The Writing Pen

Hill Girl

Written by Kara Stewart

I come from the mountains, born of two souls who knew the power of dreams and the potency of possibility. They carried the first spark of me along a trail of stardust to set me gently down in a place with pine air and diamond stars and lapis sky.

Along the low banks of South Turkey Creek that wandered through the land, I played and sang, explored and dreamed, and listened to its song: whispering to the new leaves of willows at her banks in spring, roaring at the rock bridge during snowmelt, murmuring sleepy ease during summer, echoing stillness in winter.

On calm summer days, water skippers traced the shape of ideas on the glassy surface dappled with sun spots. Their long legs like pens pulling ink across paper, forming shapes into words and words into worlds. They invited me in to capture the words and use them. A gateway to expression, a bridge out of shyness, a path to what might be.


I come from a strong rock house we named Stone Hollow, where blue spruce and ponderosa pine stand tall on the grassy hills. Where poppies wait to ignite the slopes when winter’s long hold finally loosens and lets go. Inside its safe, stone embrace, a family of six sits down to dinner; three boys and a girl, chosen to be brought into this world. Wanted, cherished, encouraged.

I come from pioneers and caretakers of the land, inventors and musicians, entrepreneurs and dairymen and farmers. Ila Mae Dees left her homeland of Kansas to travel west when she was 22, knowing she needed to fly, trusting her wings to carry her where she belonged. Alfred Viggo Andersen, Jr., left his hometown of Denver with stints in the Army Air Corp, coming back to build his dream of working with cars.

Her sportscar needed an oil change. His talent led to love. Two souls reunited, connected forever.

I come from seeing hard work that looks like play when you’re doing what you love. I come from Why Not, and Let’s See, and How Can We Do This.

Mom. Dad. Three brothers. One sister. Equally held and seen and helped and supported in their dreams. Music, mechanics, building, cooking, marksmanship, woodworking, horsemanship. And writing.

Always and always and always, the writing.

I come from the mountains, where the wind whispers and the trees are wise. Where the creek flows with the seasons and the hills dress in white and green and gold. Where the earth meets the sky and those who hear the silence look up. Stardust beckons.