October 4, 2013

September 2013

Colorado put on her prettiest dress for this long anticipated event.   Fires had denuded the hillsides in many places, then after a long siege of heavy rains, mud slides and floods had devastated the beautiful landscape and picturesque villages.   And yet, the hillsides glowed with new green growth, and where usually dry brush and black-eyed Susans  prevail , there was a bright aspect of spring-time; everything looked fresh and new.
The aspens had not yet begun to turn so it was the green green grass of home that filled my eyes and heart that September afternoon  of our arrival at the Woodland Inn.
      This was another gathering of the Sanderson/Gettman clan .  We were there to honor and remember Anne;  sibling, auntie,
Mother, granny and friend to a very large group of folks.   They came , bearing bags, boxes and bowls, and the beautiful new table in the dining room began to fill with delectables  of all sorts.
The spaciousness of the inn itself, the grounds around it provide  ample space for guests to roam, lounge on porches and patios, stroll the grounds or hike  the hills , walk down the road to town, or retire to the privacy of their rooms .  
    Having reached the advanced age of 91 I admit to being somewhat apprehensive as to how I would react to the 8,000 ft altitude, especially after struggling with some health issues, but to my surprise and delight I found I could navigate the steep driveway, and even climb the hill behind the Inn with my camera to photograph the distant panoramic views. 
     There was a joyous renewal of relationships, greeting kinfolk long absent from each other, much hugging, and acquainting ourselves with the newest members of the clan.  As always happens at the Inn, there was  a general feeling of letting down and allowing the magic of the mountains to unwind the tensions.
      AnnE was everywhere!   I heard the echoes of her voice in the laughter; her sharp wit crackled in the stories we told.  I looked for her around every corner, and thought I felt her hand on my shoulder.   She was there.  She would not have missed it for the world!

Written with love by Betty L. Owen 
September 2013  

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