Category: Places

Mountain Shadows

Published on by Ann Marie Bryant2 Comments

A southern glance to a blue silhouette
Delivers a heartfelt message:
Return home to the Ponderosa pines, to scents of vanilla.
Settle into the mountain valley,
Hike the winding trails,
Sit a spell,
Breathe in the earth’s aromas,
Listen to the mountain’s music—
Wind rustling through pine boughs,
Birdsong fills the air.
Watch shadows dance as the sun peeks through,
And wait for the forest folk to appear.

Deer grazing in a mountain meadow,
Chipmunks darting about,
And then, she emerges—
Walking with her cubs.
She hesitates, sensing your presence,
Time slows, eyes meet,
Hearts race.
She takes a step,
Then pauses,
Calling softly to her family.

Climbing to a southern exposure,
She rests while her cubs play,
Content, she purrs.
Time slips by,
Unnoticed.

Photo

The Homecoming

Published on by Ann Marie BryantLeave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What makes you feel nostalgic?
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Driving along the country road, my anticipation grew. Soon, I would arrive at my mountain retreat – my sanctuary in the heart of the valley. Over the years, I spent countless days here, each visit offering a respite from the demands of daily life. In the past, my family and I would take weekend trips, hiking in the nearby mountain park or leisurely exploring the town and surrounding countryside. From my first visit, I recall the magic I felt as we turned onto Pine Drive, where towering trees created a natural tunnel, sunlight filtering through their branches in shimmering rays. The homes—old and new—peeked through the pines, and I often wondered about the lives of the settlers who had once built homesteads in this valley. 


In recent years, I’ve made a point to return whenever I can steal a moment from the bustle of life. Long weekends spent here bring a deep sense of rest and rejuvenation. Despite the many beautiful spots in Colorado, it’s this quiet place that calls me back. It offers solitude and peace that I can’t find anywhere else.


Lost in these thoughts, the road suddenly dipped, and my heart lifted at the familiar sight ahead. The two-lane highway split before me: to the left, it wound upward into a forest of pines, eventually climbing into the rugged Wet Mountains; to the right, the road veered into a lush valley dotted with farmhouses and barns. We took the path on the right, and for a fleeting moment, I felt a pang of longing to follow the familiar road that led to a cabin I had once visited often—until it was sold. I had spent many peaceful days there, immersed in the stillness of the mountains, enjoying the wildlife and the antics of my Muttley Crew—Max and Mitzi. It had been the perfect escape from the frenetic pace of my everyday life.


But today, the sight of the old farmhouse with its vivid red door drew me in. Nestled in the foothills, snow still blanketed the dormant alfalfa fields, and the weathered barns stood like quiet sentinels, storing the land’s offerings. In the distance, snow-covered peaks loomed, their soft blues and creamy whites blending into the cloudy sky. For a moment, time seemed to freeze as I gazed at the farmlands below, feeling as though I had stepped into an old postcard.


As I pulled into the gravel driveway, I spotted a lone buck standing still, his antlers silhouetted against the pale sky. I quickly snapped a photo of the regal creature, who seemed unfazed by my presence. But the moment passed as soon as I released Max and Mitzi from the car. The mini dachshunds bolted into the yard, barking loudly as they chased the deer, who bounded away at the sound of their shrill voices. I called the scoundrels back, apologizing to the startled buck.


Taking a deep breath, I inhaled the familiar scent of Ponderosa Pines, their rich pine and vanilla fragrance filling the air. I walked over to one of the trees, placing my hand on its rough bark, and closed my eyes, savoring the moment. It was a scent I’d come to associate with peace and solitude, with memories of quiet days spent here in this special place.

As I surveyed the house and surrounding fields, my gaze lingered on the faded green outhouse beside the barn. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought that this 150-year-old home had been updated with a modern bathroom. I imagined what life must have been like on the farm a century ago. Though I grew up in the city, my mother often shared stories of her childhood on a ranch. From her tales, I knew it had been hard work, but I also knew that she cherished those days spent with her family.


