2:00 AM is a good time

It is 2:00 AM, I walk outside on my deck and hear the ocean. It is roaring loudly and I can hear large waves breaking on the beach. A thought runs through my head that even now as the endless waves assault the beach, as the moon sits high in the sky, as everyone is asleep, there are whales less then half a mile from where I am standing. They are making their way south and even in this time when nobody is keeping track, their cycle of diving and surfacing and spraying the air with mist as they exhale goes on. I wish I could go watch them at night. They do not need me, they are not cognizant of me but it gives me so much comfort to see them. Somehow, seeing them makes me feel like I have a bond with them. But even now, in the dead of night they must keep moving and travel on from this place. They swim out of my thoughts for now but they are never very far.

I hear a friend call me from a short distance away. She is taking care of her family in the forested area on my property. I know if I am patient I will soon see her. I wait and wait but nothing happens. When I am almost ready to give up, she swoops down from behind me and flies out over my yard. In the bright moonlight her silent feathers glow. She is hunting and I watch in awe as she finds what she is looking for. She has made a kill and her family will eat tonight. She is my friend and we often keep each other company at night. She is comfortable hunting here and I am privileged. I call her Hanhepi-Wi, the Lakota word for moon.

Someone is bothering the Canadian Geese on the river bank. They are squawking and flapping their wings. They are most likely chasing away a fox or something in the weasel family. They will calm down soon but it is almost comical to hear them. They sound like a bunch of grumpy old people that got woken up by some rude young whippersnapper. I think they, like me, should visit friends more often and quit being so grouchy.

I take the last drink of my hot tea, I pleasure that I thoroughly enjoy. It is nourishment for my emotions, it is a simple comfort. As I finish my tea I look up into the vast sky, not so dark tonight because the moon was full only two days ago. The night sky is a wonder to be contemplated for all my days on earth. Where I live there is very little light pollution so the view is always spectacular. The star filled wonder above my head has many faces and many moods. Tonight.....well tonight the sky is passive. It regards me not and takes no notice of all that is going on. I could yell out into the night with all my might but the moon, hanging motionless, would not flinch, the stars would not ripple or twinkle. Tonight the sky sleeps, unconcerned with the affairs of tiny mortal creatures or whales for that matter.

It is 2:00 AM and I am grateful.


Otter

The Screeching Dust Cloud

When I was growing up as a teenager I used to hunt feral pigs to help feed our family. The area I hunted them in was very remote and you had to hike the last 10 miles or so because a vehicle could not even get close. In fact it was such bad terrain in some areas you would have to crawl through underbrush and game trails.

I always had my bow with me back then. It was a constant companion in the wilderness areas I walked through. I knew with a bow I would have to be close up to the wild pig in order to get a good clean shot. After you reached a certain point and if you knew where you were going you would end up in a very beautiful area that you could easily walk through.

You would walk through open areas dotted with huge cottonwood trees, several varieties of willow trees and a type of ceder tree. The leaves of the cottonwood trees sound much the same as the leaves of an aspen tree in a breeze. The willows and the arrow root plants had a very heady aroma, a wild and inviting perfume I can still smell to this day when I close my eyes. The ground was soft without being so soft it was hard to walk through. There were so many birds, rabbits , foxes, badgers, coyotes and just about every other type of animal you could think of with the exception of bear and deer. It was easy to get lost in your thoughts and just meander for miles and miles in this area.

Even the open areas closed in from time to time. You would push through the brush and pop out in another open area or just follow along and find a trail through the brush and you would always come out into these open areas. Each one almost seemed as if they were a little world unto themselves. Once I started walking through these open areas I liked to take my time and just wander around and take in the sights. I felt sheltered and cocooned in my own world.

Very rarely did I ever feel threatened here....but....from time to time I would start thinking about the stories that the old ones would tell us about this place, they would say that it was haunted and inhabited by bad spirits. Some of these spirits had names, some of them didn't. Some of the old ones claimed to have seen these spirits. They would describe strange things happening like large dust clouds moving about by themselves as the thunder roared in the middle of the dust clouds. A strange noise would come from these mysterious dust clouds like tormented spirits trying to escape the strangle hold of these clouds.

