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Date Posted: 13:14:55 04/09/08 Wed
Author: Gina
Subject: Re: Special People
In reply to: Gina 's message, "Special People" on 12:20:11 04/09/08 Wed

Dear Erin,
Here in NY it is a dismal day. The skies are gray and gloomy and there is a chill in the air. How I long for the mountain and those returning signs of Spring. How dear are the memories of our walks on the mountain with Grandpa to experience the very essence of Spring. The smell of fresh mountain air filled with the intoxicating incense of fragrant blossoms,the bubbling sounds of small mountain streams now swollen from the melting snows high on the mountain and the chirping of robins busily building their nests among the branches of the budding trees. And most of all I miss the sights of Spring. Not just the rebirth of the mountain in it's Springtime glory, but the sights of Grandpa standing beside his beloved Dogwood tree, Grandma in the garden preparing to plant for the seasons bounties to come, Daddy in the sawmill readying orders for his most busy and profitable season, Mama with her feather duster giving orders for the "Spring House Cleaning", Jason in the porch swing composing a new tune for the season, Ben contemplating a new business venture, Mary Ellen oiling up her catcher's mitt for baseball season, Jim Bob lying in the green grass staring up at the sky as Mama would say "with his head in the clouds", Elizabeth with Miss Margaret in the barn talking to Chance's new calf, and you, dear Erin, taking it all in, in your quiet and gentle way saving those memories and dreaming of the day when you too will leave the mountain to find your own place in the world. Only then will you truly realize how special those times were. It is strange how something so powerful as these memories not only make leaving home the hardest thing you will ever do, but also what makes being away from home easier to endure. They give us the strength we need to be on our own to be able to follow our dreams. So, today on this gray, gloomy day when I find myself in one of those darkest hours your gift from home has restored me. As I am sitting here drinking my coffee from my new cup, looking at the pictures of not only the front porch, living room, and barn, but of my bedroom window, I, JohnBoy, am almost at a loss of words. How many hours have I sat at that window writing, dreaming, and absorbing the sights and sounds of home, family and the mountain, storing them away for a time when I would need them most. I will use the stationery to write home to all of you telling you of my adventures from afar while envying all of you for your daily adventures at home. Thank you, dear sister, for your thoughfulness, and may God Bless all of you back home. Love, John Boy.

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