I was born in Michigan. My mother was a nurse, my father was a policeman, and I had an older brother named Jimmy. When I was four, Daddy and Mama sold our Victorian cottage, hitched a trailer to the back of our car, and we headed south.
That first year we lived near Tampa. The only thing I remember about the Temple Trailer Park is that it was situated beside an icy cold natural sulphur spring where I learned how to swim.
A few months later Daddy found a job as a highway patrolman, so at the end of the summer we arrived at Mitchell’s Trailer Park in a wooded area of Tallahassee. Daddy parked our trailer under a mossy oak tree beside a deep drainage ditch whose sides were webbed with tree roots. I had never seen a ditch or a tree that big and everything about our new forest home felt like a magical dream. The dream faded when we moved to Tampa, but I never lost my love for trees. These days we spend our summers in a cabin we built in the Nantahala National Forest of North Carolina.
Our dark green trailer had a life-sized Indian head at the top where the curved front wall met the roof. To me he was a friendly guardian warrior. Our new home was too small for a bathtub, so Mama would bathe me in the big sink in the community wash house.
With the help of the trailer park handy man, Daddy built a screened porch and made bunk beds for Jimmy and me. I loved sleeping out there. The nights were cool and you could hear crickets, tree frogs and hoot owls. In the mornings the birds began chirping at first light. On windy nights it sounded like the trees were humming, and when it rained we fell asleep to the rat-a-tat-tat of rain drops and acorns drumming on the tin roof.
Mama got a job working nights at the hospital. During the day she slept while Daddy was at work and Jimmy was at school, so I entertained myself. I got so accustomed to being alone that once when a little girl asked me to come out and play, I wouldn’t go. She bit my hand and ran away! I couldn’t imagine what her problem was. It was my problem. Solitude is still essential to me and I’m still determined to protect it.
Another time I folded several pieces of typing paper into a book. Since I didn’t know how to write, I drew pictures. First, I was waking up in bed. Then I was sitting on the potty, then eating a bowl of oatmeal at the kitchen table. By the fourth page I couldn’t think of anything else to draw. I found this very frustrating. Filling a book with the thoughts and images inside my head seemed like a beautiful, impossible dream. I tried again at the age of ten, but after 30 handwritten pages, I realized once again that I had nothing to say. I tore it in half and threw it away. But 42 years later, the dream finally became a reality.
One summer day Daddy took me for a walk down the dirt road beside the trailer park. The drainage ditches on either side were rimmed with colorful wildflowers and he taught me their names. Snapdragon. Lantana. Japanese honeysuckle. When he stopped beside a wood fence I climbed up, looked over the top, and fell in love! It was a stable yard. I had never seen a horse before and thought these were the most beautiful creatures I’d ever seen.
When I saw people riding them I wanted to ride too, so Daddy paid a quarter for a lesson. While the lady cinched up the saddle, the brown and white pony took a deep breath to balloon his belly. When he let it out the girth loosened up. At first this was fine, but when he trotted, the saddle began a slow slide down his right side and before long I was on the ground! I thought this was a great adventure. That’s the day my dream of having a horse of my own was born.
A few days later all I could think about was how much I wanted to ride that pony. I couldn’t find a quarter, so since Mama was asleep I borrowed one from a lady in a nearby trailer. Then I walked to the stable and had a fine ride. When the lady told my parents about my visit, I couldn’t understand why they seemed worried. I was rather proud of my creative solution! They gave me a quarter to pay back the lady, told me to apologize for borrowing money, and said I was never to do it again. I didn’t. But I never gave up my dream of having my own horse. Fifty-two years later I bought and trained a two-year old dappled gray thoroughbred.
My life has changed in many ways since, but some things haven’t changed at all. I still love trees and the patterns of roots and the magic and mystery of forests. I love the way Indigenous Americans respect and protect nature. I love the night, the sounds of wind and rain. I love being alone. I love writing books. I love flowers and horses and new adventures. And when a dream feels really, really important to me, I pursue it until I make it happen.
My wish for you is that you’ll always remember who you are and what you love, and that you’ll pursue your dreams until you make them happen.
Jean Raffa’s The Bridge to Wholeness and Dream Theatres of the Soul are at Amazon. Healing the Sacred Divide can be found at Amazon and Larson Publications, Inc. Jean’s new Nautilus Award-winning The Soul’s Twins, is at Amazon and Schiffer’s Red Feather Mind, Body, Spirit. Subscribe to her newsletter at www.jeanbenedictraffa.com.
35 Responses
That was a beautiful insight into you, Jeanie. Thank you.
Thanks, Viv. I wrote it for my granddaughter, who needed a letter from me for a school cross-generational project, and my daughter suggested I share it here. It was interesting to re-visit my roots from this distance. It all fits and makes sense now.
What a beautiful story about your love of horses.
Dreams are treasures.
May we continue to dream and may our happy dreams come true
Thanks, Joan. Yes, we need our dreams, both the waking and sleeping ones!
Beautiful words. I lost myself in them and found myself in the screened porch, walking along the ditch, seeing the Lantanas and Snapdragons, the roots too and then,riding a pony.