So, when you are a 16 or 17 year old boy and you are impertinent and full of yourself you pretty much discard anything like this as old superstitions or some old person making up something just to keep you from wandering off. At any rate, I was young and knew everything so what did it matter.

On this particular day my mind was entertaining thoughts of the old stories as I walked toward my hunting area. It was late May and the day was quite warm already. As the day heated up the cedar, the willows and the arrow root would give off more powerful aromas. This was good for covering your scent as you approached the area you were going to hunt in. The sky was a brilliant thick blue. It seemed that the sky was so blue it was solid, I am sure you could have taken a knife and sliced a big wedge out of the sky.

I couldn't help get those stories out of my mind though and perhaps I became a bit spooked. But now my ears were listening more intent and I had gotten a bit jumpy. Now if this was a cartoon I would have started whistling to keep myself calmed down. But it wasn't a cartoon, I was out in the middle of nowhere, no one around to call out to and this was way before the term cell phone was thought of. Not that I was scared, like I said, I was 16 or 17 years old, I knew everything and was full of myself....of course I never got scared.

Then in an instant of ice cold blood and heart stopping clarity I heard it. A clear blue spring sky but I know I heard thunder. I also know I heard something else, something much more sinister then thunder. I could not help but think there is no way this is happening to me. But it was happening and I could not deny what I heard. The thunder was moving closer and getting louder. But that other sound, how it frightened me, it was like nothing I had ever experienced.

I was in the middle of a clearing and the sound was approaching from the clearing behind me. I tried to look through the trees but the brush was too thick and I could not see through it though I felt my life depended on it. I had no idea what horrible fate was about to befall me but I did know one thing, I needed to escape somehow and I needed to escape as fast as I could.

I was a fast runner in my day so I knew I had one chance. Bolt and run and never look back. So you can imagine my surprise when I decided to climb the nearest tree instead. By the time I had decided to run however it was even worse then I thought. The ground itself seemed to be shaking and whatever was about to devour me was right on the other side of the clearing and coming fast. I wasn't sure what sound I was hearing but I swear it was screaming and screeching.

By this time the thunder was deafening and disorienting, but that other noise, what a horrific noise, what was it that the venerable, respected and wise older ones would tell me? Oh yeah, the sound of tormented spirits trying to escape this mysterious cloud. The sound that so frightened me seemed to be coming from more then one tormented spirit, from several over a large area and they were all headed my way.

From my vantage point in the tree I climbed I could tell I had made a mistake by not running away as fast as I could. There it was, unbelievable as it sounds and as ghastly and unbelievable as it was to me........there it was I could clearly see a large dust cloud moving in my direction. I could see that it had gone straight through the open area I had just come through and was in the process of breaking through the thick brush surrounding the open area I was in at the time.

I could feel the ground shaking so hard that the tree I was in was even shaking. The noise, that noise of tormented spirits was maddening. I could hear them, so many of them! A high pitched whine, a piercing staccato screech. I could even hear what sounded like low pitched muffled snorts. Anyone who has ever heard pigs squeal and make the other various sounds they produce, knows that pigs can make some fairly disconcerting noises. This was not the sound of pigs.

This was something far worse then I could even imagine and the brush and bushes were breaking and this hideous thing was no only a heartbeat from coming into view. I did not even bother to draw my bow. I instinctively knew it would be of no use. I didn't even have any silver bullets or whatever it was that you were supposed to use on other worldly beings. I steadied myself in an odd surreal moment of calm in the midst of this impending horror.

Then out of the thick tall brush they came crashing through, bounding forward, freed from some unforeseen bondage. Hurtling forward as if shot from some haunted cannon filled with torment, dust and spirits. My heart stopped as I saw them all, so many of them and now they were nearly upon me. They had breeched a hole in the thick brush and here they came,spilling out of the darkest recesses of imagination but now loosed upon my world.

