It has been slow going, and I don't know if it is turning out as well I would have liked.
I thought I would share a small portion of it and see what you all think. I could really use some opinions! :)
There is a place in one’s heart, a special spot reserved for the memories of the joyous days of childhood. And of Mama and Papa, who were always there with a gentle hand, loving smile and a few simple words of wisdom and understanding.
A place where you felt loved, secure, and contented as you grew and began to face the trying years of adulthood.
I am no different than the rest, and I, too, have a place in my heart’s core.
Against the deep blue skies of Washington, a tall, majestic mountain peak looms above the tops of the sweet-smelling pine trees. Its beauty and might echoes the power of its Creator, and the love He has for His creation, while the songbirds sing their Praises to the Keeper of the Sparrows.
Pioneers in yesteryear caught sight of this awesome mountain, fear and awe filling their beings as they gazed at the beauty around them. A lush, green valley was below God’s natural monument, filled with giant herds of elk, so large they seemed part of the landscape. Trees, thick and monstrous, stood along the horizon, seeming like a castle’s barricade ready to protect its occupants.
It was a place of refuge to the tired pilgrims, and they soon settled this land of the evergreens, building homes with the sweat of their brows.
From this small settlement grew the little town of Elk Valley, a clean, quiet place full of God-fearing, happy residents, sheltered from the outside world behind their barricade of branches and mountains.
Elk Valley was my home since I had been born in that small, white farmhouse nestled beneath the great Mount St. Helens, surrounded by its army of trees.
It was a small town, populated by people of pioneer stock, with ancestors who had passed their strong, Christian ways down to their children.
My great-grandparents, Frank and Helen West, came to the Valley in 1868; just three years after Frank had come home from the Civil War.
They built a cabin and in 1869, gave birth to my Grandpa, Daniel. Grandpa married Agnes Van Etta, and they in turn had my mother, Jenny.
Mama married Kirk Hayes, just before the Great War.
It was the dreadful winter of 1918 that Mama lost her three eldest children to the Influenza Epidemic, and Papa came home from the war.
He had been gassed in the trenches, and suffered from weak lungs and a crippled leg, which made it very hard for poor Papa to get around the farm.
My big brother, Cole, was born a few years later, and then, I, Katherine, was born soon after.
Then came Nolan, followed by another set of twins, Carrie and Konner.
Little brother Ethan was thought to be the last, but when Mama was nearing her thirty-eighth birthday, she announced that another member would be added to the family and Little Amy arrived, a pure ray of sunshine to our tired lives.
Papa left his war-weary body behind in the late fall of 37’, also leaving behind a sorrowful, grieving family with the Depression bearing down hard on our shoulders.
The summer of 1939 changed my life forever, and I didn’t realize how much pain lay ahead for me, or for my little town.
Our fort of trees and hills could not hold back the outside world, and many changes were soon to come into out quiet home in the Valley.
I am Katie, and this is my story