A little Bolitho in me

    

  Its Saturday evening. The sun is setting as the snow clouds start to roll in. A winter storm is on the horizon, and I couldn't be more excited to spend my day tomorrow sitting by the fire watching the snow fall. I have come to realize that I am like no one I know. ...other than my mother. She always tells me" it's the Bolitho in me." The Bolitho clan is originally from England. This is my mothers side of our family. Her and her sister and two brothers are without a doubt like no other people I have ever met in my life. If you can picture....Off grid Alaska people, with a splash of Hilton Head style and  Old English manners. That's the best I can do to describe them all. My Uncles will live weeks in the woods, in a tent, or in the backseat of their trucks, under a tree or even in a tree for that matter. Rough and Tough without any question. Their voices are deep and masculine and full of wisdom. Yet, they create the most beautiful things.  Their homes, built mostly themselves are beautiful and full of craftsmanship that you just cant find anywhere. They have an eye for beauty in any form.  Yet, a bark that would shake even the meanest of the mean. My aunt is the most talented designer Iv ever known. The beauty that she creates is inspiring to me as a new designer. Her way of finding humor in absolutely everything in life has truly carried me through every hard spot in my life. I have long inspired to become just like her.  One of the best gifts Iv been given from my family is just that....humor. If you cant laugh about life, how on earth are you going to survive? 

    The one thing I know for sure, all of these people are the only people who share my intense love for the earth, the weather, animals and all that God has given us here on Earth. Down to little spiders that we give pet names to and cant kill when we find them in our house plants...to the love of being in the woods in complete silence just to hear the snow fall , or our hands in the dirt, we all belong in this little family. We may not spend every Sunday together for dinner, or every holiday, heck most of us only see each other a few times a year at best, but we are all of the same  blood and we all share this little oddness about us that makes us who we are. Our gift to those who truly know us and love us. 

    As I sit here watching one small snow flake fall and another slowly chase after the other, I cant help but wish my grandparents where still alive. I wish I could spend the afternoon with my grandpa in his garden, listening to his deep voice tell me about the plants, the dirt, the animals, the fishing at the local lake that day and smell the garlic that oozed out of his pores. I wish I could sit in my grandmas kitchen as she fried fish and cooked a meal for anyone who may walk in the door. I miss her outlook on life and her words of wisdom but mostly I miss her hands. The older I get the more I realize how important these two people where in my life and our family. I  wish I was old enough then, to know that I needed to soak up every bit of them that I could. I just pray that they are watching over me from Heaven and guiding me as I try to move my family towards a simpler life. A life where their fingers are often in the dirt, where they can stand in a snow storm and be so thankful of the beauty that it brings tears to their eyes. A world where they can laugh about things, where they can enjoy the quiet and welcome the days the Lord brings to them.