Every detail, even the enveloping, moving dust cloud was there. This was an absolute impossibility. They came running and screeching and snorting straight for the tree I was in and within seconds the tree was standing in a torrent of shapes. Dark and light patches, gnashing teeth as they bit at each other, stringy hair blowing back as they ran passed. Angry feet pounding at the earth and lashed out at each other.

By this time fear had been replaced.....with what at first I am not sure but soon I was in awe as I watched the largest herd of wild horses I had ever seen run right underneath and around me. Their scraggly wild manes and tails swirling like frenzied flames. They were so wild they could not contain themselves. Jumping, bucking and running in graceful arcing curves and chaotic zig zags. Whinnying and snorting and carrying on, making noises I have never heard horses make. Running and kicking and biting. A beautiful wild eyed symphony of muscle, whipping manes and thundering hooves. I was privileged to have a front row seat like no other. Little did I know at the time, that was one of the most beautiful, powerful sights I would see in my lifetime.

So there I was, still sitting in the tree, it was over much too soon. The dust and the aroma of the horses still hung in the air as the thunder was receding into the distance. I decided that I could probably breathe now and maybe it would be a good thing if my heart started beating again. I remember I couldn't climb down from the tree or more accurately I really didn't want to. Not for fear that they would return, I just didn't want to disturb this moment. Something magical had just happened and I, as a mortal, had no right to be here and had no right to disturb this realm until it returned to normal.

I replayed the scene over and over in my mind, the sounds, the thunder, the hooves, the wild eyes. I had been given a rare treasure and I wanted to greedily consume every last piece of it so that I took it in and would never forget it. So it would become a part of me forever.

I never did get the wild pig I came to hunt that day. It didn't matter to me at all though. I went back many times to hunt, but I found myself usually tracking the herd of wild horses and trying to get a glimpse of them. They were very elusive and never again was I to experience the full force, fury and beauty of that first encounter. I watched them many times from a distance and would hear them running if I spooked the herd. Even these encounters were a marvel to me and I loved every minute I spent tracking and watching those horses.

I went back and told my Grandfather about the horses. He smiled and with a sparkle in his eye he asked me if they were running in a dust cloud. I valued my Grandfather and other elders. I knew they had wisdom and knowledge that I didn't. Too frequently I discounted their "silly superstitions" as something that, though important to the elders, just didn't belong in this modern age I lived in.

When they would relate their legends to me I would love to hear the stories, but I was growing up in a different time then they did. I was even 16 or 17 at this time, I knew everything didn't I?

I listened to their stories with a different ear from that time on. After all, they had all told me about the mysterious thundering dust cloud. I had seen the dust cloud, I had indeed seen wild spirits with my own eyes. They happened to be a nomadic herd of wild horses. It was about this time in my life I learned it was not only good to trust my own eyes, but the eyes of those that had gone before me, that had learned before me and eyes that had so much to share.

Otter

Mrs. Spears

I wrote this awhile back after a friend and I were talking about our respective childhoods and the similarities we shared. He and I both used to mow lawns to earn money. During that conversation I related this story about a widowed woman whose lawn I used to mow.
Mrs. Spears

I started cutting her lawn after my grandfather and I had done some electrical work at her house. She mentioned to my grandfather that she needed someone to cut her lawn. Of course I was always on the look out for a new client so I agreed to start mowing her lawn the next day.

You see I had a long list of items I had thoroughly priced and researched and drooled over at the local dime store. I was always in need of an extra job or client so I could afford to feed my piggy bank for savings and still have enough money left over to save up for a set of "army men" or other such important nonsense.

Seeing as I had a tally of expenditures a normal boy my age had to keep up with, such as string, comic books, BB's or if I had extra money I could splurge and buy pellets instead of BB's and of course we also had a local drugstore that sold ice cream cones and sodas, well anyway, you get the picture, at that age the lucrative mowing business was about all I could get in to.

Well back to dear Mrs. Spears....it always took me two days to mow her lawn and it was the smallest lawn on my list. Each time I would arrive, I would no sooner get started when Mrs. Spears would show up on the porch with fresh baked cookies and lemonade. She would always say I was working too hard and that it was time to take a break.

