I find my little happy places all over the place. I find things right around me that make me smile. However, when I want to go deep, I must say I love the solitude of an old forest, preferably in the mountains with the sounds of the birds, a river, and leaves. The beach works just fine, too. Everybody has a kind of place that heals them. Sometimes I wonder how it comes about. I wonder if maybe we are the most peaceful when we are in a place where our ancestors lived…kind of a genetic memory. I know I have a little bit of Native American blood floating in my genes. I also know that back in the 1800s my people lived in North Carolina. I’ve read that many of the immigrants chose where to settle based on how similar the land was to their homeland.
As our culture has changed and the world has grown, wouldn’t it be a hoot if we carried a little bit of our heritage with us, even if we don’t know the stories.Of course, back then, survival was on the top of the list of things to do. I know there wasn’t much discretionary time or money. Still, happy doesn’t take alot of time. Peace can’t be bought.Would happiness come easier if we lived in the place that our heart sings? Or, do we just need to visit there to recharge ?I’m not sure, but hope that one day, I’ll get a chance to live full time in one of my spots. I’m sitting right now in Colorado listening to a family of birds and the sound of a rushing river looking up at a ski mountain that is preparing for a full season transformation. It is trying to shed the layers of snow to allow for the wildflowers to rise up. I’ve seen this beautiful mountain in it’s full winter glory and I’m happy to see just the beginnings of the spring transformation.
As we were driving over, I noticed the landscape and how it must have felt to the first settlers. Seeing the Rocky Mountains for the first time. How hard it must have been for them on horse back or in wagons over the unforgiving terrain. Facing daily challenges against the weather, and struggling to survive. Then as the early settlements were built how that brought new challenges. The isolation, the continued struggles for survival. Were they happy with their decision to forge west? Did they second guess themselves? Some, I’m guessing, came for the thrill. Those with families, they had to be searching for something else. Surely they were searching for the just the right place. Perhaps the colonial cities just wasn’t doing it for them. I wonder what their stories were?