It’s amazingly fresh in my memory after all these years. The whole time I wrote this I was enveloped in a warm, bittersweet embrace. I can still smell the lantanas and feel the love of my parents. They tried so hard to be good parents and do the right things. We poor, flawed mortals are so beautiful. Thanks for your lovely comment.
Just wanted to thank you for these nostalgic images that reached out and tugged at my inner sanctum; I suspect most creative souls are independent little people, with a straightforward mission to explore magic in all its forms. Your personal voice is beautiful, and I was right there with you listening to the rain and breathing in the aromas of a damp forest. Your childhood environment is the one I’m planning for my retirement, hopefully with ocean sounds thrown into the mix.
I like your description of the creative soul very much. Yes, it does feel like I’ve always had “a straightforward mission to explore magic in all its forms.” You too? By the time I was seven Daddy found us a house in the city, but the forest feels like my true home. Before we moved into the house though, we spend one summer in a trailer park beside Clearwater Beach! Talk about magical. I hope you find a place like that! Thanks for writing.
That was a very nice walk through the forest! Thank you.
Bob
Thanks, Bob. I didn’t write about the most magical one. One day Daddy and I followed the ditch deep into the forest. The further we got, the deeper the ditch got until it must have been 10 or 12 feet deep. What I found so fascinating was the way the tree roots criss-crossed into ladders along the sides of the ditch all the way to the bottom. I begged Daddy to let me climb down there but he wouldn’t let me. I guess he was afraid I’d fall. He made me promise never to do it alone so I didn’t, but oh, how I wanted to. Now I see a correlation between my fascination with that chasm, those roots, and my fascination with exploring my inner depths. It’s all connected, isn’t it?
Jean; This post took me back to my wonderful childhood growing up on and in the outskirts of Orlando on Dubstread Golf Course. Thanks for the Memories. Carol
Carol Sawyer Lotspeich clotspeich@aol.com
Thanks, Carol. And you’re welcome. Weren’t we lucky to grow up in “outskirts?” While I thoroughly enjoy the many benefits of city life, I find the wild feminine fringes to be so much more magical and nurturing to young people than civilization’s masculine inner city “inpants!” 🙂
there are a lot of things I find touching about this passage, especially the things she didn’t know: being baffled by the neighbor girl and the literalness of her first book.
I like that you found the things I didn’t know touching. To me that says our imperfections are far more interesting than our “perfections,” (if there is such a thing). Flaws are the human condition and everyone can relate to that. Otherwise, I guess we’d be superhuman? We’re obviously far from that!
I grew up on the outskirts, too. Dirt roads and fields of wild oats. The kind of freedom that children don’t seem to have anymore. On another blog, we’ve been having a discussion of The Little Match Girl story, as told by Clarissa Pinkola Estes. I love your message of pursuing our dreams and making them happen, rather than accepting the feelings of unworthiness foisted upon us by other people and letting our little lights go out, one after another.
I consider the freedom of my youth to be one of my greatest blessings. Even when we moved to Tampa the kids in our neighborhood played outdoors every afternoon and weekend when school was in session and all day every day in the summer. Nature seemed magical to me then and it still does. I don’t know where my persistence comes from. Maybe it’s a genetic trait. My mother always said I was one-track-minded, but never in a harsh way. Thank goodness that little light never went out!
Thank you for this picture-book beauty with a profound message ♡♡
You’re very welcome, Vera. I’m glad to know this spoke to you. Jeanie
Love this post and getting a glimpse into your childhood. Our childhoods really do inform what we will be like as adults. Love you!
Thank you, Shannon. Yes, revisiting our childhoods is key to understanding our adult thoughts and behaviors; both the good ones and the not-so-good. I’m in the process of journaling about mine now. Maybe it’ll become a book. We’ll see. Thank you for writing. I love you too. Jeanie
Jean. I love this and relate deeply to your love of nature, flowers, and horses. Thanks for sharing.
You’re most welcome, Jen. Thanks for letting me know!:-)
Jean,
Such a wonderful story, and so glad you shared with us. Just reading your story brought me to remember my upbringing which was also wonderful, but in a much different way. I had a large loving family with lots of cousins my age that lived close by, not to mention so many friends starting from very early school days, and we are still in touch to this day. At a very early age I exhibited a love for all living animals, but primarily dogs which I brought home on a regular basis telling my parents they followed me home……. well, you can imagine! And no, I did not get to keep them and had to find homes for them all. When I became 15 years old a girlfriend and I would take the bus to the end of its route then walk a couple of miles to a horse stable where we mucked stalls in order to receive free English riding lessons. After a period of time we were actually helping the instructors give lessons and we rode free. We realized our parents were not going to give us money to ride, so we were clever enough to devise that plan from the start. When I moved to Florida in 1972 the first thing I did after getting settled was buy my first horse. My love of horses was immeasurable and lasted until three years ago when I lost my last and most loving horse Storm Chaser (Stormy) to old age and arthritis. So thank you Jean for allowing me to take a trip down memory lane.