The conversation would usually begin with polite questions from Mrs. Spears and she would find some way to weave a story from "the old days" around some answer I had given to one of her questions. By the time she was done with her story for the day, she would insist it was too hot to finish working and insist that I should finish the next day. The second day she would usually let me finish mowing without much interruption and there were always cookies when I was done.

Now after I had finished mowing and raking I would always water the person's plants to give it that extra little touch you know. When I would finish with Mrs. Spears' yard I would go up on her porch where she would usually be waiting for me again with cookies. She would reach into a small leather coin purse that was trimmed with brass and had an old worn brass clasp. I remember it to this day, I remember her long weathered fingers searching her coin purse for just the right amount.

I will always remember and treasure her kind, pleasant smile, the sparkle in her otherwise tired eyes as she would pay me. She would fish out the correct payment amount and her feeble hand shaking with age would place a dime firmly in the palm of my hand and then her smile turned more radiant and beaming. She was always so pleased to pay me. Yes that's right...just in case you missed it...I did say dime!

She would pay me a dime and happily tell me that I could go to the corner market and buy 2 pieces of gum and a soda. Well, the corner market had been closed for many years by that time. I do not recall the exact price of soda back then, but I do remember Bazooka Joe bubble gum cost 2 cents a piece at that time. I remember my utter disbelief the first time she paid me but I would by no means have ever dreamed of complaining to her, or any adult for that matter. I did tell my parents about the meager income from Mrs. Spears but they didn't really comment one way or another other then to remind me of her age.

Now some of the lawns I cut were big business to me....back then anyway. I would get two dollars maybe even five dollars for a large lawn and a few extra chores. However I didn't quit, there was always something about this dear sweet woman that seemed to make up for the lack of monetary payment....besides, there were always cookies and lemonade.

I remember Mrs. Spears seemed to be a refined woman. Always neat, well dressed, her house was very well appointed, it was a mansion to me at that age and life experience level. In her stories she did speak of travel and luxury...well the luxury of those days anyway. I got lost in her stories and was amazed that the frail old woman telling me the stories actually lived out those same adventures.

I mowed her lawn and ate cookies with her for about two and a half years. One day I remember my dad telling me that I wouldn't have to mow Mrs. Spears lawn that week. Two weeks went by and my dad again told me that I would not be mowing Mrs. Spears lawn anymore. I went on about my childhood as children will, not thinking much of what it meant to not mow her lawn anymore. I knew I would miss her fresh baked cookies and that was probably my deepest thought on the subject back then.

Mrs. Spears had lived several miles away and I would get to her house on my bike pulling a cart my grandfather had made. So after I stopped mowing her lawn I didn't really see much of her house after that. I have one final distinct memory though.....I was about 16 and I had my driver's license, I was driving around wasting gas as my mother would have said, when I drove down a familiar street and there in front of me was one of the saddest sites I had seen. Mrs. Spears house was boarded up and had obviously been so for many, many years. There was dirt where her lawn had been, all of her plants and flowers were gone. All the things I had been a part of as she shared her life with me were gone. It dawned on me that she had passed away when I was told I would no longer be mowing her lawn.

I had the saddest most empty feeling. I drove to the river and sat there letting the river wash my thoughts for a very long time. It is odd the effect certain things or certain people have on you. Even if you are not aware of them at the time. Well I only got paid a dime for her lawn but in retrospect she paid me in currency much more valuable then money. Currency I could never earn or even comprehend at the time. She paid me in stories, in the rich history of her past and the past of our nation, she paid me in lessons of human kindness and dignity, lessons of patience, lessons of loneliness and companionship and of course she paid me in home made cookies and lemonade :)

Thank you Mrs. Spears.



Otter

Gardening

I grew up in a rather arid climate yet my Grandmother had the most lush, green, splendid gardens I have ever known. She worked very hard to make her yard beautiful and to keep it that way. She loved every single plant she ever grew. She had lilies of every sort, snap dragons, sweet peas, pansies, pots with all varieties of flowers in them.

