It was Mrs. Erickson who began to give us the language that matched our feelings. Up until then it had been mostly function. But here in the third grade classroom of Washington Elementary, every day new territories were explored. New emotions. She took us from fear to empathy without ever leaving our chairs. We sailed into the Bermuda Triangle, without getting wet. What a journey we had begun! 

I suppose it was this new knowledge that gave me the courage to further explore our neighborhood’s own “Bermuda Triangle” — the elusive and alluring North End of Van Dyke Road.

To prove I went there, into this great unknown, I would gather sticks or blades of grass. Certainly they were not different from what was growing 200 yards away, but I brought them back as proof of my journey, never to be questioned. A coveted score would be a fluffing cattail, or an abandoned feather — treasures of the braved passage — proof to any curious neighbor kid that I was in fact not only living, but alive! And most importantly, it did the same for my heart. 

I suppose I’m still doing it — nesting. I have “north-ended” my way across many countries. Sometimes trudging. Sometimes skipping. Alone, or hand in hand. Welcomed into hearts and neighborhoods that I could have never imagined. So I paint and I write. These are now the sticks that I gather. Each memory twigged and placed gently into my heart’s nest. My way of giving thanks. Today and every day. 

Thank you, for being a part of my journey. Happy Thanksgiving!