Monday, July 5, 2010


I rarely hear from my fairy blogmother like back in the day when we were both writing our fool hearts out about life and angst and raising children. Her writing inspired me to keep on with my own, and I will never forget that. She shared her raw feelings of fear and disappointment with a circle of folks who felt her pain and shared her joys in that totally acceptable sort of way that blogging offers for writers. She commented on a post that I seemed not too shaken about my possible departure from the farm. Truth be known, my heart is breaking with every single heirloom that I touch. I watch the generations who have been here for years and years and wonder to myself if some rich mofo will ever come up in here and develop it into a subdivision. Lord have mercy, I hope not. I don't own it, but I doubt seriously the owners would go that route because they've already got more money than Big Ernie. Still, it is sad watching my parents try to take care of themselves with their respective "challenges" trying to retain dignity and grace. I don't offer suggestions anymore on anything but healthcare. It's their decision about where to stay.

Our mayor's family got together for a reunion this weekend at the homeplace down on Samaria Bend and I stopped by to visit for a few minutes under the cool of their shade tree. We were still talking about the big flood and how Clara drove us through the water in the drifting work truck while two high strung women as co-pilots told her how to do it. BG said I was speakin' in tongues that day. That will be one to tell the grandchildren :)

As usual, the sawmill was a freakin' zoo with all the doctor's offices and clinics closed for the "holiday". Which was observed TODAY because that's the way the US rolls. Whatever. It was payback for my three day on Memorial Day weekend. My friend, the future soldier, says that I'm a glass half full kind of girl. I guess it takes one to know one.

I suppose that I've been in denial for a long time about our future here...praying faithfully that it will work out for the best. I can't say that I miss the cows one little bit, and the scenery has improved a lot. Every time a barn goes down in rubble, I know that we have the history recorded and that nobody can take those memories away. We are family.



  1. Memories last more better anywho...

  2. It's a good thing that someone such as you is there to record the passing of this history.