Her favorite part of the garden was her rose garden. She grew every imaginable size, color and variety of rose available. She was always happiest tending to her roses. She had hedges of bouganvilla and other plants. She had areas that the plants and hedges made borders so she had several hidden areas in her garden. I spent so many wonderful hours sitting in the shade talking with her and learning from her, or just playing in a make believe world.

She had arbors and slat covered paths which were overgrown with tons of honey suckle vines. The aroma of the honey suckle was so wonderful, on warm summer evenings I could smell my Grandmother's honey suckle vines several blocks away where I lived. She had herbs planted all over, she explained some needed to be planted with other plants so both plants mutually benefited from the soil conditions each created, others needed to be planted only with their own kind or they would not grow well or they would kill off the other plants. She taught me so much about what herbs to cook with and what herbs to make teas with and what herbs to use for fevers etc. What plants attract spiders that make thick webs that are useful to stop bleeding from severe cuts. Sadly I am sure I only learned about half of what she tried to teach me and I don't believe anyone else from my family learned anything at all from her in those respects.

I grew up and left for the big city and big adventures. I stopped in to see my Grandmother whenever I got a chance to go home. I cannot say for sure when or if I even noticed the splendor of her gardens fading over the years and the infrequent trips back home. But I do remember a time when I went to visit her and most of the vegetation was gone from her yard. By this time I guess I had noticed a decline in the amount of flowers and plants she had but I didn't admit it. This visit however was quite a shock, everything had changed, everything was gone.

She brought some iced tea and wanted to visit outside sitting in the same old metal patio furniture I remember from my childhood. I remember it as one of the most heartbreaking visits I ever had with her. Where I was sitting I looked out over empty flower beds still framed by brick or rock that I had helped put in place when I was a child. Now they sat empty, even the soil was dried up and cracked as if the roses and flowers were never there. It was a harsh lesson on time, age and aging......and maybe a harsh lesson on guilt?

I have mourned the loss of many things, I have even mourned the loss of a garden. I have mourned the loss of a life time of wisdom. Every time I smell honey suckle or see a rose garden I realize that my Grandmother's garden is not gone, it will always remain in my memory and so will at least a part of her knowledge. It is something I will pass down as well. I am grateful for my Grandmother's garden and all the memories she planted in me.

The sweet peas in the photograph were planted by my wife and youngest son. They often garden together and tend to the garden of potted plants and flowers on our deck. I watch as they sit together and talk and cut flowers. My son used to struggle with the watering can my wife uses but these days he lifts it with ease. I understand that flowers are not the only things that grow in gardens. I watch through the windows with maybe just a little bit of envy but I dare not intrude on these moments even though I know I am welcome. I understand the type of garden my wife and son are planting together even though neither one of them may understand at this point. It really has nothing to do with flowers and everything to do with growing and nurturing a deep and lasting bond between them.

Otter

Perspective

Recently I was working on a repair that I had to finish in the house. I live a few miles outside of a small town and I had tried to gather all the tools and parts I needed in town the day before. I try not to have to waste gas and run into town for every little thing. However as most projects go I ran into a snag and needed a part I had not expected. So, into town I had to go.

I was a little irritated that I had to drive into town but it did offer a little bit of a break so it wasn't that big of an issue for me. While in town I realized I hadn't eaten so I stopped off at the deli and grabbed a sandwich. Of course if I was in town that also meant that I was going to have to get a coffee. A trip into town wouldn't be complete without coffee.

So, off to the store I went with a full stomach and happy coffee taste buds. I could not find the part that I needed. I looked at two different stores, the only ones in my small town that would have had what I needed and I just couldn't find it. The part I needed was of course out of stock. That is life in a small town sometimes.

So I started to head home and I started feeling more and more irritated. It wasn't about the fact this small town didn't have what I wanted, I do not at all mind paying a small price to live where I do. What I was getting irritated at was the fact that I....the ever so important Otter had been inconvenienced. How inconvenient it was for me to have to stop what I was doing, to have to go to town, to look at two different stores and then to come up empty in the long run.

