Almost Like an Easter Egg Hunt

Quite some time ago we moved to this caboose from an eight room 168 year old log cabin on three hundred plus acres out in the deep woods. It was a hard decision to make, but my heart was pushing me to get closer to an ER. During the move, it was snowing and the guys, all six of them, they made me stay in the cabin next to the wood stove and stay warm. I realized after they left with the stuff in a huge U-Haul truck that they didn't want the "the little woman" organizing this last detail. I would have made three rows of boxes and with all my typed labels facing out so that I could read them and get the right box if I needed something. Well, the guys just threw the stuff in and that was that seemingly forever. I lost a whole box of poetry. I wasn't sure it was even in the storage unit we had rented. Well, last night I found a crucial ms I had been working on for five years. I kissed the pages and went leaping (bad mistake) out to Dan's writing room with the pages. We were so relieved. This was years of research before even putting a finger to a typewriter. I spent days in the reference library taking notes about the tribe of native Americans who lived in our valley before it became so brutally our valley. Then I had to decide on a format-how did I want this historical to appear on the page? Whose voice did I want to use? Another whole year of finding out all these pieces of information, before I could even put one finger down on the good ol' Remington Rand. Not electric. Now that I've found it, all these pages and pages of story, I can transfer them into the computer, back it up on disc and print out hard copy. And then of course, continue writing the history of one place, many people, much time. But it's work I love to do; it's my bent in life. I haven't gone through the whole box yet. I was so happy to find just this single ms. Another day, another hunting venture.