A FB friend and I were exchanging videos yesterday and hit upon a favorite for both of us…John Denver. His music brought back loads of memories and literally sent me back in time.
I’ve always been an outdoors lover, but Denver’s songs were key to opening up a locked door to a part of myself I hadn’t yet discovered. They gave my spirit wings to soar above what my life was back then, and opened my eyes to what I could be instead of what I was…
Literal floods of memories flashed through my thoughts yesterday and this morning. It was akin to going home, although we all know it’s impossible because nothing ever remains the same. I was content to let the currents carry me to wherever they sought fit.
I remember escaping the bindings of my childhood home when I left for a college located in the Finger Lakes region of NY. My major allowed me to explore more of what this earth has to offer. It’s also where I met my first girlfriend, and when I finally came to terms with what I’d known for a while…
I remember my first breakup, an emotional rollercoaster for sure. But it made me stronger and oddly, more confident in myself.
I remember firmly tucking my degree under my arm at graduation and then my subsequent acceptance into the Wildlife Management program at the U. of Maine in Orono. It was there I met the most incredible and beautiful woman I’ve ever known. Thirty years later, her hand still fits perfectly in mine.
I remember us moving to Pennsylvania with two dogs and a cat, and buying our first house. It was there that horses re-entered my life. I taught Linda how to ride and we bought her her first horse, Chenoa.
I remember moving to Michigan with two horses, four dogs and three cats. We’d bought a 12 acre farm about five miles outside of Ann Arbor. Our beastie population grew to six horses, not including the foals that we bred, numerous cats and six dogs. One of them was a Jack Russell named Digger. He was as fearless as they came. He drove me nuts. I don’t know how many times I had to get on a horse to look for him after he’d dug a hole under the fence. More times than not, I’d find him with his little ass sticking out of a woodchuck hole, pull him out and ride on home. He loved to ride. Whether it was in the horse drawn buggy or the car. But his biggest thrill came when I was mowing the pastures with the tractor. Even after losing both eyes to glaucoma, he would sit next to the fence if he heard the tractor running in the back. Linda would scoop him up, plop him in my lap, and he’d ride for hours on my lap, content to sniff the air, alternately wagging his tail.
I remember moving to New York and losing three of our old dogs, Digger, Subacka and Dakota. These memories are fresher and the caustic feelings of loss remain.
I remember signing the contract with Blue Feather Books for my first book. I still feel the giddiness of when it was released last month, and when I held the finished product in my hands. I won’t soon get over that.