🔵 By Matthew Boivin. Photo by lauragrafie.
What waits for me when I walk out of these prison gates? October, 2024. I am really wrestling with that question now that I know I am truly on my way home. A prison staff member told me that the world has changed so much while I was locked up. I imagine this world has changed dramatically, but the tenets I carry of the world I envision have not changed very much. This is the story of what I dream for my future.
I woke out of a fitful sleep on the day I was released from prison. Sleep was a long time coming as my mind could not stop wondering if this was actually real. After 28 years behind the fence, walking into freedom was going to be like a slap in the face. Just wearing clothes that were not all white would be shocking. I have not worn a pair of blue jeans in so long. I cannot remember what it feels like. Even when I finally dozed off, a deep sleep was impossible. By the time the duty officer yelled over the intercom, “Boivin! Pack your property and go to control,” I was already packed and waiting. I sure was not wasting time with goodbyes. I wanted away from this place as fast as possible.
It did not take long for me to make it to the building to turn in my state property. The only personal property I wanted was already home waiting for me. Anything else was just trash. After leaving the clothing room, It was a lot of waiting to get processed out. It seems every person I went in front of just had to say, “Don’t come back,” or some other version of the obvious. I finally made it in front of the warden for my release papers and the, “I don’t want to see you back here,” speech. I played along and smiled at the right spots until he passed me the papers and sent me on my way. The last stop was at the entrance building for staff and visitors. A pretty young female officers who was not even born when I started my sentence handed me a stack of clothes and pointed me to a utility closet to change. Taking off this state uniform for the last time was liberating. I seemed my body was lighter with each piece of normal clothing I put on. I asked mom to bring me a simple pair of blue jeans, my Ariat cowboy boots, and a t-shirt. I would buy clothes that fit my style later when I decided what exactly my “style” was. October in Arkansas is still warm, so I pulled my hair into a ponytail and walked out of the closet ready to leave this prison right there on the floor. Now that I was wearing free-world clothes on my way out the door, the pretty young officer gave me a flirty smile as I walked into the foyer.
“Oh my god,” my mother breathed when she saw me in my normal clothes for the first time since my court appearance. 28 years ago. I cannot begin to describe what emotions have to be going through her. The way she clutched her hands to her face, and the puddle of tears in her eyes said enough, though. I wrapped her in my arms and whispered in her ear, “Let’s get out of here.” I hugged my sister and walked out of prison for good.
The months as a free man passed quickly. It seems all I did was work, sleep for six hours, and go back to work. That was exactly what I wanted because I decided in prison I would never be broke again. Being frugal was one thing, having to wait for money to appear at another person’s whim was quite another. I worked hard to keep food around, keep my truck on the road and allow myself one luxury expense. Every week, I sent my mother to buy $100 on lottery tickets. We spent $50 on Powerball, $40 on the Arkansas lottery, and $10 on scratch-off tickets just to keep hope alive with the occasional win. In my mind, the cost was just a business expense. Besides, $100 is effectively one farrier session that takes all of 30 minutes to earn. It was worth it to me.
I was not out of prison six months when the craziest thing happened. We won! My mother collected a $476 million jackpot after taxes and put me in full control of the trust. It was clearly time to get down to the real work. The thrill of having a huge fund to work with was a little overwhelming. My mother entrusted me with a task, though, and I would make sure she did not worry about anything else again. I spent $6 million buying gold and silver bars to stash away somewhere that only I knew. I put $70 million in an interest bearing account and set about looking for the perfect place to build my dream.
I found the perfect piece of land in the Central Colorado foothills near the Arkansas River. Through a series of land deals where I overpayed more than I liked, I managed to purchase 25.000 pristine acres trailing from the mountains to the plains. I felt a swell of pride knowing I had roughly 40 square miles to do with as I pleased. A township is officially 26 square miles. The concept of starting my own town is a challenge in found intoxicating. I had to get my ego in check as I chartered a helicopter to view the land. I was delighted to see a large lake, fertile flat land, and the gentle rise of the Rocky Mountain foothills. The thump of the helicopter blades scared a herd of deer away from the shimmering lake. I spotted a few natural springs with fresh water bubbling up from the ground and plenty of pine, birch, and oak trees. It seemed a paradise as I looked down on the flowing vista that would become my home for generations.
