Always Remember: Life is A....

• By: rebekah
• On: 01/18/2010 06:55:17
• In: Rumor Has It ...
• Comments: 17

So that's today. Today is the best day of the year. And it's a party. Let me take a moment to write that on my heart. And try to live it!

There is a place in my life, a special spot on this earth that makes living those words, both Emerson's and mine, easier.

Going there, to my special place, has an immediate impact on my heart, mind, soul. When I am there, life is indeed a party and a dance.

When I'm there, I am in a bubble.

You've heard me talk about it before. It is my mountain farm. It is my place of respite, renewal, recreation (re-creation). And sure, I’ve taken you there before, but never in the snow. You gotta see it in the snow!

We recently made a trip when snow was predicted. I learned that snow turns my bubble into a snow globe.  

So step inside the snow globe with me. It is dreamy here. I'll give it a good shake first. Oh and turn on the music box. Okay, ready for wonderland? My wonderland?

Let's start with my snow.

It begins to fall. Softly. On my roof top. On my meadow. In my woods. On my road. In my creek.

I run out to see if it is real. Barefoot, no coat, no hat. Crazy city girl from the south. I run back inside and announce, "It's snowing!"

This, my snow, is magical fluff that brings joy and awe. The world becomes shades of black and white as it falls.

(I notice now that most of these photos look like I used black and white film. It's just the way it is in the snow globe today.)

My farmhouse is set in a cove, protected and serene.

The farmhouse itself is full of love and enchantment and peace. Built with care in 1939, it had all those things before I called it mine. I continue to fill it with those things (love, enchantment, peace). And it shares those things (love, enchantment, and peace) with me and fills me to the brim.

(While I am there, I load my pockets, my luggage, my make-up case, my everything with those things: love, enchantment, peace. I jam them in the car before we leave. And then I use them sparingly when I return home to traffic and concrete and noise.)

Here are my mountains.

(That is the gutter from the corner of my farmhouse that you see in the middle left. Behind the tall bush?)

I love my mountains.

These are part of what are (probably) the oldest mountains on earth. The Appalachians. Yes, God took his sweet time in forming these. 

And here are some of my frosty trees on one of my mountains. 

Frosty on top. And frosty on bottom.

There were also frosty cows on a different mountainside. Do you see them? Black frosty cows. They look like specks.

The cows I can't and don't claim. They belong to a neighbor.

But I wish they were mine.

Maybe.

Or maybe not.

Here is a mountain goat.

Also not mine. He is a neighbor's as well. But I would take him.

Maybe. 

We converse with him when we see him there. We call him Frank. After Sinatra.

"Meh-meh-meh," we tell him.

"Mehhhhhhhhh," Frank says.

We sometimes break into a medley of Sinatra songs after we have his attention. "Start spreading the news...."

I really must find out his real name. It would spare him a concert.

Here is my forest. I love my forest.  

I like that it is contantly changing. The ground is ancient. The trees are not. They were planted over what was pasture land.

Here is my waterfall.

I ran out with my camera when I heard a motor. It was a snow-plow. It is making it's second run clearing my road. I have never even seen one of these before. The driver waves to me as he passes by. I enthusiastically wave back. I love it here inside the bubble/snow globe.

Here is my dog, Strudel, taking a walk after the snow-plow passes.

Oh yes! There are my blue skies. Do you see them in that picture? Do you mind if I call the sky mine? My sky goes from black and white to blue to black and white again.  

Here is my hay field. My child in a pink coat frolics in it.

She looks so small in such a grand setting. See her out there?

I call both the field and the child mine. I like them together. They enjoy each other. They entertain each other.

My cowboy with my daughter.

Yes, no surprise there. The cowboy is mine too.

Except he is not a cowboy. He is a businessman in a cowboy hat and a rancher coat. He has cowboy boots too. Cowboy boots are not good in the snow. But you already knew that, didn't you?

My cowboy always dreamed he’d live in the wild, wild west and ride a fast horse through the plains. Instead, he lives in the big, big city and rides a fast plane over the plains. Well, not really the plains.

I'll know the answer in July.

My daughter comes and reads over my shoulder. "You shouldn't call all those things yours," she says.