A blue loose leaf binder filled with notes & organized with tabbed dividers; research notes, interviews with long time locals, questions to be answered.
The thought, actually a vision of that binder skittered through my mind so rapidly I almost missed it entirely.
And then another. A black college ruled composition book crowded with the careful and not so careful script of a book in the making. A history of horticulture spanning 100 years starting in the 1850’s and delving into the hows and wheres and whyfors. Specific lists of crop cultivars and varieties grown along the mountain pass skirting the edge of Pikes Peak and continuing to the infamous gold mining town of Cripple Creek.
A dream long ago, born of a desire to know, and grow an idea of creating a historic, heirloom garden for this area.
How long ago was that? Sometimes in the mid 80’s. Yes, that’s right. Whatever happened to those books anyway? Did I pack them in storage? Did I throw them away with my other hopes and dreams? Disgusted with the (w)hole of it….divorce, moving, not enough money, divorce, moving, children who had flown the nest, not enough money, knowing I would lose the house.
Disgusted with life.