Some time later, I learned that when
there is a rustling in the leaves and
the cat at the window is growling,
it means it is a Black Bear with cub in tow.
It also means I should count on the cat
and not be halfway between the cabin
and bear to realize that she knew what
she was growling about.

I click on internet maps and find the contour
of the little mountain that I belonged to.
I switch to satellite view and see the long
cow pasture butting up against the woods.
I trace the lane past the Big Pond where
the cats and I would walk every day.
I follow the dirt lane down to the cabin,
which sits in front of the Little Pond.

I know there are still turkey coveys
traveling through, that there are
Pieliated Woodpeckers following the lane to
their nest halfway up to the ridge.
I know the moon still backlights the trees on the ridge
and holds their silhouettes in yellow shine.

My heart knows it's still there,
but now I can only visit from
a satellite in the sky.

Anne, I'm sorry your cabin is gone--I know it was a special place for you---
for just BEING there alone.
What a treat---a neccessity, really,
for being changed in some ways, for the rest of your life.

Ever since I moved from the little house I raised my children in, I've driven around the loop hundreds of times over the years, just to check on it. It was such a sweet lttle home with an acre for a yard and all the neighbour kids could be found there!
Now the whole street is run-down, tons of cars, shutters hanging loose, yards filled with dirty plastic toys and at our old house, there are tons of beat-up cars in the side yard, supposedly being worked on, with some sort of CLEAR PLASTIC TENT thing housing parts.
It's AWFUL. They even painted the shutters and chimney BLACK on that sweet little Cape Cod!
I never imagined that sweet place could look so hurt and abused.
I guess we all have tender spots for places we've lived.
Guess we have to remember,'IT'S ALL TEMPORARY'!

It's hard to imagine the whole town just staying the same----did everything seem smaller
(streets, houses, layout?) than you remembered?
I wonder if many of the families you knew were still there, or if there were a lot of new faces to go with the old houses?

West; that old picture of Norway you talked about
is how I still imagine it.
The shock you felt seeing how the old haunts had changed, must've been quite disturbing. I guess the outside world remembers what it was like from schoolbook pictures and old movies.
Norway is a most beautiful country.

mwheel, I do the same thing you do, concerning our love of mountains----although I've never seen the Rockies---they must be magnificent to explore and smell and to see new vistas with each summit you travel over. Were you raised near the Rockies?----I was only asking because WVa mtns are sure older and worn down! One thing's for sure, you're usually going UP or DOWN in many parts of WVa!

Mom and Dad spent time in Colorado. Mom only says it was cold! I imagine what you do Kathy, majestic awesome to behold moutains. The tallest I've been in are the Sierra Nevadas and the Cherokee National Forest. Neither actually compares in size. And their flavor is different, I imagine. Cherokee is imposing, to be sure, but much smaller than the Rockies; a third of the size, I think. The Yosemite valley is full of domes made of granite. It's very round! Unless they shear straight down the middle and you get a very famous half dome.

Tell us m! What's it like in person?

For Some

For Others

No change can take away
the memory of Poppy sitting on the front porch in a straight
back chair leaned against the wall carving his latest
creation for one of the kids. Nor my grandmother sitting
under that old pear tree with her apron full of apples or pears peeling away while she looked up at the mountain and told us stories of things that happened when she was growing up. I can still see my daddy driving up in the farm truck on his way to pick up a load of hay, he always picked me up so I could *help*. He couldn't do it without me.

There is no doubt that one morning when I
awaken, my heart will start longing to go home and I will throw some clothes in my car and head north back where my heart sings a different song and I can feel my very soul
gently touched by the mountains.

I was going to post a memory of an escape artist cow and a little girl who"s name had to be Elizabeth although I never heartd her called that. But after this thread re: memories etc. it can wait. Oh yes, the cow"s name was Beth but it was originally called Bess. Elizabeth had a slight lisp.

From satellite images, I can see my parents' graves in the old cemetery up the road from our house. I can see the path my sister and I took to the river. I can see the place where we waited for the school bus, and our hiding spot in the woods where we hid from the bus when we didn't want to go to school.

But I can also see the house I grew up in, and it's a shame to see what's been done to our old 40 acres.