This is not the post I was going to write today.
Two years ago, when my readers were just 3 family members and 2 friends I wrote & published this memory from my childhood.
If you are one of the few who read it back then, I hope you will read it again.
I promise you there is nothing I could write that would be any better than this story during this season of gratitude.
Everything we encounter in our lives – good or bad, helps form who we become.
This is a true story of just that.
For those of us between the ages of the empty nest and death, we are faced with the dilemma of “Downsizing”.
Let’s be clear, downsizing and decluttering are two very different things. Decluttering feels good, like detoxing your liver type of good. But, downsizing your home deserves some serious thought.
“Into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul” – John Muir
On a rare occasion, we experience a moment that is spent in awe of something so magnificent, that it fuels your soul.
When it happens you will know.
You will feel the moment become a part of you.
It becomes etched in your psyche.
Although moments like this are rare, they run deep and are never forgotten.
These moments are golden and can stay hidden until years later when something as simple as a scent or a phrase can ignite it from the darkness.
I am privileged to have had one of these intense moments happen right here on our property.
Long before we built our home, back when our weekends were a retreat to our crooked little cabin in the woods seeking solace and peace from a hectic world.
It was late on a lazy afternoon in the last days of September.
With my faithful furry companion at my side, I had been walking the paths on our property and had just settled down on my favorite grassy perch on the hilltop under a brilliant Missouri sky.
The sweet smell of hickory smoke lingered in the crisp autumn air. Faint enough that you wanted more, to suck it in until your lungs reached capacity.
The western sky appeared to be on fire. The sight of it was shocking.
My left hand reached up to clutch the neck of my jacket – I had never seen a sky in such blazing glory.
It didn’t look real – if it were a painting – you would think the artist messed up. Sunsets don’t look like that in real life.
Just as I was focusing on the brilliance in the west, a crisp breeze began to swirl around me.
It was so refreshing I began to smile at the air. Somehow, the way it brushed past my face and cheeks made me feel more alive.
The breeze then reached the cottonwood – its shimmering leaves launched into a chatty babble directly behind me. It was as if the leaves were celebrating my joy.
In front of where I sat was our gulch. The blazing sky danced across the sparkling waves that appeared to flash fire in its reflection.
The same water just moments before was like glass.
The view of the blazing sky, the faint aroma of the hickory smoke, the feel of the cool crisp air, the babble of the cottonwood, every ounce of my being was captivated.
I knew this was a moment that would never come again.
There is a comfort knowing this memory stays alive within me.
My soul fuel.
***
All photos, thoughts, experiences, and opinions are my own.
Copyright © Lost Mule Lodge 2018 All Rights Reserved
Raise your hand if you’ve ever owned a Scarecrow?
Me either…
Not until this summer!
Allow me to introduce you…
Meet Tilly, the hardest working scarecrow in the county.
Rain or shine she is always on the job.
I don’t mind bragging that since she started we haven’t lost a single vegetable.
I’ve been dreaming of my very own “Tilly” for a while…
long before we even planted our garden.
Actually, my thoughts of her began last spring when the old roto-tiller refused to start.
As Sir Lots-a-Wit was getting more and more frustrated with each yank of the rope –
I was secretly hoping it would not start.
As he was making adjustments and checking the plug for a spark, I found myself trying to hide my toothy grin as thoughts of “her” began to swirl in my mind.
When he finally decided that old tiller could not be resurrected, I knew exactly what it could be used for…
My attempts to describe the picture of her in my head was met with furrowed brows and looks of confusion –
This project needed a drawing!
Once he saw my crude drawing, I could see by the twinkle in those baby blues he knew what I was after!
I will admit right here that my contribution was the clothing and the hat.
And the bubble butt –
for whatever reason, I had drawn her with a bubble butt.
Then one morning – Sir Lots-a-Wit, along with our grandkids, called me out to the garden…
and there she was –
Sir Lots-a-Wit is too humble to say so –
but I will shout it from the mountain tops –
***
All photos, thoughts, experiences, and opinions are my own.
Copyright © Lost Mule Lodge 2018 All Rights Reserved
My cries for help went unanswered. All I could hear was Pat Sajak calling out letters for Vanna to turn. “Do we have the letter ‘D'”? “D” for drowning? “D” for Dinghy? “D” for Dang it I was not planning on practicing my splits today…