FennKats Rangers

What sparked my story, “The Day the Wind Went Missing”?

There have been many moments in my life, on a camping trip, a journey to a sunny SoCal beach, or in our family’s backyard, when I have stepped outside and all is quiet…. still.

Not an eerie still, yet a sense that something was definitely different.

The Aspen trees had stopped swaying, and the black birds had gone silent, the ocean waves had stopped crashing on the sandy shore, or the street noise had vanished.

Some stories begin with high adventure.
This one began with listening.

It was these momentary pauses in my world that made me wonder what was missing…. and, of course, why.

🍃 With warmth & wonder ~ Dale Thomas

What sparked my story, “Tracks in the Sand”?

My Dad was stationed on the Presidio, a then, active Army base in San Francisco, CA. It is located where the south end of the Golden Gate Bridge meets the tip of the Bay Area peninsula. A perfect environment for young Army kids to explore (lots of stories began here).

Camping and hiking were a welcomed norm. Either up at Lake Tahoe to the east, or a quick drive north, over the Golden Gate, to the Marin headlands. Its here where the Point Reyes National Park lies.

Point Reyes is quite unique how it transitions from a tall Redwood forest, crosses a rolling, brushy grass hills, then onto a multi-colored pebble beach with large ocean breakers. This is where the story “Tracks’ has it’s roots.

We had hiked to the coast with our old school, heavy, green canvas tents. The kind of tent with two wooden, support poles inside. It was getting late as we setup our tent on a moist grassy slope, just up from the beach. We hunkered in, told a few ghost stories and quickly fell asleep.

The fog had rolled in overnight, so the dirt and grass around the tent was now a procurer to mud. I untied the tent flaps (yes, seems ‘zippers’ had not found their way into camping gear just yet). Just outside the tent, I mean inches away, were these strange, deep, mid-sized animal tracks.

In a straight, orderly path, they marched right outside the entrance to our tent. We had no clue who had left them. Friend or foe? Where they there just passing by, or there to nibble our toes? We skipped the steamy-hot oatmeal breakfast, and set out to track this curious visitor.

🍃 With warmth & wonder ~ Dale Thomas

What sparked my story, “The Distant Horizon”?

Every 18 months or so my family relocated to a new city. My Dad was an officer in the US Army and his new assignments led us to a new outpost, well, new to us. We would often pack up the ole red Dodge, family wagon and drive to our new home.

Dad would often choose to drive through the cool night, with mom, my brothers and sister doing our best to catch some sleep. I woke a few times hearing the broken crackle of the AM radio as the family-truckster motored along Route 66, or what would soon become US Interstate 10.

Knowing better than ask, “Are we there yet”, I’d reach over to the front seat and pat Dad on his shoulder, “Hey Dad, how ya doing”? Once in his soft, yet deep Dad voice he said, “Almost there son, it’s just ‘over the horizon’. “ …. ‘Over the Horizon’…hmmmm.. something I couldn’t really reach, yet something I could venture towards. I tucked that thought away….

Dad kept driving, humming to a new, albeit, staticky Beach Boy song.

🍃 With warmth & wonder ~ Dale Thomas

What sparked my story, “The Vanishing Mesas”?

Be it Fairbanks Alaska, or San Francisco California, they both have their unique weather. Blinding blizzards and dense fog. I have experienced, well, been caught in both.

It’s interesting how when standing in the midst of swirling snow, or a heavy cloud resting on the green lawn, you can’t see more than 10 feet in front of you. You know, or maybe awesome, that the playground is still there just ahead. You know Chuckie Tallman’s house is just over there, or the red Dodge Dart is parked…right over… wait… where did it go?

While you know deep down that with every few steps forward, a familiar path will always unfold. Or would it? You can sense it, you believe it, you are confident, yet there are few landmarks to provide the confirmation that everything remains the same.

It’s a brief tug-of-war between doubt and reassurance, between what is unseen, yet what will always be there for you.

🍃 With warmth & wonder ~ Dale Thomas