“What is the first thing you remember?”
My conscious memory starts in the back seat of car. I remember being confined in a car seat. The road was winding. I can remember the feeling of going around and around. The moon was searing through the trees and casting shadows of the forest over me in a sort of hypnosis. I can remember my father arms holding me in front of a large window. I could see trees, moon and shadow. I was far too young give names to things I was seeing or recognize the space as the blue ridge mountains by name.
Roots. History. Rebirth of the self. These important rites of passage would be impossible without the help of the people I have met on the Montana journey. This new life is beginning to come together. The horses are settling into new pasture. Vanna’s puppies have grown enough to take their place in the West Kootenai, and I have been away from Three Forks long enough to miss hounds, stirrup cup’s and the lively company of fellow foxhunters.
“You must be ready to burn yourself in your own flame;
How could you rise anew if you have not first become ashes?”
― Friedrich Nietzsche
The pups were created by friendship; the merging of two personal histories. They are a breathing reflection of my new life and for that I have nothing but gratitude.
This is not a journey of answers, but instead a journey of questions. No proper adventure can be had without wagging tails and thundering hooves.
In a recent dream I drove up a winding road to the top of a mountain. I didn’t know the place, it was unfamiliar. I was on the edge of cliff with a fierce wind blowing north. There were only two choices. To go back the way I had come or to catapult myself into the unknown. I jumped.
We can only know what hasn’t worked, the way that we came. The only sensible choice is to push further into the unknown in hopes of discovering our own truth.