I won’t be taking a vacation this year, not one out of town anyway. Lucky for me I love being home and I can take memory trips just by looking out the window. I know there are always pictures and mementos, but my souvenirs are living in my yard. I visited Arizona today while watering my big tooth maple, a tree native to Oak Creek Canyon just north of Sedona where I have spent hours of heavenly hiking below the cool, red cliffs and overhanging maples that guard the creek there. Even remembering the nursery where I bought it in Prescott conjures memories of fun times I spent there!

Then I fertilized my red geraniums out front – they take me to Grandmother’s house! Her geraniums BLOOMED – mine show some red flowers but they’re small and sad compared to hers but the memories are good! Somehow in Phoenix she always had the most amazing flowers!

I have crimson columbine flowering in pots right now – I discovered this dainty beauty while camping in the Sierras and they’ve been one of my favorites ever since. They have delicate nodding heads and grow where fairies must play in the cool shade of the under forest! I’ve only seen them in the wild one other time, so having them in my yard is a real treat.

There are sun flowers sprouting in my veggie garden – those seeds were given to me by my mom’s best friend, Darlene, for my birthday several years ago down in Scottsdale. She has since lost her battle with cancer but her goodness and generosity are perpetuated in those seeds and the seeds they produce and on and on. It was a birthday I won’t forget – she prepared a delightful afternoon snack for Mom and me on vintage linens set out on the patio overlooking her amazing garden. And soon I’ll have her sunflowers to take me there again!

Next to the sunflowers sprouts I have one precious hyacinth bean vine, the only one I had sprout of all my seeds, and my babying is paying off in the multiple purple curls of flowers. Each one will produce a deep purple bean pod so I’ll have more seeds for next year. Mom introduced me to this mad climber on our fall trip to New England two years ago. The vines were showing off in the botanical garden in Stockbridge, Massachusetts where we discovered all sorts of northeastern trees and flowers that were new to both of us. It was a lovely cool respite on our harried week-long tour, and I’m happy to travel back there repeatedly when I tend my purple wonder.

I won’t bore you with more vacation pictures, I mean plants, but I’ll bet you have a few vacation stories you could share – just by looking out your window!

I missed out on a family trip to Disneyland last week – it’s far, far away, and lots of bucks and time needed to get there. Yep, I missed out on Space Mountain, Star Wars, and dinner in Downtown Disney. It was painful 🙂 So I did the next best thing – I visited the National Bison Range. Established in 1908, the bison range consists of 350 to 500 bison, thanks to the foresight of those who knew the value of saving this American icon from extinction. It’s a pleasant drive just forty or so miles south of here, and it just happens to be the most gorgeous time of the year here (well, except for that first heavy snowfall). The balsamroot, larkspur, and paintbrush were riotous. The mountains were totally showing off, and the animals played their roles to my complete satisfaction, all unstaged and spontaneous. The scenery was not painted, the colors were authentic, and the meadowlark songs that played across the hills at every stop I made were au naturel. Though I didn’t get close enough for a photo, I was fortunate this time to see a black bear, a two-tone bear actually who had a fat honey-colored body with black legs. His mother must have been proud. And nothing else needs said – pictures are worth a thousand words – –

“What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.”
~ Crowfoot, Blackfoot warrior and orator

There went Charlie, happy to ride off with a group of strangers. Broke a mother’s heart.

The helpful railroad worker offered more. “We’ll be heading back to town ourselves shortly, we’d be glad to take ya.”

“Thank you, sir. That’s very kind. I’m just going to run back to the house and I’ll be right back.”

I hurried up Martha’s porch and she opened the door before I could knock.

“What is it now?” She asked, her tone less suspicious and more helpful.

“Do you have any paper, and a pencil I could borrow? I promise I’ll return the pencil. Any scrap of paper would be fine. Just to sketch Charlie real quick, in case I can’t find him right off.”

She disappeared from the doorway. I was starting to get nervous. I couldn’t go home without Charlie, wasn’t sure I could even get home without Charlie. In movies they always made it clear you couldn’t alter history. Gosh, what a time to be thinking about movies. I was scared for Charlie and getting a little scared for myself. I should be trying to get home instead having to hunt for my dog, but going to town did sound fun, my curiosity was killing me.

Martha appeared with a pencil and a few square pieces of what looked like butcher paper.

“Thanks so much, Martha, this will work fine.” I sat right down and went to work, keeping on eye on the workers so I wouldn’t miss my ride. Within just a few minutes I had a good likeness of Charlie sketched out, complete with the funny little tufts of hair around his mouth and wild eyebrows framed by floppy ears.

“That’s a very good likeness, Miss Sally. Looks just like him! Looks like you’d best be going.”

“Thanks, Martha, I’ll get back as soon as I can.” I tucked pencil and paper into a deep pocket of my skirt, hoping she didn’t mind if I borrowed them for longer, and ran down the steps to where the men were loading into another truck. One of the workers gallantly helped me into the front seat and then climbed in the back with the other men. I waved to Martha as we pulled away, and I tucked my skirt as best I could around my hiking boots.

