I met her on Bubblews.com, an e-zine (electronic magazine) for indie writers.
This writer is notable for the raw, powerful images she creates, using the dialect that is comfortable for her. I find myself astounded by her ability to transform daily events into symphonies of feeling, wry humor, expansive beauty, and pragmatic observations.
Here I live, in this little BC west coast village, truly a global child, having traveled extensively.
Now I'm sorta settled down, loving the nature all around me, the ocean and my garden.
There she lives, the lady with a spread in eastern New Mexico.
Her travels are the beautiful thoughts in her mind.
She loves the nature all around her, her horses and her garden.
Her description of herself goes like this...
"I'm a country gal, 'n yepperz, I do know Proper English 'n use it when I feel the need calls fer it, otherwise I'm jest myself. My great passion is horses, mustangs in particular. I'm a believer in mother earth 'n all her gifts of wonder -- she's my religion."
Here, she's generously sharing a story of profound loss in her life.
He Died At 19
We had a very strict upbringin’, not allowed to participate in sports ‘n such. My dad had no patience nor appreciation of my brothers art work. In fits of rage, he’d destroy whatever he could get his hands on.
As soon as my brother graduated, he left home. I was glad to see him gone. We used to have some serious brawls, aka major fist fights.
My dreams were filled with all the magic witnessed. The sights, smells ‘n sounds. I was awakened by my friends momma jest prior to dawn ‘n she was cryin’. I jumped outta bed startled, askin’ what was wrong. Then she told me, “hun, yer daddy’s comin’ to get’cha, yer brother’s dead.”
When we got home, momma was in a catatonic state. Neighbors ‘n relatives’d already filled the house. I was taken aside ‘n told quite sternly that I had to be strong ‘n take care of my folks.
It was a 21 hour trip, one filled with complete silence ‘cept the sounds of my momma’s broken heart.
He rolled the truck 5 times ‘n was thrown through the windshield, landin’ 75 feet in front of the truck. His girlfriend was knocked unconscious ‘n thrown into the floorboard. She suffered a broken nose. They were found by a farmer ‘round 4:30 a.m., when he went to move water in one of his fields. My brother was dead, his neck broken along with massive internal injuries.
All of the family kept tellin’ me that I needed to be strong ‘n help my folks through this tough time. At the funeral home, my mamaw actually climbed into the casket with my brother ‘n had to be physically removed by 4 folks.
I was then forced into lookin’ into that casket. The body ‘fore me looked nothin’ like my brother. They’d shaved off his mustache ‘n goatee, his face was bloated ‘n one could see the deep bruisin’ all over his face ‘n neck. It was a horrific sight. It haunts me to this day.
The loss was more’n my folks could bear. I was the one to pack up his things, both at mamaw’s ‘n that which he’d left behind at home. It was close to 10 years ‘fore either could bear to look at any of his belongin’s.
My dad erected a shrine of sorts in the basement. It was filled with stuffed birds, deer ‘n other critters my brother’d worked his magic on as well as all the drawin’s ‘n paintin’s dad could find.
Throughout all the years, I'm still the one that ev'ryone counts on when there's a death in the family. I am the rock, they say.