Seeing the land from the air was fine, but nothing could match the appeal of surveying from the back of a horse. My horse, Bow, was my first priority after release. I purchased him out of my own pocket in March before we even won the lottery. He is my horse, and that is all there is to it. I purchased some pack horses, loaded the truck, and set out to explore the land like it was meant to be. It took several days and nights camping in the wilderness, but when I found a natural spring on a hillside not far from the lake, my heart knew I was home. I took the most direct route to where I parked the horse trailed and marked the path that would become the road. The construction equipment needed to get there, too.
Money was not an issue, so I brought some gently used equipment to build my dream. I led the way operating the track hoe pulling up the stumps of trees I had to log to clear the way to my future home. The crew of guys operating the rest of the equipment were happy to be paid well, but did not share the vision of freedom I pictured. We did not have to clear more than five truckloads of logs, and they were sent to be processed into the structural timber to build my log home. The bulldozed operator behind me levelled the road, and the gravel trucks spread the rock that let the road stand up the heavy equipment pressing it flat daily. By the time we made it to my spot, there was a functioning road where only wilderness once was. It was a bittersweet triumph, but even the birds have to use destruction to build their nests. I just had bigger tools to build with. Surely, though, I was building my nest.
The first thing I built was water storage. The pure clean water bubbling out of the ground is as good as it gets. I intended to keep it that way. I hired an engineer to guide this phase of the construction and was surprised when she stepped out of her truck. I saw an attractive young woman in her thirties with long straight black hair, brown eyes and a light dusting of freckles on her high cheekbones. She would be called a little chunky by the world at large, but was beautiful in her own right in her jeans, work boots, and button up blouse. It was not the fact that she was a female engineer that surprised me, but rather it was the first question she asked that caught my attention.
“How can we build a natural water system that doesn’t destroy everything,” she asked as I shook her hand firmly. The way she grasped my hand let me know she is no stranger to hard work, and her bright smile told me she was passionate about what she believed in. The intelligence in her eyes let me know I found my match.
“I’m hoping you can tell me that,” I answered as I let go of her hand. She told me her name was Aurora, and we started talking.
When I outlined my plan, her reaction was more than I expected. A light came into her eyes that was not there before. Something I said struck a cord as we started organizing plans for drinking water. When our plans came together, there would be 30,000 gallons of fresh water held in an underground tank with a small well house above ground housing solar-powered pumps. A windmill helped produce electricity and water pressure, which made me proud of Aurora’s work. We would have a self-sufficient source of pure drinking water with enough storage to carry us through an emergency. It was time to get started on the house.
I climbed into the truck hoe to cut a hole in the side of the mountain. It seemed drastic at first, but after we built a large cellar and retaining wall, we buried it all again. The dirt will settle, the grass will grow back, and the mountain will accept the changes. The advantages of an underground cellar the size of a modest home were obvious to me, and Aurora agreed. She asked if she could build something she wanted to do for a while. Her excitement about the dream we were building grew with every project. The shaped logs began rolling in, and I watched in delight as the crew built a large 10-bedroom, 5-bathroom home with a kitchen that shamed some restaurants. When the main house was complete, I marvelled at the workmens’ skill. The log home they built into the side of the mountain was extensive without being gaudy.
“This is absolutely amazing,” my 75-year old mother said excitedly when I moved her in. there was plenty of room for her and her caretaker. I felt a sense of accomplishment now that I managed to build a permanent home for my mother after leaving her on her own and houseless for 28 years. To me, it is a son’s duty to care for his elderly mother and just the correct thing for a man to do.
