And now:Ish <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> writes: "Karen Mitchell" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> replies: Karen Mitchell [EMAIL PROTECTED] Back to Nature Column At the Edge of Back to Nature The railway was drawn across central North America as if the Creator himself had taken an arrow from heaven and scored a straight line from Lake Michigan to the edge of the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. It connected the small towns along the way as if they were beads strung on a necklace. The iron beast that puffed and roared over this line brought news, goods and people together. The railroad had long since abandoned our little town, though, it had once bustled with restaurant, courtier combination hat shop, and water supply station. Even so the town�s people still told the time of day by the whistle of the train. Lifting his pocket watch face up, Mr. McLoud stated, "Well she be six minutes late this morning." "Nah," stated Hardy Brewster, "You know you can�t trust that ol� watch of yours. She oughta be comin� along any minute from now. Time for me to get started," as he set his empty coffee mug down on the yellow Formica counter at Jesse�s General Store and Dalemead Post Office. We had come here to live after discovering an ancient 109 year old farmhouse sitting in a barley field in the middle of what seemed like no where. There were snow drifts across the living room floor and a barn owl�s nest in the upper bedroom. What magical lure this old house cast upon us we�ll never understand, but we instantly fell in love with her and drove straight to the realtors to make an offer. The old house had once perched on the hill, if you could call it that, a small rise in the otherwise flat landscape that lilted and rolled to the foothills of the Rockies, about a two hour�s drive away. Around 1930, the house�s occupants decided that the clapboard and wooden structure would be better located near the main town of eight houses, next to the courtier and hat shop. On a flat bed of rolling logs, chains and rope the little house was pulled across the prairie by oxen to its present location. It is said that at one time or another that everyone in the village had lived within its sheltered walls. On a foundation of flagstone buffered by a thick circle of straw bails, the house stood with humble pride at times full with the laughter of children and at times abandoned by its human companions waiting for someone to shovel the snow drifts from her hardwood floors and hang checked curtains in her mended windows. This time she chose us. See we were much like the farmhouse. With broken hearts we had viewed this old house like the healing of our own souls. It�d been a year since our nine year old daughter had crossed over. We reckoned that this old house was the Creators way of saying to us, mend this house and you�ll mend your hearts. This is exactly what happened. As the fire was built again and the hearth warmed, so did we. As each nail was pounded into each new board, so was a stitch made closing up the emptiness we felt without our Jennifer. And so it went, septic field needed to be dug by hand and a layer of stone two feet deep needed to be laid in the ditch. A garden of carrots and corn flourished once again and the sun set on polished windows. The barn owl now resided in the loft of the garage that neighbors had helped us build. She watched with interest the goings on below and the field mice I stirred as I worked the garden, swooping to carry her prey away to the new family she now nurtured. The prairies stretched unheeded for miles around us. The view of the rising sun on the snow topped mountains as it turned shades of tangerine and rose was a site that could bring any man to his knees. At the edge of back to nature we came to draw our strength and the little house provided us haven in this awesome simplicity. with respect, Karen RedFox Watch the clouds, Watch the waves, Watch the flames. They take you home. They take you to Ain-dah-ing. http://www.geocities.com/~mystudio ______________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com <<<<=-=-=FREE LEONARD PELTIER=-=-=>>>> If you think you are too small to make a difference; try sleeping in a closed room with a mosquito.... African Proverb <<<<=-=http://www.tdi.net/ishgooda/ =-=>>>> IF it says: "PASS THIS TO EVERYONE YOU KNOW...." Please Check it before you send it at: http://urbanlegends.miningco.com/library/blhoax.htm
