There I was, looking at scrub oak, green and lushes from the overwhelming amounts of rain from the past month of storms, thinking of the family I had found. Through the forests’ many varieties of flora, I saw two buck deer prancing away, as if the sounds of three women blabbing wasn’t the usual noise on French Lake Friday evenings. This ruined our chances of getting good photographs, but was that really the reason why we were out there?
Meeting, for the first time in many years, the wife of my recently deceased uncle and my father’s, who’s death is not so recent, sister out in ‘the refuge’ for an evening on the water was an unexpected opportunity, which I gladly said ‘yes’ to when given the choice. After 20 years of not seeing my uncle, his wife, or their two children, I hadn’t ever thought of doing much of anything with them, but there I was, looking through the murky water at the carp swimming below, listening to the birds call to each other, just as us ladies were calling to each other. As I listened to my aunts tell never before told stories of my father and uncle, spending numerous hours hiking, fishing, and hunting on these lands, in this water, I felt, finally- the first time in 20 years- at home. At home in the heart. Warm. As if the mountains were lulling me to relax, the warm breeze filling my heart with love, and the laughter of two women, two amazing women, tickling my senses.