Aurora found me by the horse barn and took me by my hand excitedly. I let her lead me to the cellar to show me her finished project. She had become a willing partner in my dream and in my life as well. We both enjoyed our platonic friendship without the push-pull of a traditional relationship. I enjoyed her excitement as she flipper the switch for the cellar lights. A line of 10 bunk beds filled one wall offering refuge for at least 20 people in an emergency. One corner held shower stalls and toilet closets to handle an extended stay, but the real jewel was along the wall opposite the beds. Aurora built an underground aquaponic garden complete with LED lights, a large aquarium stocked with fish to provide nutrient rich water for the growing beds, and shelf after shelf of storage for canned food. All of it was powered by the solar panels on the roof of the main house keeping the batteries charged. A large propane generator was outside to pride an additional power source. She had managed to build a virtual ecosystem in the large cellar. I gave her a big bear hug, and she was flushed with pride at her achievement.
“I could live in here,” I told her. My pride must have shown on my face, because she went into teaching mode.
“That’s the plan,” she told me as she walked around showing off her work. “We could stay right here for months of we had to and still have fresh food and water. We have our own little farm here. we’ll just have to stock the shelves. It stays cool enough to keep food for years after we can it.“
“I’m super proud of you,” I told her as I hugged her close. “We have to start our garden and build a smokehouse. I don’t want to buy any processed foods if we don’t have to.”
Aurora shared my goals and worldview. She trusted society almost less than I did. We had to be able to care for ourselves if things went bad. “I told my friend, Angie, about what we’re building here,” Aurora told me as we waled out of the cellar. “She wants to know if she can come visit with her husband, Mark.”
“I’m okay with that”, I answered. “Do you think they want to help us build our dream? What do they do for a living now?”
“She’ll help,” Aurora assured me. “You’ll love them.”
The main house was complete, the cellar was complete, and mom was taken care of. It was time to start focusing on the rest of the land. I made a few phone calls and within a month had a large barn and training center for 20 horses with enough pasture for more. I would have enough room for 50 horses, a tack room, a foaling stable, a shoeing forge, and a dairy milking room. It was time to attend a few livestock auctions. I saw Aurora at the drafting board and gave her a quick hug before I left. Whatever she was planning to build would benefit the ranch so I left her to do her work. I found mom in the room with the workout equipment doing physical therapy with her caretaker. I had to let her know what was going on. It was a shame her mind was slipping now that I was free but I would make sure she stayed comfortable. I gave her a big hug and gathered some things for the trip.
I was gone two weeks on the road hand picking livestock. There was just something primal about physically touching the animals I was bringing to live with me on the ranch. The horses would be working members of the ranch, too. I provided for them just as well as I provided for myself. I visited several horse ranches, some cattle breeders, and other auctions to meet the vision I had for my ranch. At the end of the two weeks, I had 200 bred heifers with Angus blood for beef, 20 Angus bulls, 10 sow pigs, two boar hogs, a small herd of 15 goats, two Holstein cows for milk, a bull to keep them with a calf, and two donkeys to keep the four-legged canine predators away from the calves when calving season started. I noticed an unfamiliar vehicle at the main house when I returned home with a trailed full of goats. Not only do they provide excellent milk for cheese, and good meat, but goats are the best for controlling undergrowth. They eat anything green (or brown for that matter) down to the bark off trees. I parked the truck and went into the main house to meet the visitors.
“Welcome home, Matthew,” Aurora said as she walked out of the house to meet me. “Mark and Angie are here. I have so many things to show you. Come meet my friends.”
I followed Aurora into the house to meet Angie and Mark. The young couple were in the dining room poring over an aerial map of the ranch. Mark was tall, brown-skinned black man with an athletic build, a tapered fade, and wire rimmed glasses. Angie had her red hair tied into a high ponytail and smiled brightly when her green eyes met mine.
“You’re finally here,” Mark said, extending his hand. “We’ve been going over plans with Aurora. This is amazing. Thank you for inviting us here.” Angie walked next to Mark and shook my hand as well. Her cut off jean shorts showed off her pale legs, and the A-shirt she wore put her bare baby bump on display. “I can’t believe what you’re doing here,” she said excitedly. „It really seems perfect. We want to help.”