It was funny how distant my city life now felt. The asphalt streets and concrete sidewalks had been replaced by dirt roads and open prairies. The hum of city traffic had been replaced by the raucous calls of quail, signaling to their young. And the acrid stench of car exhaust and burning oil had given way to the sweet, earthy scent of sagebrush and hummingbird mint. I had always known I was a country girl at heart. 


Quickly, I unloaded the car, stowing the groceries inside and setting aside the rest of my things to unpack later. For now, all I wanted was to sit on the front porch and enjoy the sunset. As the pups explored the yard, I settled into the bench on the porch, pulling my gloves from my hoodie pocket to ward off the winter chill. The crisp air swirled around me, but the gloves warmed my hands as I gazed out over the valley.

The quiet was only broken by the occasional car winding down the road, and each time, the driver would wave. It warmed my heart that small towns still held on to such customs, offering a moment of connection even to strangers. As I relaxed on the bench, the distant sound of church bells rang through the valley, their chimes a reminder of the season. Breathing in the fresh, cold air, I smiled to myself. I had returned to the mountains, to the perfect place to spend my winter holiday.

The Perfect Place

Published on by Ann Marie BryantLeave a comment
Daily writing prompt
You get to build your perfect space for reading and writing. What’s it like?
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If I could build the perfect space for reading and writing, I would design a room with large windows that let in soft, filtered light from the nearby pines. The trees would sway gently outside, casting a peaceful, natural glow throughout the space. On one wall, a fire blazes in the hearth, providing warmth and an inviting ambiance. In the corner, a plush, overstuffed recliner would beckon, its cushions soft and cozy. I’d settle into it, pulling a warm comforter over my legs, ready to start the day. Balancing my laptop on my knees, the soothing crackle of the fire would be my backdrop as I begin my writing, the words flowing as the world outside quietly fades away.

Next to the chair, a small side table would hold my morning coffee, the rich aroma of the brew sparking creativity. It would sit within arm’s reach, a comforting ritual to help me ease into the day’s work. With the fire’s warmth, the calming view, and my trusty coffee by my side, I’d be perfectly equipped for whatever thoughts or stories might emerge, ready to write the day away.

Nature

Published on by Ann Marie Bryant4 Comments
Daily writing prompt
When are you most happy?
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Any time I can spend in the mountains, I’m filled with joy. One of my favorite spots is a charming hamlet I love visiting year-round. It’s a hidden gem with plenty of outdoor areas perfect for walking my Muttley Crew and for capturing nature in all its glory through my lens. The Beulah Valley, tucked away in Colorado, is especially magical—its four seasons put on an ever-changing, spectacular show.

Wildlife thrives here—mule deer graze peacefully, foxes dart through the underbrush, squirrels chase each other through the trees, and birds flit through the air. Though visitors might not always catch a glimpse, there are often other critters nearby: bears, mountain lions, raccoons, and more. The land is alive, even when it feels quiet.

The fresh mountain air, mixed with the earthy scent of ponderosa pine, creates a sense of calm and serenity. The soft sunlight filtering through the branches feels almost therapeutic. It’s a reminder of how important it is to step away from the busy pace of life and find a quiet place to rest, relax, and recharge. The mountains have a way of helping you reconnect with yourself, and I can’t imagine anything more rejuvenating than that.

Boots

Published on by Ann Marie BryantLeave a comment
Daily writing prompt
Tell us about your favorite pair of shoes, and where they’ve taken you.
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One favorite pair of shoes, for a woman, can never have just one favorite pair, has been my old grey hiking boots. They have taken me on quite a few adventures while traveling around the countryside. I have been to the Sand Creek Massacre National Historic Site and Bent’s Old Fort in Southeastern Colorado. I have walked along dusty horse trails around my home with my pups.

I walked along the land of my grandpa’s old ranch, knowing all the while my steps covered the ground that he once walked. I stepped alongside the old train tracks and wondered how many times my mama had taken the old coal buckets and picked up the black chunks that had fallen off the train cars at the bend in the track.