* * * * * * *

I was grateful to Charlie for making me chase him into town. What a site! I had read about the history of Pinetop and even recognized some of the store fronts from my own time. The road wasn’t paved, of course, and there were more trees right in town, some big stumps in between some of the buildings, and wooden board walks instead of cement sidewalks. I loved it! Climbing out of the truck near the train station, I thanked the men profusely for my ride into town. They all tipped their hats and wished me luck finding my dog. There was no sign of the truck Charlie had ridden in so I gathered up the long skirt and picked a direction, deciding to start with the west side of the street and show his picture around. There was an awesome general store with tin and enamelware on display out front, along with sacks of feed, flour, and fence material. Then I passed the bank and millinery shop – something sadly lost to my time and here I was looking at an authentic one! Next there was a bank. I showed Charlie’s pictures to several passers by and they all shook their heads no, they all wished me luck. Just as I was about to go into the newspaper office a train pulled into town, blowing its whistles – a good, old-time steam train, spewing smoke and ash and sounding marvelous! I found a quaint wooden bench and pulled out the pieces of paper Martha had given me. I sketched for probably thirty minutes, first the train and the station, then the scene across the street, people coming and going, the false-front buildings, then I guiltily remembered Charlie. Getting up in a hurry I plowed right into a handsome gentleman who I’m guessing was standing a little too close, perhaps looking over my shoulder. We both sputtered apologies.

“I do beg your pardon, ma’am. I was admiring your sketches and should have introduced myself. Roger Dawson, at your service.”

I held my hand out to a man who looked like a young Richard Crenna with a mustache. I love Richard Crenna.

“And I’m Sally Burke. I’m really looking for my dog but I got sidetracked, so much to see here!”

“I agree, but I’m a newspaper man, I make my living by paying attention and seeing everything. You’re very talented, I can see that. Do you ever sell your work?”

“That’s very kind, thank you. No, I just do it for fun. There are a lot of artists more talented than I.”

“Not around here. I could use your sketches in my paper, times when a sketch says more than a photograph. And I’ll give you $2 for that one of the street scene.” He fished two coins out of his pocket and traded two silver dollars for my sketch. I was speechless. “That’s so you know I’m serious.” I wish I could have sketched Roger’s smile to take home with me. I never wanted to forget it.

“Well, again, that’s very nice, but I’m just passing through. I need to find my dog and get going.

“And what does your dog look like?”

I showed him Charlie’s picture and felt the tug of worry, I had to find my bud.

“You are VERY talented. Your sketch looks exactly like that dog right over there.”

I looked to see Charlie on the opposite boardwalk, trotting along like he was on a mission. Perhaps it was unladylike for the time but I hollered his name and he looked over his shoulder right at me. I think his pace actually picked up and he ducked into the open door of a place called the Steel Rail Café.

“Thanks again, Mr. Dawson, it was a pleasure, I really must be going.”

“And you, Ms. Burke, a genuine pleasure. You will let me know if you change your mind.”

I gave that handsome man my best smile and hurried across the road. I would have loved to have lingered in Mr. Dawson’s company, maybe over coffee in the café, where I found another scene right out of a movie. I glanced around for Charlie while waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dim interior. A waitress rushed by me balancing two china cups and a teapot on a wooden tray.

“I’m looking for my dog, I saw him come in here.”

“A shaggy little thing, not far off the floor? I gave him a chunk of meat and sent him out the back door. Can’t have no dogs in here, cute or not. You can go on through.” She motioned with her head and I made my way through to the back door, past a kitchen I would have died for, cooper pots and new enamelware everywhere. No time for gawking. Sure enough, just out the back door in a dusty alley, Charlie was smacking his lips. I think he was hoping for more handouts.

“Okay, Buster, done touring around? Did you worry about me at all? Or worry about getting home?”

Charlie didn’t answer but seemed resigned to come with me. I found my way out of the alley, Charlie following dutifully. Then I realized I had no way to get back to Martha’s. I headed over to the general store, hoping the shop owner might know how I could get a ride. I didn’t know if $2 was enough to hire someone. Trying not to waste time shopping, in a place I couldn’t buy anything if I wanted to, but wanting to poke around and see everything, I went up the wooden steps and was about to go through the shop door when I stopped so suddenly Charlie actually walked into the back of my legs. There in a big bushel basket were iris bulbs, just dumped in, marked 10 for 35 cents. I thought of the lovely iris out at Martha’s and wondered if she bought them here. Or maybe she hadn’t yet??? The man inside was very nice, and before asking for a ride I asked about the iris.

“They’re right out of my wife’s garden, miss, there are creams and yellows, maybe a little orange. They multiple quite nicely, make a lovely display.”