“I’m sure we can find a place for you”, I said. “Do you mind helping me put the goats in their corral, Mark?” He was happy to help, and we talked as we drove to the goat pen. They needed to get accustomed in the corral before I turned them loose. That way, they would return to the corral for feed once I trained them to the sound of a bell.
“I’m a General Contractor,” Mark told me as we talked. “I really love carpentry, though. Building things with my hands has always been a passion for me.” He pointed to a new out building surrounded by chickens. “Aurora wanted a free-range coup for the chickens, so I built that for her.”
“I wondered what she was working on,” I said. “She’s always planning something.”
“We put fans to keep them cool, a small heater for the winter, and an automatic watering system that cycles daily to keep it fresh.” He talked with a clear passion as he bragged about his work. “We should have eggs all year now.”
“We were just talking about that with Aurora when you pulled up,“ Mark continued. “Angie and I want to ask if you’ll sell us a parcel of land. It’s beautiful up here and she’s pregnant with our first child. We’re looking for a place to settle outside the chaos of the city.”
“I can’t sell you anything,” I answered honestly. “I won’t break up the land.” He seemed a little disappointed with my blunt answer so I explained more for him. “It’s not for sale anyway; but, if you want to help build the dream, you’re welcome to stay on. You can even build your own house and homestead as long as you want. I’ll buy the materials. I’ll need help with the livestock anyway. Consider the whole ranch yours as long as you’re helping us move forward.”
“Count me in,” he answered excitedly while shaking my hand with a form solid group. “We’ll do our part. I can’t imagine being a freeloader. That’s one thing we’re trying to get away from in the city.”
“Welcome home then,” I said, returning his grip in the age-old seal of a handshake. We arrived at the goat pen, and he hopped out of the truck to guide me as I backed the trailer to the gate. He opened the trailed door and shooed the goats out before we made our way back to the main house. He dashed into the house ahead of me to scoop Angie into his arms to share the news. Their happiness brought me happiness, and I could not help but notice a sheen to Auroras eyes that was not there a moment ago.
“Thank you so much,” Angie squealed, rushing to hug me. “We can’t thank you enough. You’re too generous.”
“Don’t mention it,” I said as I returned her hug. “I don’t know how generous it is. It’s not free; you’ll have to put in the work, too.”
“Doing what you love isn’t really work,” she said as she broke the hug.
„When you put it that way…” I answered as I watched Mark’s beaming smile. “You’re welcome to pick a room in the main house until we get your homestead built. Make yourselves at home.”
It seemed as if I had it all. That thought struck me as I was sitting on Bow’s back looking at my cattle herd grazing peacefully. The herd arrived in three large cattle trucks that morning. Aurora, Mark, Angie and I drove the cattle to the lake on horseback. I brought a pack horse along for a day of fishing and to check how the fish were growing. The lake was stocked before I started the constructor rush. Plenty of time passed for the fish to get big enough to provide a meal. Of course, I could have used a 4-wheeler to come to the lake for a cooler of fish, but what fun would that be? I felt at peace on Bow’s back as if I was born to be on a horse. Looking at the land from between his ears is what freedom really means. We had clean water free from the chemical residue in treated city water, vegetables free from pesticides and genetic modification, meat that was not full of Red 40 preservatives, fruit from the orchard, and, most importantly, a house with people who cared for each other sharing the same goals. The only problem was that there were too many empty rooms in the house.
The next few months brought more projects. In addition to building Mark and Angie’s house, we built more structures to keep our lifestyle moving forward. We needed a smoke house to cure meat, a multi-purpose, open floor building for canning the harvest, making cheese or jarring the honey from our bee hives. Plus, we needed a kill house to clean the beef, pork, and deer meat for curing. I resolved the issue of killing an animal for food long ago while I was in prison. For me, it centers on responsible stewardship. The animals we care for play a role in the life cycle. Everything dies eventually. We domesticated these animals so we can live to care for them one more day. The corporate slaughter of thousands of animals a day serves a similar purpose but the connection is gone. Taking only what we need from a herd we nurtured from birth keeps the connection alive. Anything else is just corporate greed grinding everything up to satisfy the unfulfillable void of human vacuity. Mark pulled me from my moral daydream with a question that started a trend.
