'm not a social person

There were times in my life when I WAS more gregarious, but I have receded into my shell to such an extent since my last job that I feel I'm doing well to connect with anybody other than Cliff, in real life.  I don't even know how to make conversation these days, unless I run across someone who loves cows or has a husband who almost died from gall bladder problems.  Or loves to go barefoot, or has a garden.  
Knowing I am so terrible at communicating, I seldom try any more.  What, me make conversation?  Who wants to hear what I have to say?  I hate shopping, I don't like shoes or purses.  But hey, have you met my pet chicken?  
Yeah, that would go over like a lead balloon.  
So a year or so ago, somebody at church ratted me out, telling somebody else that I used to sing.  
Well, back in the late 70's and early 80's when a few pretty good songs came floating down from somewhere, I was grateful for them and promised God that if anybody asked me to sing my songs, no matter whether I wanted to or not, I would do it, but that I would never promote myself, never ask to sing anywhere.  After thirty years of not having been bothered with anybody asking me to sing, here I am on the spot again.  
It helps that I attend a small church.  On the positive side, I have rediscovered the songs I wrote back when I used to be a songwriter and have fallen in love with them again.  

This morning I tried to explain to my husband and my adopted granddaughter Heather why it bothers me to sing in front of people, even when the audience is small.  I am never ashamed of the songs I've written, by the way.  I feel they are pretty darned good.  BUT...
1.  I am not good at playing the guitar.  Even though all I do is chord, which a ten-year-old could do, I hit a clunker sometimes.  This is why I always choose the thinnest flat picks I can find:  They make a softer, quieter strum, so if I mess up it isn't so loud and obvious.  
2.  I'm not particularly happy with my voice, which goes flat occasionally.  This isn't one of those cases where I put myself down in hopes somebody will protest, telling me I'm not that bad.  It's honestly how I feel.

But hey, I promised God if somebody asked me I would sing, so sing I do, when I have to.  Why He had me take a thirty-year pause before somebody asked me again, I haven't any idea.  I'm sixty-nine years old, for pete's sake.  Why now?  I'm tired.  It's like starting over.  I thought I was done with all that.  It's scary.
I am not comfortable in front of an audience.  Now, you set me down in a circle with a bunch of people strumming and singing together and I'll do fine, but I hate being the center of attention because I know I'm not that good.  I have trouble making eye contact with one individual; let's don't even talk about looking out at several pairs of eyes watching me as I "perform".  

This is what I tried to explain to Cliff and Heather, and for what it's worth, I'm telling my readers also.

Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve in the Flint Hills of Kansas

Before we went to Cottonwood Falls, we stopped at the Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve.  This may have been Cliff's favorite stop on our road trip.
  
The following is taken from a brochure I picked up there:
"In 1878 Stephen and Louisa Jones went to Kansas to build a cattle feeding station for their family's Colorado cattle operation.  They bought land from individuals and the railroad, growing the Spring Hill Farm and Stock Ranch to 7,000 acres.  They owned the land only ten years, but left behind ranch buildings in the Second Empire architectural style.  They also left over thirty miles of stone fence that had been needed when the cattle range went from open to closed.  The Z Bar Ranch, with all the Joneses' grand structures intack, became Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve in 1996.  The Nature Conservancy, which owns most of the land, manages the preserve with the National Park Service."

When this building caught my eye, I made Cliff pull over so I could take a picture.  I had no idea the school was on the preserve where we were heading until we topped the hill and saw the sign.  

As we entered the visitor center, Cliff had to do his usual inspection of the building materials and check out the quality of the concrete work.   

Check out the size of that stone barn!  

I think this would make a perfect haunted house.  

Notice that the architectural style of the house is the same as the Chase County Courthouse, only a few miles to the south.  

Cliff, studying the outhouse.  

This is some fancy outhouse.  Now, when I was a kid, if the toilet was a two-holer, two of us girls might go in together and chat as we answered nature's call.  Or my mom and I might share the facilities.  But Cliff, who read the information you see in the corner, tells me that one person at a time used this one.  They would use one hole until the stack got so high it was almost to the top, then use the next one while the doo-doo in the first one sort of composted and settled.  They couldn't move the toilet and empty the pit, obviously, because it's made of stone.   

 The smokehouse (or perhaps a summer kitchen) and the back of the house.

The chicken house, with sod growing on the roof to keep it cool.  The open shed next to it was a run for the chickens.  

Inside the chicken house.  By the way, it really was cool inside, although somewhat damp.  

Horses could walk up ramps to the top floor of the barn taking grain or hay.  

Cliff pointed out how the barn had been fortified with metal in many places, probably by the park service.  That barn will be standing for a long time yet.   

Looking out across the fields from the back of the barn.  

We would have taken more time here, but I wanted to get to the Chase County Courthouse before it closed.