“That’s very interesting, I’ll take ten please. And could you tell me, is there someone I can hire to take me west of town, there’s a woman out there, lives along the tracks with her husband. Is $1.65 enough to get me there?”

“Ah yes, the Petersons. You could get a ride out in the morning with the workers, if you’re not offended by my suggestion. I’m sure they are all gentlemen…”

“It sounds like I can be of service after all.” The voice sounded too good to be true. There was Mr. Dawson, and he was offering me a ride. Of course I smiled my consent.

“That’s very kind, Mr. Dawson, and your timing is perfect. I’m going to get a little bag of iris to thank my new friend, Martha, and I’ll be ready when you are.”

“I will fetch my car and be back momentarily.” Mr. Dawson tipped his hat and excused himself. I thanked the store owner and he gave me a little bag for my iris.

Out on the front step I chose ten fat iris bulbs and sat down with Charlie to wait. Such a lovely day, a scary day, my brain was overwhelmed. I looked down at Charlie and he had that contented doggie grin on his face again. He’d had a good day too and had to be worn out. I took that goofy face in my hands and told him how much I loved him, how glad I was I found him. And in another one of those weird, unbelievable moments, of which this day had been full, I’d swear I heard Charlie say something. So I asked him.

“Did you say something?”

“Do we have to go home, mom? I like it here!” We watched Dr. Dawson pull up in his car. “So do I.” I smiled. “So do I!”

to be continued….

The woman and I stared at each other, both of us speechless. Charlie ran over and jumped on her, his little dusty paws leaving faint prints on her apron.
“Hey, little fella. Where did you come from?” After a quick tussle of Charlie’s ears she eyed me again, justifiably with a look of fear.

“Sorry Charlie jumped on you, he knows better, he just gets excited sometimes. We didn’t mean to startle you. I’m pretty surprised to be here myself.”

The woman’s eyes grew wide as I gave my apology.

“You’re, you’re a woman? A girl?”

With no time to think I said the first thing that came to mind.

“Gosh, thanks, haven’t had anyone question that for a long time.” I smiled but she didn’t. “I guess I’m not exactly dressed like a girl. I’m not sure what to tell you.” There I stood in my old jeans, roughed up L. L. Bean hiking boots, made just for women but not exactly feminine, dad’s old blue plaid flannel shirt, and a baseball cap that had “Go wild in the Mountains” printed on it. “Rather than try to explain maybe you could help me. There’s no reason to be afraid.”

Before the poor woman could answer men’s voices and the stomp of boots came up on the porch, clearly about to enter the house.

“You get back down there and stay until I call you.” The woman ordered. She was smoothing her apron and nervously watching the front door as I started down the stairs.

“Charlie, get over here.” I hissed my command but he ignored me, his tail wagging furiously in anticipation of new friends coming through the door. I went downstairs and waited. I pondered a dozen things while I waited in that cellar, everything from the fact that time portals really existed, to how pretty all the canning jars were lined up on the walls down there, to thinking I needed more obedience lessons for my dog. It must have been on hour before I was summoned back upstairs.

“Now you explain yourself immediately or I’ll have one of those men take you to the sheriff in town.” She had a wet dish rag in her hand and waved it at me like it was a weapon.

“I, uh, was, um…” I looked around the cabin, desperately trying to think of a plausible story. I should have been concocting something while I waited downstairs instead of thinking what a good story I’d have to tell when I got home.

“I was out scouting elk with my father and we got separated. I’m lost actually. It’s just me and papa, out in the hills trying to get by, I guess I don’t always dress very pretty.” I looked down at my outfit, trying to look apologetic.

“And you were trying to steal food from the cellar, were you?”

“No, ma’am, I assure I was not. I just fell into the cellar, I don’t know how I got there.” I was getting really getting hungry though. Leftovers from the meal she just served the men were in a big pot on the stove and smelled wonderful. I was hoping if I sounded pathetic she’d feed me. “Hey, where’s Charlie?”

“He went out with the men. Sit on down, I’ve still got enough stew to feed you and then you have to be going. But you’re going to get yourself in trouble wearing those clothes. We’ll have to think about what to do.”

“Thank you, ma’am. That’s very kind of you.” I hadn’t called anybody ma’am in probably twenty years but it seemed the most natural thing. I pulled out a chair and sat down. I surveyed the cabin, amazed at the newness of the woodwork, the pretty yellow checked curtains in the intact window, a few antique-style pieces of furniture that looked almost brand new. I could still picture in my mind the tree growing smack in the middle of this room like it had been just over an hour ago.

“My name is Sally. I’d be very grateful for any help, ma’am.”

“We’ll see what we can do then you can go find Charlie. And my name is Martha.”

I watched as my benefactor served up a stew thick with carrots and chunks of meat. She couldn’t have been much older than me. She wore a floor-length, red print dress, the sleeves pushed up for work, the collar buttoned almost all the way to her throat with a tiny rim of faded lace around the edge. Her apron was starched and white with a few faint stains where she wiped her hands and two dog paw prints. It covered most of her skirt and bodice. She was pleasantly plump with a touch of sadness, perhaps resignation, in her face. Her hair was a knotted up braid on the back of her head, dark with a few strands of gray. She was right out of a movie.