I slipped on my shoes before sliding into old Ruby and heading for the mountains and trekking along trails that seemed to reach into the sky. I have strolled along quiet main streets, peering into shops or buying a cup of Joe to take on the road. I have walked along quiet streets of old ghost towns and marveled at old hotels and churches.

I have worn them while visiting grandbabies and viewing the newest members of the farm. I held little hands and walked to pens to witness the arrival of baby goats or laugh as I watched Princess Laya scurry towards an open kitchen door, hoping to steal food from the dog’s bowl. I wore them the day I saw Ember for the first time. The soft grey mare warmed my heart as I watched the wild Mustang scout her new home.

My old boots have carried me to many places as I enjoyed all that Colorado has to offer. And as the weather begins to warm, I can’t wait to pull them out, lace them up once again, and discover new places to explore.

The Goun Girls’ GetAway

Published on by Ann Marie BryantLeave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What are your future travel plans?
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Since sixth grade, I have been blessed with a dear friend and sister, Barbara Lesesne Medlock. We hit it off from day one when she broke an extra-large pencil over the head of Chipman Middle School’s biggest bully after he called her “Freckles.” This pint-sized tornado made her mark on her first day of school. And we have been the best of friends since sixth grade.

Over time, we became literal blood sisters after slicing open our thumbs one night. We slept out in my backyard. My dad had set up a camp stove and after a round of s’mores, we started yapping, and I am not sure who even brought up this idea of blood sisters for life, I just remember, going to the kitchen and finding a sharp knife. Once settled next to my friend, we each took a turn slicing our thumbs. Pushing our bleeding thumbs together, we made our oath, blood sisters for life.

We also called ourselves, “The Goun Girls.” I am not sure who came up with the name, but Barb came up with the spelling. The Goun Girls were inseparable, and after school, we had many adventures. We walked the shore along the Alameda coastline, writing our names and messages on the sand. We played under the pines at Crown Memorial State Beach. We were regulars at the nearby Woodstock Park and Washington Park, and of course, Ballena Bay Isle. We also rode our bikes all over the tiny island. We rode to distant parks and visited my grandparents, often stopping by for a cold glass of water before our adventures took us to new places.

In fact, once, we just about gave our parents a coronary when we decided to ride through the Posey Tunnel to Oakland. It was not one of our most brilliant moves since the tiny sidewalk and railing did not offer an opportunity to turn our bikes around. We were stuck and had to ride our bikes for almost two miles in the underwater tunnel. It was loud as cars zoomed through the underpass, and what was even worse was the smell of the auto exhaust! The emissions made me queasy, and I wasn’t sure if I would make it. At any moment, I thought I was going to lose my lunch!

We were never so happy to reach fresh air! Still, our eleven-year-old brains realized we had not made the wisest choice, and we knew we had better turn around and race through the passage one more time. When we came up for fresh air in Alameda, we breathed a sigh of relief. Seriously, we knew we could not tell a soul, and I thought the massive headache from the fumes should be punishment enough.

However, as it often transpires, parents discover their children’s lapses in judgment. Although this transgression occurred over fifty years ago, Barb’s mom discloses our misdeed with the same amount of shock and dismay to this very day. And I know if my mom were still alive, I would still receive a scolding even though Barb and I are now grandmothers! What a crazy and wonderful childhood we shared on that little island. And I am so pleased that we have remained friends for over fifty years

Oh, but where was I… travel plans…well, of course, my friend and I have made future plans. We have considered returning to Key West, Punta Gorda, Florida, or the Rocky Mountains of my home state. We also have our sites in faraway places like Italy, Quebec, and even our old stomping grounds in Alameda. But know this, we have learned our lesson. If we end up in Alameda, this time, we will not ride bikes through the tunnel. Promise, Mrs. L!

Hmm. I wonder. Thinking about our antics when we are together, is it still possible that two grown grannies can get grounded? Updates to follow!

Remembering Columbine

Published on by Ann Marie Bryant4 Comments

I am a soon-to-be 62-year-old grandmother, mother, teacher, and friend. And I live in shocked confusion about a world I no longer recognize. Was it not that long ago when shootings prompted horror? Do we see them now through different eyes and with less depravity and torment? How can that even be possible?

