The camp is always over Labor Day weekend. The official last gasp of summer. This year we missed the Miner family--they chose to have a baby instead of clamor in a tent in the wilderness with us--whatever. I love this picture. It's taken from the top of the Bear Ridge. We hiked as a family from the lakes to the top and then down through the Willow Patch, past Cherry, and out through the road to Kenny's.
I still get pretty nostalgic when I get to that part of the ranch. I've ridden every inch of it [the ranch], either on a horse or a 4-wheeler--a great length of it I've walked and put up fence--but that section, I love. I love it in a way that is so deep and so personal that I really can't put it into words. Lucy Lippard, coined the phrase "sense of place", where an individual can have these feelings about where they lived in their childhood, and that the sense of place will remain with you for a lifetime. I have every confidence that her study is 100% true. When I'm there, it's like time has remained in place. I can feel the feelings, smell the sweat on the horses, taste the grit and dust in my mouth. And I ache for it. I ache to relive those moments over and over again. Only this time, I'd want to photograph it all--just to help myself remember every detail a little bit better.
I've been thinking about why we as sisters get along so well, but I know it's because of the work. Hard work. "The small female labor force" that we had to be together. When it was so hard that you wanted to cry, but you didn't because Cody Wilde was relentless--and you'd be damned if you weren't going to do it better than Uncle Bryan in the very least. ...And I know that everyone of us would be in agreement.
So, once a year you go camping with your ghosts. And you let it ache, for the past and for what your kids will never really understand. For who you once were that had everything to do with who you are today...
I try to think of ways to give my own children a sense of place.
I try not to think about my places being sold to the highest bidder [or worse to the lowest]. I try to remember that sense of place can't be sold or even given away.
But I can share it.
And, hopefully, they'll love it because it is a part of their mother.
And she never lets them have guns to play with, except once a year, when she reverts back to her origination.
...all the sisters go back....and we know how it will feel and what we will remember. It helps to make peace with the loss so that you can learn from what you have gained.
"I signed on to ride for the brand; and where you go, I'm going." Louis L'amour--
When you get to the thick stands of quakies, if you stand very still you'll hear your father's voice quoting the only poem he ever memorized. I cry every time I read it.
Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.
But he grew old-
This knight so bold-
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.
And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow-
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be-
This land of Eldorado?"
"Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied-
"If you seek for Eldorado!"
