home on the range
the town of my childhood is perennially mellow; a sunny, sleepy place where nearly everyone passed on the street says hello and everyone passed on the road waves. so far though there has been hardly any reason to go to town except yesterday for topo maps, eggs, salad greens and a fishing license - all of which are available at the hardware store. i have everything i need or want right now at the homestead dad took off on his black harley yesterday, leaving me well stocked and alone. i've got a truck, a freezer of buffalo, a fridge of hot sauces, a cupboard of coffee, many shelves of books and a revolver.
i love it here and do not mind the solitude at all. i pass the time contentedly as the house itself is so clean and comfortable. it's full of thriving houseplants, beautiful furniture and lots of light spilling in the walls of windows. it is colorfully painted and absolutely stuffed with trophy's (dead animal heads not sports medallions) to the point that might be ridiculous if it were not so tastefully done. dads beautiful ironwork and walls of photos complete the interior.
it's the perfect nesting example of intelligent, energetic, engaged, god-lovin, sharp-shootin, hard-workin folks. my folks. it's nice to be back home... on the range."
Can I live in your backyard?
ReplyDeleteDid you catch any fish? Steph is lucky to have had a chance to visit you in such a beautiful place. Like you, it is Steph's native homeland. Thanks for your hospitality!
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