In the last few days, the news has reported that young people found themselves in deadly situations for simply living their lives. One young woman died for innocently pulling into the wrong driveway. An angry, violent man shot at her vehicle as she tried to escape. 

Two teenage cheerleaders in the dark of the night made the mistake of getting into the wrong car in a grocery store parking lot; ignored apologies did little to alleviate this misunderstanding. A man shot both girls and now one young teen struggles to recover and awaits more surgery in a Texas hospital.

And one young teen who just wanted to pick up his little brothers witnessed violence. The homeowner shot the teen twice for simply going to the wrong address. And that narrative becomes even more cryptic. When he tried to find help, people turned him away. So what have we become as a nation that turns children away when they need help?

These shootings have haunted me for some time, but I have stuffed the horror down as the violence grows across our country. I turn off the news and look the other way. But yesterday was the anniversary of the Columbine shooting. The shooting happened on April 20, 1999, at around 11:00 am, and I remember it as if it happened yesterday. I recall exactly where I was when it occurred. At that time, I was student teaching at a Colorado high school full of incredible teens that made this experience a gift of a lifetime. It was early in the afternoon when the staff learned that a mass shooting had occurred in a Denver high school. Yet, in shocked silence, we continued to do our job. 

At one point, I had the school secretary come and tell me that I had a phone call in her office. Since one of her office doors opened into my classroom, she watched my students as I took the call. It was my worried mother still checking on her 37-year-old daughter.

“Have you heard the news?” My mother asked in a shaky voice.

I answered in a soft whisper, “Yes.”

“Do you still really want to be a teacher after all of this?”

“Yes, Mama,” I replied.

“Well, then, I am buying you a bulletproof vest for your birthday.”

That conversation took place twenty-four years ago. Since then, mass shootings have become common in our nation. We certainly do not outwardly view them with the same unimaginable horror as we once did. We have become numb to such inconceivable mayhem.

When the Columbine shooting occurred, it was the deadliest mass shooting in a high school and the deadliest mass shooting in the state of Colorado. Today, this state is no stranger to mass shootings; unfortunately, mass shootings across the nation have become inconceivable. According to the Washington Post, “More than 349,000 students have experienced gun violence at school since Columbine.” Let that sink in!

So how do we stop this madness? More guns? Fewer guns? This is not about politics or gun rights. Our nation demands answers. This country longs for a homeland where our greatest assets, our children, can attend school without fear of becoming a victim of gun violence.

Six and a half years after Columbine, my mom left this world. Today, I look at this nation and wonder; if she could still call me, what would she say now?

Sources:

Photo by qiwei yang on Unsplash

When You Lose Security

Published on by Ann Marie Bryant4 Comments

What makes you most anxious?

Since the pandemic, I have sensed such a shift away from kindness and respect. Some people often seem to be angry all the time, or they feel as though they are entitled to behave in certain ways. Just this week I experienced this attitude twice in my everyday life. First, before I got my cold, yes my students got me again..lol..I went to my local YMCA to do water aerobics. The therapy pool was packed, but it had a place in the corner where I could work out. I had been working out for at least ten minutes when this lady who had been working out at the other end of the pool came swimming toward me. Her friend told her that she was about to plow into me, and her response was, “I don’t care. I was here first.”

My second occurrence happened while I was at home and resting. I felt awful. I had someone start knocking loudly on my door. The guy even tried opening my front door! When I didn’t respond, he went around to the side of the house and started banging on the garage door, and he tried opening it too. By then this granny had enough. I went to the door, told him I had called the sheriff, gave them his vehicle description and license plates, and the sheriff was on their way. He started screaming at me when I told him I called the sheriff’s department, and I told him this was his cue to leave. When he tried to intimidate me, I told him to go before I called my crazy neighbor that had an arsenal and years of combat training. That got his attention, and he finally left my property.

