I can't imagine living anywhere else but Montana, and having been born and raised in Lost Prairie, its not likely I'll ever leave.
A couple more of Dad's chronicles. These two hit close to home for me.
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The Lost Prairie Chronicles #1
I remember how Rosemary and Latigo would wolf down their breakfasts, wipe mouths with the backs of their hands and run out the back door in their self-dressed, mismatched clothes....... heading for the back of the place.
Thats where the spring was, near the huge Blue Spruce, out of sight just over the rise near the pasture. Watching them walk home at the end of the day I could only imagine what they had been playing at back there, clothes wet and dirty but with glowing faces I could only envy. How many summers did they do that before the old Blue Spruce and the spring waited in vain for their return.
Now the tall grass returns each year around the spring. Rosemary and Latigo aren't there to keep it trampled down with whatever games they played on the banks during all those long ago childhood summers.
There are several small Blue Spruce trees growning on the sun side of the old tree now. They're covered with snow this morning, branches sagging with the weight. Winter has returned to Lost Prairie.
I mentioned the spring and the old tree to Lat this morning, and he feigned not remembering those days with Pooh at the spring, but his eyes stayed on mine just a bit too long, and I knew he did remember. He virtually runs the studio now, but its not hard for me to look at him and still see Pooh and him running out the back door, headed for a serious day at the spring at the back end of the place.
Rosemary looks better these days. She's been removed from being classified as anorexic again. God, how I miss those days when they had nothing more important in their lives than getting up and heading for the spring.
Keep your children close. They're only children for such a short time.
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The Lost Prairie Chronicles #8
During the week I typically rise at 3am to head for town. I get to the studio at 4am to begin working on the artwork and layouts for the day and, during the winter, I load the old firebox before I leave Lost Prairie.
I wake up around the same time on weekends but ususally go back to bed after stoking the firebox. The firebox? well............ for those who don't know, a firebox is the actual working version of a fireplace. Fireplaces are inefficient due to heat loss, but an enclosed steel, freestanding firbox will heat a large home. The point of all this? Well........ there's a story, isn't there.
This old Enan Firebox has seen some 36 winters, and it will take a number of full 2 foot logs inside. It stands in the living room of this 4,400 square foot, 2 level log home. With small transfer fans in the walls and ceiling vents it does heat the entire house during the coldest of winters.
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It's glowing warmth has seen a few beloved family puppys learn how to tell us they need to go outside, seen them play with the kids, grow old and pass away. It's constant companions have been Great Danes who, one at a time, stood and slept by it's heat before passing on.
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It silently watched the kids grow, watched them play on the big living room floor before it, open Christmas presents, look for their hidden Easter Baskets, celebrate birthdays, shed tears of happiness or sorrow from the occasional sore hind end of disobedience, listened to their excitement about new toys, new relationships, troubles and triumphs in school.
It stood alone, forgotten during the warm weather when the kids played outside but usually had the nightime companionship of the ever-present Great Danes that slept beside it and came and went with age.
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Now there's a little Pug snuffling and snorting around it's base, sleeping on the large dog bed next to it sharing the same warmth as the Great Danes before her.
Its still here, crackling and warming the house again this morning with the onset of winter in Lost Prairie. It is, and will remain the Heart of the House.
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