Since we moved this week we don’t yet have internet at the house. That’s okay though, since I have all my books back, I have had plenty to occupy my time. I re-read My Friend Flicka this week. It may be a “kids” book, but there are a lot of adult themes in it, particularly the relationship between the parents of the main character. What really struck me, though, were Mary O’Hara’s descriptions. I recognized, long before the book was over, that they had been written by someone who knew and loved the place she was writing about-- in this case, a ranch in the high country of Wyoming. Only someone who knew and experienced it could put some of the little, intimate details she included. It is a book that contains a lot of meat, a lot for me to chew on… my favorite kind of book.
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| My backyard, growing up. |
It got me to reminiscing about my own childhood in the Jemez and the story I wrote once, The Summer I Left my Heart Behind Me, where I made the setting the place I grew up and based the main characters off myself. When I had the story workshopped in one of my classes the parts that were most critiqued as “too perfect” or “unrealistic” were the ones I based off real life, while the “realistic” parts were the ones which came from my imagination! I have always been highly amused by that. But it’s true. When you fall in love, you become more or less blind to flaws and instead see the beauty and delight of a person, place, or thing-- your views about them can seem unrealistic.
For me, it was the mountains and conifer forests of northern New Mexico. A place where I spent 17 years and forever lost my heart. That love comes through in my writing. It is supposed to come through in my writing. For my writing was meant to convey my love of this place and my belief in the healing power of finding God in nature.
This is a story I have never been quite satisfied with, I have never quite been able to finish. But lately, it has been on my heart again. Perhaps I will pick it up once more.
