Prairie Dreams

Skiing and sitting around a nice warm fireplace during the heart of winter were Anne’s favorite activities.

The walk from the bus stop to the house was always peaceful. She had about a one-kilometer walk and Anne loved to just look out over the beautiful hayfield that sprawled out to either side of the road. The sun, now low on the horizon caused the grass to take on a flaming orange hew as it sat waiting for its blanket of snow, under which it would sleep during the long winter.

Turning into her driveway, Anne stared up at her third-floor bedroom window. As usual, Boster, her six-year-old orange cat was sitting on the windowsill soaking up the afternoon sun. No one was home yet. Anne’s Dad was an elementary school teacher, and the farm was his hobby, not his livelihood. Normally he arrived home shortly before or after Anne did. Her mom was a doctor and worked twelve-hour shifts at the local hospital. Tonight she wouldn’t be home until around eight o’clock.

As soon as Anne entered the front door of the house she was greeted by Bubby, the family’s eleven-year-old black lab. "Hi Chubby Bubby" Anne said as she bent over to untie her shoes. Pushing his arthritic hips into the air for a brief stretch, Bubby, true to his nickname, waddled over to the youngest member of his family and began to clean all the makeup off her face. Grabbing gently at Bubby’s ears, Anne gave them a quick massage as she stepped onto the linoleum covered boot-room floor. "Okay, outside." Anne instructed as she opened the door. Bubby sped out the door as fast has his old bones would allow and began to bark a warning to any and all intruders, even before his whip-like tail had edged through the doorway.

Picking up her knapsack, Anne headed up the stairs to her own bedroom in order to unload her bag. The room was covered in photographs. Anne had always expressed a love for photography. Her dad, who considered himself quite the amateur photographer, always loved to help Anne with her picture taking. There was no real theme to the collage of images that covered three of the four walls in the room. Most of the pictures were of her and her friends, her family, nature, her horse, Chubby, and, of course, Boster. Unlike Chubby, Boster didn’t seem to care that Anne had just arrived home. He barely opened his eyes as he lay on the windowsill. The wall that surrounded the window to the outside world was also decorated in photographs; however, Anne did not capture these images, they were all taken long before she was born. The pictures on the far wall created somewhat of a visual family tree, with photos dating as far back as the early twentieth century. Anne didn’t know most of the people in the pictures, the wall was maintained by her dad, who had much more of a love for history than she did. Both her mom and dad had told her many times who the strange, un-smiling, people in the photographs were but she always forgot. Sometimes she felt a little bit guilty, but the old pictures were boring and she was much more interested in those of her friends. Today, however, was different.

Maybe it was the light shining through the window into her eyes that caused her to glance down, or maybe it was Boster’s tail, slowly flicking over the edge of the window, tapping on the top of one of her dad’s old photos.