We left Houston in 1983 and headed for the foothills of the Ozarks. Overnight, long lines, noise, pollution and intolerably slow and congested traffic gave way to quiet and solitude. I say this first because I've never lived in a quiet place before. Because of the aforementioned quiet, I can now identify many birds by their calls. Some bugs too. Did you know rabbits squeak and mice sing? At times, the wind blows through the tree branches causing them to rub together in nature's own cello concerto.
That summer in 1983, we built our house on a hill, in a clearing wreathed by oak, elm and hickory trees. If you walk out to the field, past the goldenrod and switchgrass, you can see purple hills. On our Peaceable Hill Farm we became stewards of the land - land once given by politicians to the great people of the Choctaw Nation...
It seems like a lifetime since that summer. My three children have since left the nest. I've lost family and many beloved pets - had triumphs and tragedies as have we all, as have we all...
