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Sunday, October 04 2015

A land rich in history is alive, a thing of its own. One of our favorite parts of this ranch is the history surrounding it. This area was thick with Indians and the resulting conflicts between the natives and the white settlers. Even with our modern conveniences, the land is harsh, giving us a greater respect for the people who scraped a living here. We see signs of them everywhere. Our house/barn appears to be on an old barnyard, as we have found hardware from wagons in the sand, and a large draft horse shoe hanging in a tree.

The old homestead is on the west side of our house, its crumbling chimney supported by the tangled limbs of lowgrowing cedars. The old cistern sits north of this, its yawning mouth beckons a peek into the dark mystery of its bowels.

As if we wiped the dust off a dirty window and peeked inside, the old homestead is slowly being revealed by the goats and sheep in their tireless efforts to clear the thick brush around it. Some items are a mystery, their identities only known when someone older and wiser educates us, such as the long flat funnel shaped metal which turned out to be a flattened well bucket. Humphf.... Who knew?

Most items are metal trinkets, pieces of farm equipment and such, but a few weeks ago Other Half stumbled upon a piece of whimsy with a more personal note. We were poking around the homestead in search of wild plum trees when we noted a large rock peeking out of the grass. Since this area can be thick with copperheads, I'm not given to just reaching down to follow my curiosity but Other Half has no such inhibitions. He hoisted the odd rock up to eye level and upon closer inspection we found that it wasn't a rock at all, but mortar that had been fasioned by hands into the shape of a sourdough bread boule. One could just imagine the leftover mortar from the chimney, or the cistern, or the steps, or some other project, being fashioned into this bread rock by hands of long ago.

We could even see the grooves in the rock where hands had shaped it. This naturally begged us, and later others, to place hands onto the rock in a quest to fit fingers into the very place that someone from another time touched. But like the Glass Slipper, or the Sword In The Stone, no one got it right. It could be forced to fit, but just wasn't quite right. Close, but no cigar.

Other Half brought the curiousity back to the house and used it as a door stop, a piece of history which reminded him of the people who settled this land. And it sat there. For weeks. Visitors came and picked it up, and tried their hands, and marveled at the oddness of it. Then something strange happened.

Miss June came to dinner. Her family owned this land. She ran barefoot through the red dirt here. Although the history books tell the black and white stories of this land, Miss June fills in the colors. Not only does she tell us its history, she shows us the story of this land. So Other Half could not resist showing Miss June his curious rock. And the most remarkable thing happened.

Just like everyone else, Cinderella placed her hand on the rock, but this time the fingers settled into the grooves exactly. The rock was a perfect fit. It was creepy, but in a good way, as if you recognize that something unexplained but wonderful just happened. Other Half gave the rock to Miss June as it clearly belonged to her family. The rock finally found its way back to the hands that made it.

Posted by: forensicfarmgirl AT 11:01 am   |  Permalink   |  1 Comment  |  Email
This was sent to me by a quill worker-I don't know where it came from origionaly but I have it posted and I see it daily. "I believe sometimes, it's not just me cutting, beading and creating my work, there is a lot of spirit behind it. We all work with our ancestors." The older I get the more I believe this to be true.
Posted by Sue in Wyoming on 10/04/2015 - 11:42 AM

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