“My husband bought this house from the railroad when they were finished building the line through here and we make our living, such as it is, from a bit of farming and providing meals for the train and lumber bosses. I ain’t no beanery queen, mind you. I wanted to be closer to town, but…My husband is out hunting now, too. Maybe he’ll come across your pa.” She finished washing up lunch dishes, wiped off the worn wooden table, and took my bowl before I had to time to scoop up the last of the delicious gravy. “I have some things that don’t fit me no more, should do you fine to go look for your dog and then you can be on your way.”

Within an hour I stood on that woman’s porch in a long calico skirt, lots of little blue and purple flowers on a yellow background, and a faded cream-colored lace blouse. And my hiking boots. I’d braided my hair into a pony tail and accepted the muslin scarf Martha offered. I looked back before stepping into the unknown. Martha stood watching me for a moment, shaking her head, hands on her hips, then went back inside.

* * * * * * * *

As I’d guessed, the river was visible just across the tracks. There was hardly a tree for acres on either side of the tracks, just a couple of large ponderosas near the house, perhaps to provide shade from the late summer heat. I could see larches on the distant hills with the same gold of early autumn I’d seen 95 years into the future when I got here. Whoa. I looked east, half expecting to see my truck parked along the edge of the dirt road that paralleled the tracks but there was nothing beneath a stand of young cottonwoods swaying in the breeze. I had no time for exploring or sightseeing, though, I had to find Charlie and figure out what to do. There were clusters of men working up and down a section of track, shoveling and hammering. The first group I approached stopped what they were doing and watched me come their way, clearly wondering what I could be wanting.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for my dog. A little guy, floppy ears, grey and white and black, kinda scruffy looking. Have you seen him?”

At first none of the men said anything, they just stared at me. Finally one of them jabbed another with his elbow, and the jabbed one finally answered.

“Yes, ma’am. I think that might be the little fella right there.”

I turned to see where he was pointing, and there was Charlie, crowded in with a bunch of men in the back of an old, I mean new, pickup truck that was pulling away. He was giving me his contented doggie smile.

Part One

It was one of those exquisite fall days, starting out crisp and warm by noon, a day for an adventure. Charlie watched as I rooted around in the basement. He danced around my legs – he knew exactly how we would spend the day. The sun was throwing its first shadows across the driveway by the time I had packed lunch and we climbed into the cab of my old red Toyota. Dew was smoking off the shed and the first breeze puffed the dust when we startled a squirrel by the woodpile. I carefully moved my morning’s second cup of coffee from one hand to the other, trying not to slosh it all over. Charlie climbed through my feet and hopped up on the seat – he was ready. I sipped my coffee, enjoying the warming blow of engine heat, and wiped a clear spot on the windshield. I made a tight u-turn in the driveway and off we went, leaving a swirl of leaves that followed behind wishing us a good time.
We drove in comfortable silence, savoring the autumn scenery and anticipating the day. Charlie gave me his contented doggy smile and turned back to watch out the window. The colors across the hills graduated from shades of green to yellow gold. Larches high up on the hill were already turning. When I could see the lake off to the south I slowed the truck. Our turn off the highway was almost automatic. We come here a lot. It’s a bumpy mile or so, past a small community and a section of barbed wire fence not fencing anything anymore, down a rutted road. The creek is low now and dry grass rustles along the banks, cattail puffs float silently on the slow-moving water. Charlie headed off to chase grouse, the same ones he’s probably flushed a dozen times. I grabbed our basket and blanket and headed west through the trees, finding our path to the cabin hidden in the overgrowth of summer’s end.
I stumbled on the old Montana homestead by a lucky happenstance. I was trying to find a lake someone had told me about and I got lost. After turning around at the end of a dirt road I happened to glimpse the corner of a roof line beyond a row of young firs. Charlie and I poked around and found an old path, disguised with knee-high grass and weeds. The first thing we came to was an old barn. Charlie pounced on the grasshoppers that rattled out of our path. There were torn screens and coils of wire lying underfoot. A section of the barn’s roof had fallen in, leaving the entrance blocked with ribbons of lumber angling down from the loft. Remnants of other outbuildings were scattered across a wide, golden field. There was the shell of an old car, nothing left but a crumpled, rusted chassis. Pieces of equipment lay hiding in the grass – unrecognizable. Had it been a farm? A base camp for railroad workers? As we neared the main house, we found rusted buckets, broken boards, and the hinged part of an old gate. There was a small building just off the main house with most of the roof still intact, though thin and rotting with the sun shining zebra stripes through it onto the floor. Maybe this had been storage, maybe with a root cellar. The house itself was hard to picture whole. It had been two floors, the roof now resting at a slant on the ground floor, burying the porch on the south in a tangle of rotted boards. The staircase was still there, a twisted skeleton, gray and broken, reaching past remnants of the west wall to the sky. The north wall had leaned over and split, logs holding strong at one end, splayed out on the ground at the other, like fingers braced against a fall. Young firs and pines struggled up through the rubble along the east wall, and a huge larch was growing right in the middle of the house. Just one window frame remained intact. The river would have been visible when the house was new. I knew some woman had enjoyed the view because right outside this window was a bed of iris. Not wild blue iris, but creamy whites ones and bright yellows with bronzy-orange tongues. I tried to imagine her in the kitchen, going about her daily routine, maybe checking to see if the iris had bloomed yet some long ago spring. I admit I’ve dug a few of these iris and taken them home where they’ve multiplied and put on a lovely display each spring.
This day, before I’d even gotten the blanket down and our picnic set out, Charlie was in the ruins of the house. Did he come when I called? No! bad dog! I’ve never gone past the broken down walls into the house with its floor of debris, old shingles, and who knows what hidden dangers. Charlie was intent on something under a broken board, and I thought I could reach him by not actually stepping into the house. Okay, just one step and I had him! Then came the crash.
When the dust settled and I’d cleared my lungs with a good cough, I could see I’d fallen through the floor and into a cellar or some sort. Strange, it looked almost new, like it hadn’t been disturbed for a hundred years. Before my eyes even had a chance to adjust to the dimly lit space I heard sounds overhead. I hoped no more floor was going to crash down on us. There were intact stairs along the west wall so I carefully climbed up, testing each step before putting weight on it. Charlie bounded right up the stairs and out an open doorway. When I got to the top I thought maybe I’d hit my head or maybe had taken a nap before lunch and was dreaming. I stepped into a old-fashioned looking kitchen, complete with things I’d seen in antique stores, an old coffee grinder much like the one had sitting in my kitchen, a lovely old table with new-looking pieces of enamelware set out like company was expected. The human brain is quite amazing. Though everything in mine denied what was happening, in just nanoseconds I knew exactly what was going on. I had fallen into another time….