I hate living in a time when I no longer even feel safe in my own home. I hate that I feel uncomfortable when I go on road trips or “glamping” because I never know if I will meet a crazy person on the road. It has happened twice before on my travels. But now in my home, this latest incident has me troubled. Not sure what the answer is in a situation like this. Friends and family want me to get a handgun or at the very least a stun gun, but I don’t like that answer either. In the meantime, I am adding some security measures to my home, and I am hoping that it will provide some peace. I just want my home to feel like my haven once again.

America’s Mountain

Published on by Ann Marie Bryant2 Comments

Name an attraction or town close to home that you still haven’t got around to visiting.

O beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain

For purple mountain majesties, above the fruited plain

America, America, God shed His grace on thee

And crown thy good with brotherhood, from sea to shining sea.

America’s Mountain regally stands north of my home, so I often sit on my porch and admire its beauty. The blueish-purple outline rests among clear blue Colorado skies with billowing clouds that nestle close to its peak. Fresh untouched snow lingers at the summit, even at times, during summer months. Then, when the sun slowly sets, dusky skies shower viewers with a stunning light show. Pike’s Peak never disappoints. 

Pike’s Peak inspired many to explore its valleys and peaks. This mountain encouraged writers and poets, artists, and dreamers. It beckoned explorers and scientists and provided refuge for wildlife and adventurers who desired outdoor havens. It provided breathtaking beauty and endless vast views of Colorado lands.

Pike’s Peak was named for an early explorer and has been nicknamed America’s Mountian. She found her way into our hearts with her amazing views and filled us with pride when we sang “America the Beautiful.” Yep, this same mountain inspired Katherine Lee Bates to write the poem “Pike’s Peak.” Later, Samuel A. Ward transformed the poem into the song we know and love today.

So why haven’t I visited this beauty since returning to Colorado over forty years ago? Good question. I was two months old when my dad was stationed at Fort Carson. We lived in the area for two years. During that time, my parents explored this mountain and drove to the summit with a baby in tow. So technically, I visited this mountain, but the older version of me would like to take away some memories and photos.

So I did a quick research. I can drive to the top or take the Cog Railway, a mode of transportation with a long history of transporting visitors to the top of this mountain. Plus, I could make a day of it and spend time in Manitou Springs, Garden of the Gods, or have dinner at the Flying W Ranch. Hmm, I foresee a road trip in the future!

Pictures

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All for the King

Published on by Ann Marie Bryant7 Comments

This great grandmother, Marie Jeanne Toussaint, blazed a new trail in the New World, and her name survived throughout the generations as one of the founding mothers of North America.

The last known member of her family line, this King’s Daughter, came to New France alone. Her origins, her parents, and even her exact age vanished from history. Still, this great grandmother, Marie Jeanne Toussaint, blazed a new trail in the New World, and her name survived throughout the generations as one of the founding mothers of North America.

While little information on this 9th great grandmother existed, her impact on North America could not be forgotten. My grandmother, along with around 800 “sisters,” traveled to the French colonies to help balance gender inequality. To enhance the population in New France, King Louis XIV sent the King’s Daughters, the Filles du Roi, to the wilderness frontier between 1663 and 1773.

Once they arrived, most married the French immigrants and helped settle the king’s lands. The king also gave the women a dowry and a trousseau to help them establish their homes. Once they landed, they were provided with housing until they married. During their stay at their temporary quarters, the nuns taught them the necessary skills required to face the challenges of this strange new world. Most were not prepared or suited for the demanding lifestyle that awaited them. Yet, they stayed, and boldly met the challenges set before them.

Many of the women married within a few months after a suitable marriage was arranged. Fulfilling the king’s hopes, a decade later, the French colonies doubled in size. These women helped populate North America, for their descendants spread across this continent, and currently, most French Canadians have descended from at least one of the King’s Daughters.

Historically, these voyages often took as long as two to three months, and the young women faced hardships while traveling across the Atlantic Ocean. Some perished on their journey, and others suffered from malnutrition and disease. Although some records were lost, Jeanne arrived in Quebec in 1670, and historians believed she was about eighteen years old. That year eighty-seven women immigrated to the continent.

Unlike many of her contemporaries, Jeanne did not marry right away. Instead, she contracted for one year of service with a native of Quebec, Madeleine de Chavigny, at Cap-de-la-Madeleine.

