Running wild in the woods, surrounded by downed trees, my black wolf-dog, Bones by my side, my little brother keeping pace on his short stubby redhead legs, we were pack.

There were rusted mattress springs to jump on, tiny beautiful chickens to feed and collect the eggs from, and a deer herd to chase, follow and pet. As a chikd, the very first thing I wanted to be, was an animal. I don't think I really figured out that I was one before I was fully an adult and further away from animal instincts than I care to admit. (Or, maybe my witch instincts just filled in the pieces where animal instincts have been domesticated.)

Then, I wanted to be a dog breeder. Because, obviously, if I bred dogs, I would have like sixteen of them. My favorite book at that time was "Beautiful Joe" which I remember strongly as being a story about an ugly and kind pitbull dog who finds his family after being seriously abused by his initial master. He lives in harmony and joy with his new family in their managrie of strange animals. Guinea pigs, ducks, chickens, hawks, horses, Jersey cows and a full pack of mutt-related dogs.

I reread part of this book as an adult, because Mom moved this year and I got my book, with admonitions to keep it safe and be careful, and I cracked it open to discover.... it's a period piece of the 1800s. Which means, its got some seriously racist mindsets inside it and makes me wonder if I should reread the whole thing and delve into any potential things that may be lurking in my subconscious from reading and rereading this book, or if I should take it as vhildren do- its about animals, from the dog, Ugly Joe's perspective. I only remember the animal parts of the stories.

Then, when I was older than eleven and younger than fourteen, Spring, my deer-friend, was pregnant with a spring baby. We saw she was COVERED IN TICKS and Fleas and we had our farm dog/horse deflea/de ticker and I sprinkled it on her butt to help her with the nasty bugs. She lost the baby that year and I recognized it as being the de-ticker medication, because I was teaching myself biology while homeschooling myself in the kindergarden classroom closet, with my little brother's teacher, Ms. Doty.

I drew my first biologically correct, realistic mushroom in that closet. I knew then and there- I wanted to be a vet and to learn all about animals and science and everything to do with them. I had no idea I was going to be this prolific, determined artist that I currently am. Animals were my whole life, and I still really love them. I just draw them more now.

So, Spring got pregnant again and this... this moment was my absolute favorite childhood memory. This is the moment I recount to dates, to new lovers, to friends who ask these things in the dance of getting to know you.

I came out one forest morning and Spring was lying under a bush in my backyard. She was looking thick, uncomfortable and irritated and I was barefoot, naked under the long flannel nightgown my mother made me wear and it was cold. I saw her there and dashed back in for a bowl of corn and some water and maybe to tell my mom or grab my camera, as there is a photograph of her poor uncomfortable self.

Insert here.

I fed her the corn. I let her lap some water and I petted her head and her shoulder. We were on head/shoulder petting terms up until then and I had only briefly touched her back and never her sharp hooves or round belly. Today though, for some reason, I looked down and her belly was moving. I put my hands on her belly and felt the little baby buck inside of her kick and flutter his feet.

My. Heart. Exploded. Sense memory fades here and becomes brilliant ecstatic colors and I sat with my hand on her belly, petting her neck while she ate her corn. I am sure I stayed there, as frozen and calm as I could be until she struggled to her feet and bounced away into the woods.

A month or so later, there was Autumn. He was speckled and beautiful and I have no idea how I knew he was a boy, but I knew and I never tried to tTame or domesticate him while he was growing up. Bucks are best meant to be left be, because humans like to kill beautiful things.

What is your favorite Childhood Memory? Who were you between the ages of ten and fifteen?
If you don't remember, call someone who does and ask them about your activities during that time. There's something to be said about what our actual genuine soul purpose is in this world, by looking back to that time period.

I called Mom and she said: "You mostly hung out with the animals and made art. You were always drawing, painting, doodling, writing or in the woods with the dogs and deer exploring."

What were you meant for during your one wild and wonderous life?

…I was eleven years old and living in the country/woods of Colville, WA, surrounded by Evergreens, deer, coyotes, farm dogs, kittens and our flock of bantam chickens, how content I was to explore the huge forest world with my friends and my little brother. We were small. There was no internet, no t.v. and one radio in the house- a boom box really. I ate my information through experiences of trial and error, and through books. I devoured books. There were some novels and stories I can still feel in my teeth I read them so hungrily and often.

I don't remember much about my time between eleven and fourteen. Chickens came and went. My best deer friend, Spring gave birth to two babies and I named one of them Summer. Summer's twin didn't make it till Fall and I don't remember why. I do remember the feeling of Spring, momma-deer, and her nose, warm and leathery in the palm of my hand. She would come up with her herd in the dusky evening and peer through our big front windows. I would know then to grab the corn and grains we'd gotten for deer food and dash outside to hand feed her. Most of the rest of the herd kept a solid three to five foot distance from my enthusastic adolescent self- but not Spring. She, with her left ear holding a large gunshot punched scar, would come right up to me as if she were a horse. She wanted her treats and she wanted them now.

I loved that deer quite a bit. She taught me patience with wild things reaps immense rewards. (Spring actually gifted me with my ABSOLUTE favorite childhood memory.) She taught me being gentle and steady with others teaches them to trust you. She also taught me that predators and prey can spend time together if neither of them are hungry. There was so much I learned from my time spent with the deer herd in the woods in Washington that I often take for granted the way I interact with animals, small children, and adults who need a more quiet approach. I just, love them.

Do you see how I used the writing technique: “I remember, I don't remember, I remember, I don't remember?”

I will be playing with teaching using stories and storytelling over the next year and I want to offer that quiet teaching to you and to your heart. This style of teaching has centuries of preambles through our DNA and when we access other people's stories, it reminds us of our own. Let my stories and my thoughts remind you of yours.

If something I create inspires you, yes, of course share it with others, because that's how everything organic grows, but- more importantly, let it influence you. Let your heart beat pour out and engage with what my story brings up in your story. In your memories, in your own style.

Write it down. All of us are story tellers and I want you to be engaged and receptive to being as fully alive as possible in your life.