Whew, blows is putting it mildly! It happens every year and I try not to whine about it but it’s hard! 🙂 We get lovely rain showers and then the wind comes along and sucks away all that nice moisture, but the grass is turning green anyway, and little wadded up knots of leaves on the serviceberry bushes seem moments away from bursting open. Tiny sprouting bulbs and wild flowers shudder in the wind and I wonder every year how they can stand the constant onslaught.
Fresh leaves on the trees are unfurling into a biting wind chill – they must wonder if winter is really over!

Luckily I finished most of my burning and spring yard cleaning before the winds came, including collecting all the puffs of polyester filling scattered around the dog yard – remnants of shredded Christmas dog toys that had been buried under numerous snow falls. Neighbors would certainly wonder what those were if they saw them blowing across their yard. With all the raking and burning, the only contribution made by the dogs was their sweet company, though sometimes a little grumbly at having to be tied up out in the wind. Notice Coop’s winter coat – he’ll be shaved into his summer coat next week, he’ll look totally different.

In the meantime, we’ll batten down the hatches and hang onto our hats, keep the fire stoked and look forward to those first soft warm days being blown our way!

It’s that time of year again, well, one of several times, when I tend to whine about the weather. We’re having winter, spring, and mud season all in one week – it’s annoying and hard to plan anything and too much yard work needs done all of a sudden. It’s time to read my own story, again, about perspective, and will share with you in case you need a gentle reminder to enjoy whatever season you’re in 🙂 I’ve included a pic of the sign I made for my bench, one of my benches, as a reminder of this lesson:

Julie eased down on the bed, face first, so exhausted and sore she couldn’t even lie down fast. She lie sprawled out for some time, her mind going over chores accomplished and more still to be done. The horses were taken care of. Carl had the truck running, a bad starter solenoid, he said. He was still working on the mule and when that was ready she’d clean out the corral. She really had to get to the raking. She’d slid and sat down hard on the path to the shed, twisting her ankle first thing this morning, the pine needles were so deep and slick. Carl thought that big jack pine should go and she was thinking he was right. She’d worry about that later. Other matters to deal with. The well was up and running again, one good thing. Carl was a lifesaver. Julie worked in town at the hospital, 12 miles away, doing clerical work. She boarded horses for extra money so she could hire out the heavier work she couldn’t handle herself and some of the mechanical chores. Carl worked for her several afternoons a week, working around his school schedule. She didn’t know what she’d do without him. “Who ever called weekends days off?” she wondered as she drifted off.

Julie dreamed she was swimming in the ocean, floating, suspended, muscles relaxed, and it was warm. The air was thick and she savored its heavy saltiness. The clanging of a buoy out in the fog somewhere made her smile – she had missed the sounds and smells of living on the coast, things she had taken for granted until she had moved away and they were no longer part of her life. Why had she left? She couldn’t remember and it didn’t matter now, she was swimming and drowsy and warm.