Jeanne’s future husband, Noel Carpentier, arrived in 1665 and worked as a servant for a time. On 22 Jun 1669, Noel accepted about 35 acres of land from Nicholas Crevier dit Belleviue, and a few years later, he decided to settle down and start a family.

About 1672, Noel Carpentier and Jeanne Toussaint married in Cap-de-la-Madeleine. While her paper trail grew cold, Jeanne helped her family thrive in the new land. While living in this town, the couple had two children, Marie Madeleine (1673), and Marie Jeanne (25 Nov 1676). Around 1678, the family moved to Quebec. Their son, Etienne was born in 1678.

Sometime after the birth of their son, the family moved again to Champlain. The family settled in this town and remained in this settlement. The couple had seven more children, Medard (2 Aug 1681), Marie Marguerite (4 Mar 1684), Marie Antoinette (11 Jan 1686), Marie Therese (3 Jul 1689), Marie Celeste Anne (18 Jun 1691), Jacques (14 Apr 1694), and Noel (5 Nov 1703).

According to the 1681 Census, the family was listed twice, in Cap-de-la-Madeleine and Champlain. Most genealogists and historians believed the couple owned land in both places. The information stated the couple held nine head of cattle and about 30 acres of land.

Tragedy did strike the family, for the census did not list Jacques, and many believed he died as a child. Years later, on the 5 Nov 1703, Noel and Jeanne lost their oldest daughter, Marie Madeleine, in Champlain. 

Five years later, on 11 Dec 1708, Jeanne’s last will and testament were notarized by Normandin. Five days later, she died, and on the 17 Dec 1708, she was buried in Champlain. She was about fifty-two years old.

Noel lived until he was eighty-five years old. He died 26 Jan 1728, and he was buried next to Jeanne. Four of their children settled at Ile-Dupas; two children moved to Becancour, one daughter, Marie Jeanne, became a nun at Notre Dame in Montreal. She took the name Sister Sainte-Genevieve. The rest of their children stayed in their original parish.  

Life as a King’s Daughter required strength and courage to survive the rugged wilderness of the French Colonies. These women not only coped with frontier life but also raised children amidst all their duties. They conquered their surroundings and left a legacy for their children and grandchildren. What a revelation and an honor to know that the women in my family were resilient, valiant, and capable, even when faced with enormous obstacles and reservations.

Painting by The Arrival of the French Girls at Quebec, 1667. Watercolour by Charles William Jefferys.

The King’s Daughters

Sources

  • Gagné Peter J. King’s Daughters and Founding Mothers: the Filles Du Roi, 1663-1673. Quintin.
  • Gale Research. U.S. and Canada, Passenger and Immigration Lists Index, 1500s-1900s, Ancestry.com Operations Inc, 2010, search.ancestry.com/search/db.aspx?dbid=7486.
  • Genealogical Research Library, Ontario, Canada. U.S., Department of Veterans Affairs BIRLS Death File, 1850-2010, Ancestry.com Operations Inc, 2005, search.ancestry.com/search/db.aspx?dbid=7920.
  • Laforest, Thomas John., and Jeffrey M. LaRochelle. Our French-Canadian Ancestors. LISI Press, 1989.
  • PRDH, Drouin Institute, http://www.prdh-igd.com.
  • “Quebec, Genealogical Dictionary of Canadian Families (Tanguay Collection), 1608-1890.” 1920 Census | 1920 US Federal Census Records | Ancestry.com, Ancestry.com Operations Inc, 2011, search.ancestry.com/search/db.aspx?dbid=2177.
  • Quebec, Canada, Vital and Church Records (Drouin Collection), 1621-1968. Online Publication – Provo, UT, USA: Ancestry.com Operations Inc, 2008.Original Data – Gabriel Drouin, Comp. Drouin Collection. Montreal, Quebec, Canada: Institut Généalogique Drouin.Original Data: Gabriel Drouin, Comp. Drouin Collection. Montreal, Quebec, search.ancestry.com/search/db.aspx?dbid=1091.

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