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Abstract

ermanently into the landscape creating a path to the field. I ran down the indention towards the pasture. The iron gate was cold in my hand as I opened it. The clanging pierced through the early morning silence.Towering evergreen trees were silhouettes against the rough mountainside in the distance. The sun was just now reaching the top of the mountain giving it a rusty red crown. Gentle warmth kissed my cheeks as I walked into the sunlight. The sun peeled back night’s black blanket revealing a sheet of cloudless, blue sky.Crickets chirped loud conversations in the overgrown bushes nearby. As I walked closer, they grew silent. The mocha brown cows mooed to welcome me. Swallows and blackbirds lined up along the fence high out of reach of the cats patrolling the property. Upon seeing me approaching, the birds took flight. They were so numerous the flapping of their wings seemed to roar in my ears.I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small, green apple that was as hard as a baseball. I hoped a cow would appreciate it for breakfast. I whistled to get their attention. I extended my hand and coaxed one of them over.She slowly plodded forward deliberately placing her hooves with each step. Her tail swished back and forth to keep the flies away. I closed my eyes as the cow’s sandpaper rough tongue rubbed against my hand. Afterward, my palm was slimy. I wiped the saliva on my blue jeans.Water had soaked through my sneakers, from walking in the dew-laden pasture, wetting my socks. The breeze brought a cool mist of water in my direction.The rhythmic whoosh of the sprinklers reminded me of why I was here. We were moving the sprinklers this morning. The breeze gently fingered my hair tickling the back of my neck. The tall grass brushed against my pant legs as I wa

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lked over and turned off the spigot. The pasture was like a minefield; I was dodging cow pies all along the way. It wouldn’t take my dad and grandpa long to move the sprinklers.The sweet scent of alfalfa and wild clover floated heavy on the air. I breathed the sweet scent deep into my lungs. Suddenly the grasses moved. I backed away fearing it was a rattlesnake but instead a black and white cat appeared. She was pregnant and her belly almost touched the ground. I reached down to pet her but managed only to brush her fluffy tail before she darted off. She was out catching her breakfast, and I was hungry for mine.I walked back down the path to the white, weathered farmhouse. A monarch butterfly fluttered past me landing on a butter yellow daffodil. The river that ran alongside the property roared over the rocks below. The mouthwatering smell of grandma’s homemade rolls drifted towards me. The yeasty scent always meant a hearty breakfast. I could almost taste the soft, flaky goodness slathered with honey. I loved grandma’s rolls and I loved this ranch. Every inch of the ranch was my haven, a paradise where my troubles melted away.This haven continues in my mind and my heart. I just have to close my eyes. This blissful wandering is only a reminisce away.Thank you, <a href="undefined">Trista Signe Ainsworth</a>, for this week’s writing prompt, <a href="https://readmedium.com/your-blissful-wanderings-5ca6f7b0566">blissful wanderings.</a> I did not know how I wanted to approach this prompt until I was inspired by old family photos to walk down memory lane.It has been a pleasant experience to remember a place that was so dear to my childhood and has profoundly influenced me in many ways. Sometimes the places we want to blissfully wander are no longer available to us.</article></body>

A Walk Down Memory Lane at the Whitehall Ranch

Blissfully Wandering — Thank You Notes #30

Looking at old family photos can either make me happy or depressed. I know it is a mindset thing, but it also depends on what memories the photos trigger. After my grandma passed away I inherited all her photo albums.

She took many photos, and I have a full bookcase full of photos extending way before my birth and into my high school years. After that her health started to deteriorate and she didn’t keep up with the photo albums.

My grandparents’ ranch was like my second home. It was full of wildlife, open space, and a quietness that you don’t get in the city. My grandparents sold their ranch when I was a freshman in high school.

They were ready to retire from the hard work of farm life and move into the city to be closer to family and closer to medical care. My parents had debated trying to buy the property, but ultimately they decided not to. I was crushed.

We don’t just grieve for the loss of people, but we also grieve for other things like the loss of a home. It wasn’t my home, but at the time it felt like it. It felt like a big piece of my heart and soul had just been sold to some strangers. It took a long time for that wound to heal. I vowed to someday own property near where the family ranch was.

Now as an adult, looking back, I realize that my parents made the right decision. It was better for us to stay in the city. So now I have all these photo albums and my precious memories.

My Memories

Tractor tracks were worn permanently into the landscape creating a path to the field. I ran down the indention towards the pasture. The iron gate was cold in my hand as I opened it. The clanging pierced through the early morning silence.

Towering evergreen trees were silhouettes against the rough mountainside in the distance. The sun was just now reaching the top of the mountain giving it a rusty red crown. Gentle warmth kissed my cheeks as I walked into the sunlight. The sun peeled back night’s black blanket revealing a sheet of cloudless, blue sky.

Crickets chirped loud conversations in the overgrown bushes nearby. As I walked closer, they grew silent. The mocha brown cows mooed to welcome me. Swallows and blackbirds lined up along the fence high out of reach of the cats patrolling the property. Upon seeing me approaching, the birds took flight. They were so numerous the flapping of their wings seemed to roar in my ears.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small, green apple that was as hard as a baseball. I hoped a cow would appreciate it for breakfast. I whistled to get their attention. I extended my hand and coaxed one of them over.

She slowly plodded forward deliberately placing her hooves with each step. Her tail swished back and forth to keep the flies away. I closed my eyes as the cow’s sandpaper rough tongue rubbed against my hand. Afterward, my palm was slimy. I wiped the saliva on my blue jeans.

Water had soaked through my sneakers, from walking in the dew-laden pasture, wetting my socks. The breeze brought a cool mist of water in my direction.

The rhythmic whoosh of the sprinklers reminded me of why I was here. We were moving the sprinklers this morning. The breeze gently fingered my hair tickling the back of my neck. The tall grass brushed against my pant legs as I walked over and turned off the spigot. The pasture was like a minefield; I was dodging cow pies all along the way. It wouldn’t take my dad and grandpa long to move the sprinklers.

The sweet scent of alfalfa and wild clover floated heavy on the air. I breathed the sweet scent deep into my lungs. Suddenly the grasses moved. I backed away fearing it was a rattlesnake but instead a black and white cat appeared. She was pregnant and her belly almost touched the ground. I reached down to pet her but managed only to brush her fluffy tail before she darted off. She was out catching her breakfast, and I was hungry for mine.

I walked back down the path to the white, weathered farmhouse. A monarch butterfly fluttered past me landing on a butter yellow daffodil. The river that ran alongside the property roared over the rocks below. The mouthwatering smell of grandma’s homemade rolls drifted towards me. The yeasty scent always meant a hearty breakfast. I could almost taste the soft, flaky goodness slathered with honey. I loved grandma’s rolls and I loved this ranch. Every inch of the ranch was my haven, a paradise where my troubles melted away.

This haven continues in my mind and my heart. I just have to close my eyes. This blissful wandering is only a reminisce away.

Thank you, Trista Signe Ainsworth, for this week’s writing prompt, blissful wanderings. I did not know how I wanted to approach this prompt until I was inspired by old family photos to walk down memory lane.

It has been a pleasant experience to remember a place that was so dear to my childhood and has profoundly influenced me in many ways. Sometimes the places we want to blissfully wander are no longer available to us.