The place that holds my heart

Warning: This is a sappy, sentimental post.  It is also a bit long:) 

So either bear with me, or click on by:)

"The truth is...

we are not that important,

unless we are important

to each other."

Jed Henrie

~

~spring break 2010~

Remembering my Roots

This is the place that holds my heart.

It's old.  It's very old.

The wood is weathered and washed

with years of rain, snow

and hot summer days.


Many summer days,
floating down the river
that runs as deep
as the emotions it stirs inside of me.

Growing up, I used to let people assume

that it was a modern day dude ranch,

just like in the movies.

It's a dude ranch alright,
with

Cows and horses

and cowboys as dusty

as the land they plow.

But their is nothing modern about it.

I am finding that the truth is much more 

interesting than fabrication.

Because what this place lacks in

bells and whistles and shiny things,

is the reminder of everything

beautiful, sustaining,  and

Real.

I am growing tired of the sparkly jeans,

bangles and tinkling jewels that seem

to suffocate the heart and soul

of my generation.
(I suppose every generation had their tinkling adornaments)

More than ever, I am searching for what

will truly sustain me and keep me 

Authentic.

That which once dazzled me

is now frazzeling me.

(is that a word?)

Because that is what I feel sometimes.

Give me something real,

and I will give you my heart.

Give me your love, your sincerity,

your truth,

and maybe...just maybe... we will find  out

what Joy really is.

I  don't have the energy for anything

else anymore.

I want to wrap myself  in the beauty,

 the smiles, and the tender mercies, 

that those I surround myself with,

give to me each moment.

I want to be there for every

tear that falls,

every day break, and every dark night.

 I want to hear the laughter

that makes my belly dance,

and the songs that make the dark nights

worth it. 

(This is Henry's drum set.)

If their is anything I teach him in this life

I hope I teach him where he comes from,

the blood that runs through his veins,

and the duty he has to generations past

and generations ahead.

This is my family tree.

It hangs on the dusty bedroom wall

with pride.

(Humble pride)

This is the crazy colauge of pictures

past and present.

We spent Easter weekend at the ranch.

 It was...oh so very cold,

but quite and still.

It was filled with candy, conference and home cooking.

(I love to cook at the ranch, because calories don't count there:)

I love to walk around in my old gray sweater

and funny warped slippers.

Dad taught my kids how to carve in the

firewood.

This is his latest carving.

~Nothing without work~

This is the man, who went to war

and saved every penny, so that he

could come home and buy the ranch

from my great grandmother...

who was running it alone.

He understood the principle of

"Nothing without work"

I will never forget riding on 

the back of grandpa's horse.

His spearamint gum and coffee nibs

used to jingle in his front pocket

like coins.

They filled the air with his scent.

I loved the way he smelled

He always wore this robin egg blue

shirt and his Stetson hat.

I remember one day...

 I had my arms wrapped

 around his barrell chest, and

held on tightly with each

bump and jerk of the horse

as it galloped

along the green pastures

that fed the cows

and the horses that

chased the cows.

He brought the horse to a hault,

and quietly pointed out

the indian paint brush

that dangled along the banks of the river.

He gave me a stick of chewing gum,

and then we watched the sun go down,

on the land that holds my heart.

~I love you grandpa~