New Direction or is it the old one?

Alright, I have a plan. I am going up to the Good Earth store that I love tomorrow and I am going to fill out an application for a wellness councilor which is someone who works in the herbal section of the store. I have a general knowledge of herbs and I think I can pass there wellness quiz. Even if I am not paid that much at least it would be experience in the right direction for me. Plus I would get a 20% discount at the store, which would be great, I think they even offer some benefits. But it all depends, they are not advertising for anything, but... I talked to one of the managers and this is what she told me to do. Plus there are not a ton of people out there who are as motivated as I am about health and wellness, and the use of herbs. So that's my plan... Like I said before, working at Good Earth would be fun for me. Geneology is great but health and wellness are my interests.

Now I have gotten out of the habit of writing word paintings, so I think I will make an attempt since I am in a good mood.

Lay in a hamock, sway with the breeze.

Back and forth I lazily kick the tree as I swing and listen as the breeze rustles the leaves on the thousands of trees that cover the mountains. A nearby stream flows and there is the sound of the general conversation of my extended family at the reunion.

Kids run back and forth some screaming and laughing, some crying because they fell down. Their little faces are dirty, but they are joyful, giddy even at the general freedom to run in the dirt.

The Browns are starting up their 4-wheelers again, don't they ever stop? I hate those things. Someone starts up their chainsaw to cut up wood, geeze don't they know the meaning of relaxation.

The hamock, still rythemic, but not able to drown out the rousing camp loses it's appeal. So I rise to find my brother.

We run up and down the rock pile, back and forth on the bridge. Then decide to walk down the stream in our "Water Shoes," that mom has bought us, to find the ghost houses.

We ford the stream and step carefully on the rocks, moving branches and stepping around the watermelons that someone has brought up to cool. There will be a contest later, I can already taste the melon.

We head deeper into the woods, sloshing along happily in the man made stream that was diverted from the natural one up higher.

Then we see one, a ghost house. Carefully we make our way up the bank, the anticipation building with each step. The house is so fascinating to look at, the front step is littered with debris and as you peek over the threshold you can see the peeling wallpaper and the other rooms behind the wall because part of the wall is missing.

The stairs are dilapited, but undaunted by the danger we step into the house on top of part of the ceiling that has fallen. You can see where there had been a fire at one point, the smoke had discolored some parts of the wall giving the whole place a sad and earie feeling.

We walk carefully up the stairs to explore and find several rather small rooms. I imagine that babies had slept up there once, and a mother had kept house. We walk down the hallway and down the back into what must have been the kitchen, I imagined the mother again and the father bringing in piles of wood to heat the old pot belly stove.

We make our way off the back porch and find behind the house the foundation of a log cabin, even more fodder for the imagination. We walk around it in the thick vegetation and find the square nails which they had used to hold things together.

Satisfied by our day's findings we decide to get back before we are missed and head back up the stream, it is a bit harder than when going down.

Sometime I will write about going down into the crystal mine, riding up in the back of a pickup on the hard and bumpy floor.