Daughter of the Desert

Hot and dry, sand and rocks, wind and the river, the only thing that bred here was sagebrush and rattle snakes. I am a daughter of the desert. I am a creation of the river waters that cut through the canyon on their way to somewhere greater.

I still live here even after all these years, most move away and never come back. I tried, but life always drew me back here.

I look down and realize my hands have pruned. I am washing dishing, but ended up day dreaming out my kitchen window. The girls were going to be here soon. I hadn’t seen them in years. We were inseparable through preschool on. Everyone said we would separate as we got older. It didn’t happen until 22.

Our girl band started in steps. We began to sing in the church choir. We started out with the traditional hymns. Our choir leader taught us how to use the piano, guitar and drums. The instruments that would began to shape our future.  Our choir director let us sing some of the new contemporary Christian songs. She was a great woman. She allowed four young girls to dream and create.

By junior high Kate was writing poetry. We turned it into song. Prairie had the pipes. She became our lead singer. Naomi put her lively personality to use and shined on percussion. Kate and I took over playing guitar and writing songs. Mrs. Day let us use the church to practice. We just had to clean afterwards. Which worked for me, cleaning seems to relax me.

By high school we were playing at small town festivals, parks and local grange halls. Those were the days, driving, singing, laughing; we were care free and happy.

At 21 we begin to play in local bars. We were on our way. Then at 22 the reality of life hit us. Kate began using drugs and stopped caring about life, Naomi wanted to go off to college and Prairie fell in love. I wasn’t good enough to be my own solo singer, so I returned to the desert and began my life.

All of us took different paths, but we were reuniting for a local festival, a celebration of music from the past.  I was looking forward to seeing the woman and reminiscing about the girls we once were.

Written by: Collette Cottingham; Boot Hill