When I was about 10 years old, my father gave me a present. It was a simple present – a journal with 200 blank lined pages bound in a fake leather cover that measured 6½ by 10 inches. His instructions were simple. One page a day. Every day.
At first, it seemed an impossible task, and I resisted it. But in time, I accepted it and even came to like it. And in the end, the resulting collection of journals chronicled a lifetime.
From those simple words and sentence...
‘The Cliff’ was a magical place. Ancient trails wandered through huge pines with trunks four feet across. At one point, a vertical cliff with a 150 foot sheer drop had in past antiquity served as an ancient Indian jumping pound. The buffalo, driven over the edge in carefully planned hunts at this spot had fed an Indian nation for countless generations. At the bottom, the bones of thousands of buffalo from centuries of these hunts mixed with the sandy prairie soil.
...