“My younger sister isn’t feeling college,” he told me as we framed the walls in the kill house. “She wants to come live here, too. Whadda ya think?”
The emptiness of the house was becoming more apparent to me as we added more buildings. I was reluctant to invite just anybody to live here, though. My life goal is to build a self-sufficient ranch with men, women, and children living free from the chaos, drugs, violence, and outright cowardly stupidity so rampant in society today. It seems as if most people are afraid to stand up for common sense and are so wrapped up in their own egos they forget we all live here together. The only religion on the ranch is living in cooperation with each together, and I wanted to keep it that way. The decisions I make affect other people as well. I trusted Mark’s judgment, but I was responsible for more than just me now.
“She’s your family,” I answered. “That means something, but it can’t be all there is. There’s the family we’re born with and the family we choose. The DNA family doesn’t always line up with the chosen family. She’s welcome to come stay for a while, but she has to earn her right to live here just like everybody else.”
“We can work with that,” he answered. “She’s a good girl. She’ll fit in fine here.”
Aurora brought lunch to the work site for us. She and Angie took to handling the cooking cleaning, and helping the caretaker with mom. Mark and I gravitated to handling the heavy manual work. It seemed the natural order of things. The women chose their roles because they enjoyed them, not because we told them that was their place. However, when it came time for planting, harvesting, or rounding up the herd, it was all hands on deck. The only role then was preparing for the next year. The last time I checked, survival had no gender; Mother Nature is the great equalizer. Still, it was nice to till the ground and chop firewood as the women planted seeds and cooked for us. I enjoy being a man doing man things just as they enjoy being women doing women things. It is a shared philosophy not forced on anyone, but I wondered how Mark’s younger sister would accept our worldview considering she was coming form a college campus.
One joy of being this far away from the city is the lack of cellular service. I paid for a fiber optic line to the main house which provided phone and internet, but I was not tied to my phone out here. The post office delivered the mail to a box near the main road, and we had a functioning two-way shortwave radio. We were not cut off entirely from the world, we just reserved for ourselves the ability to shun the outright nonsense. After an honest day’s work, I found letters from my prison friends on my office desk. I read the letters while Mark went to video chat with his sister. The letters were encouraging, and I went to shower before dinner with a hopeful heart.
Meetings over dinner became a staple of our little community. We all sat at the large table discussing where we were and where we wanted to go as a group. They looked to me for leadership, but I valued their input as well. Of course, we were only five in number and mom was just happy to not have any real worries anymore, but we tended to talk things through before I made a decision.
“How did Faye take the news,” I asked Mark about his sister. “She’s packed and ready,” he answered. “She sold her car, and we’ll go pick her up tomorrow.” He held Angie’s hand, proud of the healthy swell of her pregnancy. It would only be a couple of months before we welcomed a new life into our world and Angie was glowing. We needed to find a good midwife and let her stay until after the birth.
“I look forward to meeting her,” I told them. “We’re going to have several new faces then. Two of my female prison friends are getting out. They asked if they could come stay here. In fairness, they’ll be under the same rules as Faye. They’ll all have to earn the right to live here. Ania is an experienced dog trainer and Stasia has dreams of being a pop star. We’ll see how that goes. I made my own second chance and believe everybody deserves one. It’s up to each of us what we do with it, though.”
There was no real objection to the news, and we spent the rest of dinner talking about taking some of our watermelon harvest to the farmer’s market. That idea mushroomed to building our own store front by the main road to sell our excess to the world. We talked for an hour over chicken fried steak and potatoes in an excited brainstorming session.
