Western meadowlark song

The song of the western meadowlark was one of the most striking features of my hike on Friday.  If I close my eyes, I’m taken back to Eastern Alberta, the summer of 1990.

Pretending to be Canadian.  I didn’t like the way I was treated as an American, so I hid my car with Colorado plates in an unused hangar and cultivated a perfect Canadian accent.  The only time I was caught was when I spelled something and used the Americanized letter “zee” instead of “zed.”  I was dumbfounded when the person said immediately “You’re American!”  I had no idea what had happened until a young friend told me.

The LeeGreenwood  song “I’m proud to be an American” kept running through my head, because clearly I was not.  Although I would have told you I was.  I caved.  I couldn’t take the pressure.

When I was younger I wondered how my old mind would make sense of random memories. I thought I’d remember the things I don’t.  I remember the song of the western meadowlark, the smell of the airplane fuel, and the feeling of being jealous of a 17 year old boy.  The boy my soon-to-be-husband was paying so much attention to.  I had no idea.

I wonder if everyone’s memories are tinged with so much sadness.

It makes it easy to be grateful to be a 64 year old woman who lives alone, having divorced that confusing man decades ago.  It makes it positively glorious to go out on a sunlit Colorado afternoon and hear the birdsong full of such memories, and know that I am safe now.

God is so good.

This entry was posted in Gratitude, History. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Western meadowlark song

  1. Mary says:

    I love that picture. Actually, I love all of your pictures. That’s a funny story about pretending to be Canadian.

  2. Annette says:

    Oh bless your heart. Life is filled with these sad memories that lead us straight to the good and healing stuff of God’s grace and eternal love for us, His little daughters.

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