When she woke up it was almost dark, the faintest hint of dusk outside. She was still dressed, curled up in a ball on top of the bedding. Great, she thought, I’ve messed up my sleep for the night. She swung her feet over the edge of the bed, groggy with sleep, trying to remember what leftovers might be in the frig to make a quick dinner.

Coming out of the bathroom a few minutes later she was shocked to see it was brighter out. Glancing at the clock she saw it was 7:45 – she’d slept straight through the night. She was stiff and sore and certainly didn’t feel rested. She slipped her boots off, deciding to lie back down for just a few minutes, then she’d get up and feed the dogs and horses while coffee brewed. She wondered about moving back to the coast. Maybe she’d go look at the condo later that Sally had told her about. No wood splitting, corral cleaning, someone else could worry over maintenance. She could sleep later every morning.

“Get up. You need to come.”

Julie opened her eyes, not sure if she’d really dozed off or not.

“Get up!” she heard again. She didn’t recognize the voice. The clock showed 8:00. She rolled over and looked toward the door but no one was there. She rubbed her eyes.

“Let’s go.” she heard. The commanding voice sounded like it was coming from the deck off her bedroom. She got up and slid open the glass door and there on the railing was a huge raven, head cocked, looking at her. She stared at it for a moment and looked around to see who was calling.

“I called you.” the raven said, seeing the question on Julie’s face.

“You!” was all Julie could say. She stared at the raven, not believing this was happening. “You seem like a very real dream, raven.” she said.

“You are not dreaming, Julie. Can you feel that breeze? Can you hear it in the trees? That warm pine scent, can’t you smell it? This is not a dream.”

“I must really be tired, I’m going to go make some coffee and then I have to feed the horses.” Julie muttered to herself. “I must be exhausted.”

“No!” the raven said. “Come now so I can show you.”

“I don’t know what’s happening here, raven, but I have work to do. I can’t go with you anywhere.” Julie was questioning her sanity.

“It is not a day to work. Don’t worry about your ranch. Come.”

Julie gave in to the dream. Horses and dogs didn’t need fed in dreams. She’d go to town after she woke up and pick up hay. She’d take Mrs. Wilkens’ bay out for a ride like she’d promised, when she was rested and could think clearly.

“Okay, let’s go.” Julie said. The raven led her across the property to the west, up a little rise that crossed into the neighboring ranch. He waited on a fence post for her to catch up. “Where are we going?” she asked again.

“This is far enough.” the raven said. “I just want to show you something. I think it will be easier if you can keep up with me.” Before Julie could ask what he meant she too was a raven – it seemed the most natural thing.

“This is a great dream, better than swimming in the ocean.” Julie thought. She often dreamed of flying, of making big swooping dives over the landscape, pushing through the air in a sleek body. She longed to make a flight out over the lake, to soar off the ridge, the ground dropping away, to see the valley from a great height.

“Let’s do some flying.” Julie said. She was wide awake, ready for an adventure. But the raven didn’t take off.

“Look there.” he said. Julie hopped around and looked back. There was her little ranch, as she liked to call it. It was snowing hard.

“What do you see?” the raven asked.

“I see it’s snowing. How did that happen?”

“What do you see.” the raven asked again.

“It’s snowing,” Julie wasn’t understanding. “I’ll have to get a path shoveled out to the barn, and dig out the heater out for the trough. I haven’t cleaned the chimney yet this year.”

“No!” the raven practically shouted at her. “Tell me what you see.”

“Alright.” Julie said a bit angrily herself. She looked at the raven for a moment, then turned again and looked down. “I see snow is starting to pile up on the horses backs. The trees are getting white and it’s calm now, so quiet. And I can smell wood smoke.”

“Good.” the raven said. “Now we can move on.”

The two ravens took off. If ravens could smile Julie would have been grinning from ear to ear. Certainly this was the best dream ever. They flew into the woods on the east end of the ridge and suddenly it was foggy. Julie had a hard time keeping the raven in sight.

“Wait.” she called but the raven disappeared into the mist. She landed on a pine branch , not seeing the raven anywhere. “This is just like living on the coast, one of the things I hoped to get away from. Ugh, and here it is again, this smothering fog!” While Julie sat grousing to herself about the fog she heard the raven’s voice.

“And what do you see?” he asked her.

“I don’t see anything,” she snapped, “and I’m getting cold.”

“Tell me what you see.” the raven ordered, so Julie tried to focus.

“Okay, I see hoar frost, it’s starting to prickle up on the pine needles. It’s forming little stars and flowers along the bark there! The fog is pretty the way it moves through the tops of the trees.”

“Ah.” said the raven. “You think that’s pretty?”

“Well, sure!” Julie replied.

“Then we can move on.” And the raven took off, making a wide turn through the trees, heading back to the west once again, racing across the fence line and lighting on a big stump where Julie could join him. It had started to rain and still Julie felt cold.

