"The Reindeer Keeper"
Follow me and get to know me; read my posts about growing up in the country for it is from such a setting that the basis for my wondrous Christmas story for adults stems. "The Reindeer Keeper" is a heartwarming must read of family and struggle; joy and sadness meant for anyone who remembers that feeling of truly believing in Santa Claus.Below is my first "Get-to-know-me" entry and check out www.thereindeerkeeper.com for more information.
*Once you round the corner of that stretch of country road about a mile out from a town in northern New York you're getting closer to where 4 houses full of relatives once sat. Go over the small bridge; then up a little knoll and you are there.For those passing by there's nothing in particular about that stretch of asphalt. But then, they didn't grow up there.
The property had been in the family for generations. My grandfather worked the fields; bringing hay to the barn-then up and into the silo in the sweltering June heat. Clover and timothy seemed to stretch all the way to the back woods. Dividing the front pasture from the back fields was a creek; connecting the two was a wooden bridge made of uneven planks. In spring when the creek would rise the bridge would do the same. Sometimes it'd be washed away by flowing ice. I spent hours with my cousins alongside this stream full of frogs, toads, blood suckers, and who knows what else. Its banks overloaded with creek grass and cattails became cabins and fortresses. We fished with safety pins attached to string tied to bamboo poles. Once in awhile we'd catch an old, rusted can but most times it was just a tangled mass of weeds coming out of that murky water. It never mattered. Whatever the season, we were on adventures! (More to follow-keep watching).
*Once you round the corner of that stretch of country road about a mile out from a town in northern New York you're getting closer to where 4 houses full of relatives once sat. Go over the small bridge; then up a little knoll and you are there.For those passing by there's nothing in particular about that stretch of asphalt. But then, they didn't grow up there.
The property had been in the family for generations. My grandfather worked the fields; bringing hay to the barn-then up and into the silo in the sweltering June heat. Clover and timothy seemed to stretch all the way to the back woods. Dividing the front pasture from the back fields was a creek; connecting the two was a wooden bridge made of uneven planks. In spring when the creek would rise the bridge would do the same. Sometimes it'd be washed away by flowing ice. I spent hours with my cousins alongside this stream full of frogs, toads, blood suckers, and who knows what else. Its banks overloaded with creek grass and cattails became cabins and fortresses. We fished with safety pins attached to string tied to bamboo poles. Once in awhile we'd catch an old, rusted can but most times it was just a tangled mass of weeds coming out of that murky water. It never mattered. Whatever the season, we were on adventures! (More to follow-keep watching).
Great story!
ReplyDeleteThe characters are endearing and have wonderful old-fashioned morals and values that is so refreshing to read about.
The setting is magical and one that will stay in your mind.
How about a movie of this lovely tale?
Anonymous!
ReplyDeleteThanks so much for your comment. I appreciate your input and would love to see a movie of this lovely tale!! I'm trying to get that door open!
Thanks again!