There was a flurry of excitement when the new guests arrived. Ania, who is 29, and Stasia, who is 32, did not carry much, but Faye, who is 22, seemed to have her entire apartment in her suitcases with more boxes in a trailed outside. Prison has a way of fostering a Spartan view of possessions in stark contrast to the illusion of prosperity through property. A long time passed since I last saw Ania and Stasia, but they looked good in free-world clothes. Ania had thick, full, wavy black hair that reached to the middle of her back. Her piercing blue eyes were a little scared, but I knew that feeling all too well. I gave her a warm hug and told her to pick out a room. Stasia’s creamy brown skin was flawless beneath a sexy fade kept long on the top like a wide mohawk. It was combed to one side with her baby hair in delicate swirls. Her eyes were defiant, but her voice was filled with desire as she told me how glad she was to out out. I led them both to pick out a bedroom holding one hand in each of mine. We had ten years of letter friendship and I certainly felt I knew them both. Life is different out here, but we would see what decision they made. I gave them each a kiss after they chose their room and asked them to join us for dinner when they go themselves together. Stasia asked me where the shower was then asked me to join her. This girl was always playing. As tempting as a shower with her was, I had to check on Faye. Stasia pouted at me, but this was not a personality decision. Freedom is a moral responsibility, and the business of maintaining that freedom never stops.
The daily dinner meeting was enjoyable. Aurora and Angie learned to make our own pasta and prepared an excellent lasagna with fresh homegrown salad. The sell of fresh baked bread called me all day, and it was perfect to savor a piping hot slice with fresh batter. Faye turned out to be a bright young woman with a shoulder length head of bouncy hair bleached to varying shades of brown. Her complexion was darker than her brother’s, and they shared the same bright smile. She seemed happy to be here and was chatting excitedly. I enjoyed the sound of her lilting voice. When I found an opening in her conversation, I interrupted for business.
“We’re glad you’re here, ladies,” I started. “I need to go over a few ground rules, though. The main thing is that we all pull our own weight here. There’s a lot of work to do, and we all play a role. Don’t worry, we’ll teach you what you need if you don’t know. Our only other rule is that we live by a code of nonviolent compassion here. It doesn’t mean we just stay neutral and do no harm to each other. It also means that we work to lift each other up and do good, too.”
“What if we somebody jumps on me,” Stasia asked.
“That’s not likely to happen, here,” Aurora answered for me. “Joy is the opposite of violence, and there’s a lot of joy here.”
“Plus,” I added, “We’re not locked up anymore. There’s nothing to fight over. We have everything we need here; just ask. If somebody from outside tries something, that’s a little different. I wouldn’t sit on my hands if a stranger broke into our home trying to hurt any of you ladies; I would fight with everything I have to protect you. We aren’t pacifists who believe any violence is a sin. Our belief is that compassion comes first. Violence to preserve life is compassionate. Violence to do harm is just naked aggression. When somebody has a bad day and says something hurtful, we work to love her (or him) past the hurt. An attack out of revenge or to violate someone else’s right to live is wrong.”
“But Matthew,” Ania asked in her thoughtful. Way. “Who determines when violence is okay or isn’t okay? If it’s wrong today, won’t it be wrong tomorrow still? What changes?”
“Yeah, she’s right,” Faye added. “It’s your house, does that mean you make all the rules? What happens when I break a rule? Or when you break a rule? Who punishes whom?”
“I enjoy a good debate,” I answered. “Your opinions matter, too. You’re all three making sound arguments. I agree that structure is important and needs to be clear. It’s all ego and me being full of myself to say, “My house, my rules.” Why should I be the de facto leader? I guess the best way to describe it is to label this a meritocracy. We earn our right to lead through the work we do. Take Aurora, for example. She is my best friend for sure. We’re not romantic and I still consider her the leader of the planning. I consider Mark the leader of the construction of buildings. I’m the leader of the ranch because I know the livestock and sign the checks that keep us on our feet. Some day, I’ll pass that to another. Not everybody has what it takes to be a boss, though. Some of us are made to follow. Just like in a horse herd, each horse has a role to play. We’re herd animals, too; we just forgot along the way some when. One horse decides where to eat or where to drink. One stands guard to watch for predators. One keeps the peace, and some just follow. It’s an ever-shifting dynamic, but each horse play a role while respecting the other. Of punishment is needed, it’s just a bite or a swift kick. I’m not saying we should run around kicking and biting each other but horses are always communicating. We should, too. Want to lean how to live in harmony? Go watch the horses in the pasture for a week. You’ll see it.”