Apparently in the big cosmic scheme of things, the ever spiraling universe forgot how important I am and how important my time is. I had many other important things I could have been doing. I am after all an artist!!! I could have been harnessing the chaos of flame and liquid glass, ushering forth a frozen world of shape and movement and...at this point in time I start thinking maybe I am taking my artist's statement a little to seriously. In fact maybe I have taken myself too seriously.

You need to understand that by this time I am fuming, I am pacing back and forth...in my head at least and I am agitated I had just wasted so much of my life. I was totally living in some egocentric fantasy world where I was the major gravitational force and how dare the universe forget it's place. I have been wronged, inconvenienced and I have not had instant gratification at my will. I started mentally proclaiming my own victimhood and for a moment I think I really started believing it.

Enter rational and humbling thought finally. I have a friend in Africa, his name is Marcel. I have not heard from in quite some time. He is a wonderful person very happy, full of love, full of life and laughter. You will never hear a negative word or opinion or insinuation come out of his mouth. He has to ride a bicycle or walk several miles each morning to get several gallons of water for his family from a common town water pump. If he does not get the water, his family has nothing at all to drink. He lives below the poverty level even for where he lives. The first time he came to the United States and went inside a grocery store he cried because of the obscene abundance we have here. However he is content with what life gives him and he is one of the happiest men I know.

I started thinking that Marcel, would not have complained about walking several miles for water for his family, he in no way would have complained about having the luxury of driving. What about the luxury of buying food at the deli....or buying a gourmet coffee. I started feeling pretty selfish and pretty arrogant. Marcel is 100 times the man I will ever be. He has qualities of compassion, love and tolerance I can only dream of attaining. Yet here I am feeling angry because I have been "inconvenienced". What a petty person I can become when I take myself seriously, when I think that my opinion matters so much. Or that me or my time matter so much.

I became very thankful I had a car, that I had water, that I had money, that I did not have to worry about being able to feed my children. I was thankful that my arrogance had stung me so hard, perhaps less and less I will have that struggle. To anyone I have offended because of my arrogance, lack of compassion or any other reason, I am sincerely sorry.

Tonight I was looking through photos from The Library of Congress online resources and came across these photos. They just struck me because of the way I have been feeling lately. They just kind of put things in perspective for me today. They are from the Great Depression era and from the dust bowl era. These people had it hard, I have no right to complain about life's little bumps in the road. I am humbled and inspired by them.

First real storm of 2007-2008 season

Thursday October 18th. is the first real storm we have had so far. Our storm season starts in October or November...this year it got off to a great start with winds gusting in excess of 60 miles per hour and about 2 and 1/2 inches of rain. Not much rain but the wind was good. I was supposed to be resting and not doing anything today but I just couldn't resist getting out in the wind and rain. I put together a slide show of 6 photographs together from my Photobucket album. I figured you didn't want to see all 65 of the storm photos. So here is the slide show, I have not used it before, please tell me what you think of it. Should I use the slide show feature again or no?

Stormy

Thanks for looking.

Otter

The Family Tree

I have about a million rambling texts, short stories and other nonsense taking up space on my hard drive and on a few discs. I will be sharing them from time to time with people who read this blog. Here is one that is pertinent to me at the moment. I actually wrote it two years ago but it is something I have been thinking about lately. So here for your enjoyment, pleasre, critique or whatever you want to do with this story, I present:

The Family Tree

When I was a boy we used to camp a lot in an area called Hole In The Wall. It was an awesome place with several shallow caves and very unique rock features. A few months ago I was in the area where I grew up and I drove past the road that headed out to the mountains and to Hole In The Wall. Just passing that road brought back a flood of memories, it felt as though I was almost in a dream.

I could hear all of us kids laughing and playing. I could feel the crisp cool air of the mountains and the smell of the scrub pine and juniper. I could smell the campfire and the extra thick bacon that one of my uncles had the butcher make for him. He always brought this bacon on camping trips and he would always have enough for all of us. To this day I can't eat thick sliced bacon without thinking of him.