“Now, tell me what you see.” The raven motioned again down toward her house and outbuildings.

Julie concentrated through the rain. “I see a lot of mud that the horses will roll in and the dogs will track through the house. Dandelions will be taking over the corral. I’ll bet that’s not what you want me to see.” She turned to the raven but his expression didn’t change. “Okay, okay, I see the edges of the pasture are starting to green up. I think I see fritillaries over by the fence. That means the shooting stars should be coming up soon. The sun is warm on my back.” Sure enough, it had stopped raining and the sun was out.

“Say.” Julie turned to the raven. “Do you know a girl named Dorothy?” The raven looked hard at her a long moment. “Goodbye.” was all he said. “Okay, well, I want to thank you for this raven day, for the chance to fly and to see my world this way. Can we do this again?” Julie was sure she saw a little glint in that black trickster’s eye. He cocked his head and took off in a flash of black feathers, disappearing over the north ridge line.

Julie stretched her wings and felt their strength. She rose from the log and zoomed across the field. The balsam root was glowing in the summer sun, reflecting yellow light off the bottom of her wings. Lupine was just starting to show lavender through the bunch grass. She headed toward the barn, circling it once out of pure joy.

“Ravens may not be able to laugh but they can still have fun!” She felt the warmth on her wings. She flew around the front of the house where again the maples were blazing in autumn colors. She swooped around the back and landed in the big jack pine and sent needles raining down on the path below.

“What a magnificent tree this is! It’s been here a long time – what a view!” She fluffed her feathers and thought she’d just sit there a few minutes. She’d get to the chores later.
* * * * * * * * * * *
It was 8:05 when Julie woke up. “Wow, what a dream, what a great dream!” She jumped out of bed feeling great. She slid open the glass door on the deck and stepped out. A big black feather was stuck in between the boards of the railing and she pulled it out, smiling. “What a great dream.”

Carl came by later and found Julie working in the barn. “You’re working on your sign, huh?”

“Yep,” Julie said. “No more chores today. I finally decided what to call my little spread here. It’s going to be Raven Day Ranch.”

“Oh, that’s different. I like it! How’d you come up with that?”

“Let’s go get a cup coffee and I’ll tell you about it.” Julie put down her tools with a smile, taking Carl by the arm and walked up the path over the fallen needles. In the distance she heard the faint cry of a raven, catching thermals out over the ridge.

Another silly old chestnut – one that does little to soothe an aching heart. And the question that follows leaves the wounded soul wondering – would it have been better to have never loved at all?

I was introduced to the love of my life when I was about ten – when Dad took me flying. I was fascinated with all the gauges, the noise, the escape from the ground, the rush of coming back down. Even over Phoenix I was thrilled by the view. I got my license as soon as I was old enough. My dream was to be a corporate pilot, but was told that competing in that post Vietnam era was impossible; perhaps I was too easily discouraged. Nevertheless, the affair continued before, during, and after my marriage. The world of flying is full of interesting people – mostly men – all with fun stories to tell. Though most of my flights were in the Southwest, they included unique adventures like traffic watching over Phoenix and swing loading supplies to the bottom of the Grand Canyon by helicopter, hanging upside down over the Phoenix desert and the San Diego coastline in biplanes, as well as landings at remote airstrips all over Arizona in little Cessnas, solo or with friends and family. Then there was a ride in a DC-3 over Denali – no words can describe that! Eventually I quit flying myself, but my circle of friends continued to be pilots, and three of my jobs kept me around, involved, and passionate about flying.

I don’t think I took my love for granted, but I ignored it for long stretches, not on purpose, just by circumstance. And I have to admit it slipped my mind when choosing my Montana home to settle down – there’s an airport here but no restaurant, no terminal or shop of any kind on the field for a cup of coffee, no place to go to do a little “hangar flying.” Many a great meal has been had in airport restaurants, always fun conversations, always about flying.

After moving here I had a very brief encounter that took me island hopping in the San Juans in Washington in Turbo Otters and landing on my new hometown’s river in a float plane. It didn’t last and broke my heart. Love is the only word.

I don’t think I took my love for granted, but I ignored it for long stretches, not on purpose, just by circumstance. And I have to admit it slipped my mind when choosing my Northwest home to settle down in – there’s an airport here but no restaurant, no terminal or shop of any kind on the field for a cup of coffee, no place to do a little “hangar flying.” Many a great meal has been had in airport restaurants, all with fun conversations and fantastic views – always about flying.

So now I live vicariously through my nephew, Eric. The lucky kid (okay, he’s 35) is now a corporate pilot. He’s paid heavy dues to get to this point, but it’s nice to see the hard work of a great guy pay off. He flies jets to tropical islands and to freezing Canadian prairie towns, has layovers in Aspen, and hours of waiting in not so glamorous places. He also flies Cubs – little, teeny planes that give a different perspective of the world, flying low and slow. He admits there are trade offs, but what price is too high for love? He recently sent this picture from a flight over the Tetons. Look at the reflection on the wing! And see the other plane – just above the peaks? Had I never known this thrill myself I couldn’t close my eyes and hear the hum of the engine, feel the heat from the floor vents, or know the privilege of seeing staggeringly beautiful parts of this country that most people will never see from that angle. So though I mourn my lost love, I look forward to every picture Eric sends and hang on every word as he describes his latest adventure. Thank Goodness I once knew this kind of love, it would have been tragic to have never known it at all!

