Growing up, I spent a lot of time alone. Summers in the mountains, most of my friends were old people. I'd wander up to their cabins, visit a bit, drink lemonade or tea, and then wander back down alone. I played all over the mountains. On weekends kids my age would come into town and we'd explore together, but on the week days I spent a lot of time exploring the countryside alone. Solitude never equaled boredom. Books were my companions, and daydreams followed me everywhere I walked. On warm days I rolled up my pants, took off my shoes, and walked along the creek until the icy runoff chilled my legs to numbness. I know every deer path and walking trail within a couple miles of our cabin.
Winters in California were spent surrounded by people at all times. I was always the new kid because we moved around so much. Picked on by all the "cool" kids because I was a scrawny, knobby kneed, girl with a boys haircut, I felt alone and lonely. Solitude was not my friend while I was in school, but every summer I found my way into loving the quiet, the cool breezes, and mountain streams.
Something happened in the last 20 years. Somehow being around so many people all the time has made me forget how much I love being alone in the mountains. Now, every evening, I drive home watching the light gently fade from the beautiful landscape. Golds, greens, browns... the sky violet and pink... I breathe easier. I let all the people in my day fade away. All the tiny annoyances of people who blame me for their lack of planning, the noise of their stress and confusion, I let it all drift into the ether.
Sometimes in the evening Denny and I work together on our home, and sometimes we work on separate projects. We've had a good bit of help. In the evenings it's often just us up there, working on our dream, trying to do the best we can.
I have found my home all over again...