The smoke hangs heavy over my hometown. Every year it seems to get worse, but there a those who don’t understand why. They would deny climate change, yet acknowledge that each year there are more forest fires and smoke in the air. The winters are warmer. There’s less snow fall than there was years ago. I’m not sure what it will take to wake some up. Maybe they never will. Sad this is a saga to fit into one of my stories.
I grew up among the Redwoods in Northern California, on my Grandmother’s 40 acres. Along with my sisters and cousins, I took all the beauty and splendor for granted. More and more, I understand how lucky we were to have those forested acres to play in and explore.
Instead of being cooped inside playing video games, we were outside, building forts and playing war. We dug in the dirt and went on long walks down the logging road that snaked through the property. Adults and kids would spend hours together picking wild blackberries.
Close to the Pacific Ocean, the draw to spend time hunting for agates and playing in the surf drew us each summer. Rain or shine, out of doors kept us coming back.
Those were great times. Each generation needs to find their own ways of escape. Mine helped build my imagination and my yearning to write. It took a very good friend’s challenge to inspire me beyond my stories. The challenge to write a book was, at the time, a no brainer. I look back now and realize what a massive feat it is to write a book. That I accepted the challenge and started is something I will always owe my dear friend the biggest debt anyone can imagine.
So for now, it’s time to get back to the edit of the book that grows each time I sit down with it.
Keep the coffee flowing.