I remembered there was a large tree that had been struck by lightning near our favorite camp site. It was dead and snapped in half about 10 feet from the ground. The break wasn't clean and the top of the tree was still connected to the main trunk. We would always climb up that tree and sit on it. One time one of my other uncles carved all of our names into that tree. I remember watching him as he was carving our names, he seemed so quiet and deliberate. Most of the kids had grown bored and ran off and found something else to do. I was curious for some reason because of how determined and deliberate he was. When he was done he seemed inwardly pleased. Not exuberant, not boastful, just something inside him seemed to be satisfied.

We camped at this place quite often and as soon as we got camp set up all of the kids would run down to "our tree". It was always still there and always still had our names on it. I am not sure what exactly we thought was going to happen to that tree, there was no logging in the area, it was very remote and few people camped there. However every time we gathered together to go camping all of us kids would start speculating if "our tree" was still there. So every camp out it became a ritual for the kids and even some of the grown ups to run to our tree and check on it.

My uncle passed away quite unexpectedly and in a terrible way about two years or so after he had carved all of our names in that tree. We didn't camp much that year and when we did, no one wanted to go see our tree. My uncle's death had a profound impact on the entire family. The following year we started camping at an area a few miles away from our old camp spot. Our tree just became too painful to be around I guess.

As I grew up I continued to camp in that area on my own. I made several trips to our tree and even shared it and the good memories with a few people. I know that some of my cousins did the same. Less and less often however did the entire family get together and go camping. Eventually as is inevitable I guess, we all went our separate ways and led our own lives.

Time indeed has a way of healing all wounds, I look back on my uncle with so much fondness. The pain isn't really there so much, just a lot of great memories. When my uncle did pass away however, he seemed to take something of the spark of our family with him, some part of the family cohesiveness. The entire family was just never quite the same after that.

I wonder now whatever happened to that old tree. I wonder if it is still there, if it got burned up in a wildfire that swept that area once. I can still see that tree in my mind, maybe someday I will try and locate it. I wonder what I would do if I did find the tree, maybe apologize to it for leaving it alone for so many years, for denying it the laughter it had grown accustomed to. Maybe a family is like a forest, a large group of trees, each one distinct but related, a part of a whole. Each one adding to the beauty and complexity of the family. Trees can grow so old, I wonder if they grow lonely as well. I wonder if there are other trees I need to tend to, to apologize to, to nurture.

Otter 8/05

Here I go

Hello to all my friends, I am trying out a blog. I am a special kind of computer stupid so please be kind and patient as I learn how to do this. As Shawn T said in one of my posts yesterday... who knew Otter was going to have so much to say and share he was going to need his own blog....yeah...who knew? I even surprise myself sometimes. I really am a shy, private, quiet hermit. I know most of you will not believe me but really it is true. When I write posts however it is a different story. I can't shut up.

I have been posting a lot of photo heavy threads on LE lately and I feel bad for people with dial up connections. I also tend to get quite wordy when I write so people will open a post I have started and be faced with a mountain of rambling text to read. If they manage to get through it without their eyes glazing over and their system shutting down from boredom, they are usually left with two burning questions. WHY??? Why on earth did he write that? Why on earth did I waste my life reading that? And..WHAT in the world was he trying to say? That Otter makes no sense whatsoever.

As a kindness to the poor people who get overwhelmed by my verbose nature when writing, I present this blog, Otter's Odd N' Ends. Here you will find an eclectic collection of writings, photographs, recipes, old wife's tales, (in no way do I mean to insult old wifes), creative exercises, possibly a bead tutorial or two and any other random act of expression that strikes me. I will post a link on LE with a brief description if possible as I update my blog. That way people can read the description and decide if they are brave enough to click on the link or not. Maybe people will be kind and leave feedback, maybe people will be kind and not tell me what they really think. Maybe people will just check out my blog and enjoy what I want to share. I am curious to see how this works out.

So, this has been my first entry. I will add a random photograph of my fishing buddy here just to see how this thing works.



I hope you have enjoyed this post.


Otter