Fern
Hi Fern, what an ingenious girl you were. Your plan to receive English riding lessons was brilliant! My mother couldn’t give me any money to ride either, and as far as I knew there were no buses to the nearest stable, which was several miles away. She was usually too tired from work to take me. But the few times she did still stand out in my memory. However, between the ages of nine and 13 she sent me to live with my grandparents in Michigan and I had several opportunities to ride with cousins and friends there. One day I may share a few stories about those days. Thanks for reminding me! So sorry about your loss of Storm Chaser. I know how that hurts. I think I told you I lost Shadow to colic when he was only eight. It broke my heart. 🙂 Jeanie
Jeanie,
Thank you for your sweet response. I just wanted to say that I do remember meeting Shadow who was such a handsome horse, and I certainly remember your love for him. They are so special and give us so much love. I remember you telling me of his passing and how it affected you; thank heavens for wonderful memories and just how much of their heart that they give us. Fern
Love, love, love this! Brings me back to my own childhood and a Florida full of wonder!
Hi Doug, I’m so glad you love this. I’m not surprised! I assumed we had similar childhoods in many ways. Weren’t we lucky to be so thoroughly immersed in nature as children? I can’t imagine having a better teacher in our formative years! Love you, Jeanie
Jean, this is so honest and simple and I love it! Having had the pleasure of spending time with you, it rings so true. Thank you for this glimpse into your childhood. You had your horse. Life is good! a quarter sure doesn’t buy what it used to.
Hahaha. No, it doesn’t, Carol. I can’t think of what I could buy for a quarter today. I just googled the price of a pack of Wrigley’s Juicy Fruit gum and learned I can buy a four-pack at Walmart for $13.35, or $3.33 a pack. So if there are 5 sticks of gum in a pack, each stick would cost about 66 cents. So not even a stick of gum. Maybe an M&M? Life is, indeed good! Jeanie
Thank you so much Jeanie for sharing these wonderful, heartfelt stories on your early life. It’s always lovely to hear from you, great photos too! As I was reading, that quote by T. S. Eliot, “We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.” kept coming to mind. I’m sure it’s because I also finding myself returning to the beginning of my life in order to appreciate what I’ve always loved best, nature and creativity.
It’s like we travel full circle don’t we (take The Fool’s Journey) only to come back home to ourselves. Back to what we love most! So deep gratitude for reminding me that my girlhood dream of writing books stayed with me always, as did your dreams with writing, nature and horses (and of course, so much more!). Thank you for helping me remember who I am and the joy of doing what I’ve always dreamt of, while slowly learning the rhythms and cycles of Mother Nature. Love and light, Deborah.
Thank you dear Deborah. It’s always lovely to hear from you too. I love Eliot’s words but it did not occur to me to quote them. Of course. They’re perfect for this piece. I agree. Life IS a circular cycle that brings us back to ourselves; hopefully with full awareness of who we really are, and gratitude for the gift of life that helped us grow into our true selves. You’re sweet to thank me for helping you remember who you are. I suspect you know more than most. Much love, Jeanie
Dear Jeane, It is so wonderful to read your memories. You write so profoundly sagaciously. I had lots of dreams and wishes in my childhood, though one still lingers in my mind: In the summer holidays, my mother, Al, and I used to travel to my aunt in Mashhad, a city thousand km east of Tehran. There was a moment very early in the morning in which I woke up, looked at the tall Populus alba trees through the window, and began to daydream! I think it was one of the most beautiful moments of my life. Love and peace, my lovely sister.
What a beautiful memory, Aladin. It’s so interesting that the memory of a childhood moment like that has lasted throughout your lifetime. I suspect it was the trees that brought it on. I and many people I know have had numinous experiences in the presence of trees. They seem to radiate peace and love and a sense of wonder about life. The ongoing majesty and noble perseverance of it! Difficult to explain in words, but nonetheless very real and deeply satisfying. Also, I think that as children we’re naturally more open to and moved by these experiences. Love and peace to you, my brother in spirit.
I love knowing more about your early life and dreams. My family also lived in a trailer in AZ when I was 4 and 5. We had simple needs compared to how I live now. I admire the way you lived your dream. I had a pony for a few years but never learned to ride her properly. The sliding saddle is all too familiar plus the love of the night–and fireflies. One thing I saved from childhood is a fictionalized story about a girl and her horse that was published in the local newspaper–with my drawing. I’m still inspired by images and writing, so thanks for sharing yours. Love as you explore the mountain trails.
Awww. You lived in a trailer too. But you had a pony and I never did! I’m jealous. 🙂 That was a real bummer. I drew horses too. and wrote stories. The only time they were published was when I was in the fifth grade and wrote a serial story for our monthly class newspaper about a stallion and his herd of mares out west. The only things I knew about out west was the books I read: especially the Walter Farley books about a black stallion, and another series about Thunderhead and My Friend Flicka by Mary O’Hara. Misty of Chincoteague and Marguerite Henry’s books barely counted. Still, I loved them. Do you suppose there’s something about being a horse crazy girl who loved books and once lived in a trailer that turned us both into serial bloggers? Haha!