The problem with growing older is your story becomes longer and, if you’re doing it right, more vivid.
The secret to managing all those memories, however, is to keep things simple.
My animals are great examples of keeping things simple, and I’ve decided they have it right. They have pasts, and often remember things from those pasts, but mostly they live in the moment.
So when my horses arrived in their cushy, air-ride carriage on Tuesday evening, five days after I pulled into Fulton in my Jeep, I breathed a sigh of relief and let a bunch of stuff go. We are here. We are home. Let it go.
I moved to Fulton by way of North Carolina, Michigan, Florida and a few other states. I was born in Kansas City, Mo., but it hasn’t been home in decades. I’m trying to figure out how things here work and I’m giving myself a little slack, knowing things happen in their own good time.
Here’s the funny bit. My roots lie 30 miles down the highway.
In 1820-something, a group of Gordons rode in from the northern Shenandoah Valley, and together with Daniel Boone’s son, laid out the city lines that became Jefferson City. They built the Rising Sun Hotel across from the current governor’s mansion and it became the new town’s jail, as well. They hired a sheriff, who promptly arrested them for gambling at the hotel. Oops.
In 1831, their parents, left behind in Rockingham County, Va., decided too many people had moved into their area and so John and Penelope Gordon loaded up their wagon to make the 800-mile trip west. They were in their 70s, and she was blind.
These are my people. These are the people from whom I descend.
I have carried John Gordon around in my heart since high school. He was at Valley Forge, barefoot and hungry, at age 16 1/2. He didn’t know how to read or write, but he made sure his children knew how. His daughter made mistakes, but he forgave her. His son Alexander fought in the War of 1812 before coming to Missouri. His son, James Alexander Gordon, was one of the first children born in Jefferson City. He found gold as a California 49er. The Brooks, Embrees and Goodalls figure in there, too. They still have stories to tell.
I’ve been to the site of John’s cabin in Rockingham County, Va., built on top of a spring so they had water if they were attacked. I found their old hunting/fishing camp high up in the mountains, too.
But I’d never been to John’s grave. When I came to interview for this new position last month, I met my distant cousins who took me to finally meet John Gordon. He is buried in the Old City Cemetery. I also found other family members there, too. We also visited Alexander in the Gordon family cemetery. It was thrilling.
I had never been here before, but my roots run deep. And now, the old coots have called me home.
I love newspapers. The Rising Sun Hotel is also the site of Jefferson City’s first newspaper. Go figure.
I love writing, and I love telling stories. Every person has a story, and I’m here to tell it. That’s what I’m doing here in Fulton, Mo. That there are horse activities make it all the better.
See you out there.