“Kinda get in where you fit in,” Stasia quipped which brought some chuckles. “I want to lead the entertainment.” She did a little dance I her chair and sang her words to show off a little.
“That’s something we can use,” I said. “We can make that happen. Do we all feel comfortable about what we’re working to accomplish here at the ranch?” They agreed in turn, then Ania added, “Can I get a dog? I miss training the puppies. We can use that, too, can’t we? Maybe build a kennel and train service dogs?”
“I don’t know what I’m good at,” Faye said. “What am I gonna do?”
„Angie will need help with the baby soon, and we’ll be canning the harvest. We can find something for sure,” Mark said. “There’s always work to do on a ranch.”
We finished our dinner meeting with a bright outlook for our new guests. They seemed to mesh well in our group, and that’s all that mattered. Happiness was simple when all the worlds distractions were boiled down to the basics. I felt good about the lifestyle I was building… we were building. Over the next few months, Angie brought a beautiful little baby boy into our world, and Mark was over the roof with pride. Faye fell in love with the idea of being a mom; Anie took to training dogs like she was born to do it; and, Stasia made music. Aurora, my best and truest friend, kept a wary eye on the world and proposed new things we needed to add to keep the ranch safe. It was not long before Ania and Faye were pregnant with my children. Our family was growing, which made my chest swell with contentment. Aurora brought another family to our community. The introduction process started all over again, and a new home went into construction. In five years, 20 families were homesteading on our ranch, each living with the same philosophy. I was surprised we only had to as one family to leave our community when they could not adapt to our way of life.. the consumerism and chaos of society can be hard to turn loose. The family has a right to live how they choose. We also have the right to allow them to live elsewhere. Sometimes, being kicked out of the herd is the greatest punishment. For the most part, though, the families that lived in our community just wanted to live peacefully and healthily apart from the trapping of a crumbling society.
A thought occurred to me one day while Bow and I were watching a heifer give birth for the first time. That evening, I used the radio to invite the houses to join us at the canning center.
“Thank you for coming,” I said as I looked over the families. „Our community was diverse and blended. After all, we were just people who believed in the same dream. Race and national origin were concepts that did not matter. To us, living free meant living in a society of builders working together. It dawned on me today that we have grown to be a solid community. We’re missing something, though. We don’t have a name. Any suggestions?”
Mark, Aurora, Angie, Faye, Ania, Stasia were seated at a line of folding tables facing the families. My horse training partner, Dakota, was standing besides the table in her chaps and boots watching the crowd.
“Let’s call it Freedom,” she said. “I’ve never felt this free before.”
„What about Free Town”, someone shouted.
“How does Dharma sound,” a yoga instructor offered.
“I was thinking we name our town “Possibility”, Aurora suggested.
“We could name it “Ourtopia”, Faye offered as she nursed our second daughter. Ania was playing with our 4-year old son and his half-sister with a fuzzy puppy between them. She seemed perfectly content to focus on the kids, her dogs, and sharing her joy with others.
“I think “Perfection” is a good name,” Angie said. “It is pretty perfect here.”
“What about Lucia,” Mark countered. “I mean, it was your mom winning the lottery that started all this.”
All were good suggestions, and the families were getting into the game when a 10-year old blond girl in glasses and boots stood up. She spent every day at the horse barn with Dakota eager to be with the horses.
“Why can’t we call it “Appaloosa”, she asked. “I just like that word and the way they’re spotted.”
The families took her suggestion and ran with it. Just like that, the town of Appaloosa Way was born. No ego, no grandiose themes, just a little girl’s love of horses and the community’s love of her.
Pretty simple stuff.