Holy Night on The Ponderosa
I once lived in the country with the wild
turkey and prancing white-tail deer. I
was a city girl that grew an “Annie Oakley” heart. My dad called me Annie Oakley, because I was
a pretty good shot with a “dangerous” BB gun.
I once roamed the oaks of the backwoods on my zippy red moped along with
my little brother (who thought he was older) on his go-kart. I was free to run and stroll our pristine 3
acres, or as we called our land, “The Ponderosa.”
My
family and I referenced “Little House on the Prairie”. Love was evident, grained into the wooden
porch that wrapped around our country home.
My dad was head of the household, the spiritual leader. He took his “royal
role” seriously. He led with grace and
dignity. He had a compassionate and
sweet heart. I’d be skipping by and he’d
say, “Brandy, have I told you I loved you today?” I’d quietly respond, “No, dad, you haven’t.”
He’d grin and genuinely answer, “Well, I love you.”
Days
and nights on “The Ponderosa” peacefully glistened with wholesome family
time. Wildflowers of adoration grew by the
bullfrog pond. My dad, with a Southern
man smile, would yell, “Those darn frogs need to pay rent!” We would laugh and giggle with child-like
delight. Days would be filled with hard work
on the gold smitten land and end with greens and cornbread upon the “God-fearing”
pine table. Nights ended with “Dad! Tuck
me in.” and the reverent Lord’s Prayer.
Sometimes nights drifted into holy moonlight. Eyes were still open, looking upon Lakeport,
Michigan stars.
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