So I found out yesterday I didn’t make it to the second round of the Amazon/Create Space contest with The Sparrow’s Choice. Disappointing but not all that surprising. With 10,000 entrants in five categories, that means in the fiction category I was competing with 2000 other entries. At times like this one comforts oneself with thoughts like “their loss” or “there are better things waiting,” or “my turn will come.” Silly platitudes all.

Remember the game Chinese checkers? We played that a lot when we were little kids, an old fashioned board game with marbles set in little pockmarks. It’s a simple game, a fun game that doesn’t require much strategy. The intent is to get your marbles gathered up in a triangular space across the board before anyone else. You can play it offensively or defensively, depending on your mood. It’s not like chess where you have to attack someone to get where you’re going. No one has to be thrown off the board as you focus on your goal. It’s just a few hops, skips, and jumps, a little dodging here and there. There’s a real pleasure in jumping over a few obstacles, suffering a few setbacks or sidesteps and then moving forward again, none the worse for wear. We all know side trips can be kinda fun anyway. 🙂

Nice analogy, but life is not that simple. More often than not something jostles the board and sends marbles flying. Most of the world prefers chess. It knocks you up the side of the head, purposely trips you from the back, and enjoys seeing you with your face in the dirt, hoping to remove you from the game completely. That spot on the distant horizon can seem pretty unattainable. Of course, not moving up to the next level of this contest is not like being a pawn that’s been removed from the game. My marbles are still lined up nicely and I’m moving across the board. A query letter is about to be mailed to my future agent and a couple of awards are looking for applicants. As they say, good things come to those who wait. 😉

An excerpt from The Sparrow’s Choice. One of my favorite winter scenes:

At the far end of the stable Sky had Red Boy all hooked up to the sleigh. The sleigh was old, a Portland cutter. It was a faded black with red pin striping but it shined with its fresh polishing. Sky helped Calandra and Everett onto the green velveteen seat and pulled a buffalo robe over their laps. He untethered Red Boy and climbed in next to Everett, pulling the robe up to Everett’s chin.
“Bunch up in there and we’ll keep you warm and toasty.” Sky said to Everett. He gave Calandra a wink and clicked to Tom. The sleigh started away easily on the frozen ground. There were stares from the group at the fire as they watched their nurse and her son off on a sleigh ride with Mr. Sky Crossing. The three in the sleigh just laughed and waved.
The ride was exhilarating and absolutely freezing. Everett pulled the robe up until only his eyes were showing. Calandra pulled his hat down a little further and did the same with hers. Despite the cold she was glad she’d consented. She’d been on a sleigh ride before, but it was through the streets of Boston, nothing like the open country of their valley with its surrounding snow draped peaks and flocked hillsides. They went cross country, coming out on a rise where they could see Hidden Lodge Butte in the distance, like a frozen crystallized cake out on the flat of the valley. They turned east and worked their way down through the willows and onto Lost Horse Creek. They flew up the frozen creek, Red Boy pounding on the ice, the sleigh skidding in the turns. Everett’s giggles bubbled up from under the robe. Calandra knew she was smiling but she could barely feel her face. Sky’s fur hat and scarf were ice encrusted but he seemed unaffected by the wind chill.
It was dusk when they pulled off the frozen creek just before the pump house. Snow spraying off Red Boy’s hooves had formed an icy crust across their laps. They came up to the school grounds from the south. Red Boy knew when it was time to bring the sleigh to a stop. He stood panting plumes of frosty breath out his iced and bristly nose. Sky climbed down and unburied Everett.
“Was that fun?”
“Yes, sir, thank you, sir!”
“It was fun for me, too, thank you for coming. Off to the fire with you now, thaw out your cheeks.”
Sky turned to Calandra and helped her down. She still had the robe around her, it was so very cold. Sky pulled it up closer around her neck. They stood there for a moment, barely able to see each others faces in the falling darkness. Finally Calandra took the robe from her shoulders and handed it to him. There was so much about him she didn’t know. His kindness was a pleasant surprise.
“Thank you for the lovely ride, Mr. Sky Crossing. We’re most grateful. That was a wonderful treat for Everett.” Calandra hoped he could read in her smile how grateful she was for the invitation. “I need to go join him by that fire.” She turned to walk away but stopped, looking back at Sky.
“How did you know I would go with you?”
“I didn’t” Sky said quietly, “but was truly hoping you would.”

I have another sleigh ride I’ll send the next time I need a winter fix 🙂