I grew up with a father that was a storyteller.
He loved history and on family trips in the car, he’d tell us stories…
They just happened to be true…
He could make those tales come alive.
I’ve heard his dad was an even better storyteller, but I never met that grandfather.
Put a bunch of my relatives together, and beer in hand, we all morph into weak shadows of the storytellers before us.
It is a good time…
Probably part of the reason I have tried my hand at this blogging game…
Definitely it was what spurred me to write down a short children’s story about living on the ranch.
That was years ago.
I submitted it to a Wyoming publishing company, whose owner encouraged me greatly, but declined to publish it since their focus was historical non-fiction.
It has sat on my desk ever since.
It has been a dream that languished in the muck that every day life brings.
Finally…
With our centennial party looming…
I figured I better get moving.
I hope to present a copy to my father-in-law at the party.
It is illustrated with some of my photographs of the ranch turned into watercolors via Photoshop.
Maybe… just maybe… I’ll complete it!
The name?
Red Dirt In My Soul
I wonder why?
