A Wandering American Indian Traveler

Native American cultural interpreter traveling, wandering, observing, wondering.

Monday, January 03, 2005

Family memories

My dad was driving, my brothers and I were in the back, being boys.
We didn't pay attention to where we were going.
We pulled into a "ranch".
We boys got out to explore.
We found a corral, and a windmill, the metal version, rusty,
not spinning, 'cause there wasn't a wind.
I remember climbing on the corral and imagining it
full of horses.
We ran back to the "house".
We went inside and -"Mom, why is the floor made of dirt?"

I told the full story to a small circle of friends.
A buddy told me that he read the story as my dad had abandoned us there.

Many years later I learned that my aunt who just died, was the one
who walked miles and miles, to phone family and friends to rescue us.

Safe journeys,,,


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