I'LL BE SEEING 'YA

I don't know when I started hating the fact my father owned a hobby farm. My friends loved it. I remember in college when my dear friend Meg found out my father had goats, and that I in fact named one Katie. You see I had some where along the way decided I was a big city girl. Living in a rural town outside of Green Bay, WI I bragged to everyone that my mother and I, who my father divorced when I was only 6 months old, lived in Tempe, Arizona for my formative years while she went to graduate school. And that unlike the dairy farm kids I road the bus with- I was worldly.



My father owns a family business- real estate. He owns some of the prettiest buildings in downtown Green Bay and this was acceptable to me, it fit my big city goals and views much easier than him going home and asking me to pick the eggs. I remember watching him change into his barn clothes, taking off a perfectly fashionable, respectable tie for some Fleet farm flannel and Gortex jacket.



And so I hated the farm and refused to sleep there during any family occasion. My mother had an apartment in Allouez, and I eventually on the eastside near the university. My theatre friends would beg me to take them to the farm to sit and roast marshmallows and watch my father put a chicken to sleep. I would simply yearn to be at a café- really the only one in Green Bay that served flavored coffee with considerably low lighting.



So I moved to New York City, straight out of college. I was supposed to go to graduate school at Depaul in downtown Chicago, but even that became too small when I worked a summer for Blue Man Group in the East Village of Manhattan. A year later I found a shoebox apartment in the infamous Alphabet City and lived there for five years, cursing back home whenever I had to return. The wine was horrible, the lighting too bright, and the locals too ignorant of latest fashion.



And then a boyfriend suggested the West Coast and somehow it felt inevitable. So we drove cross country through Ohio, Tennessee, Arkansas, and Alabama…I surprised myself in Nashville when I knew all the words in a country bar one night. That's when Willie came back to me, and I had even brought a few of his tunes. Bryant hated Willie, but I insisted on playing him through Texas, and Arizona too. You see, my mother took me to a Willie Nelson concert when I was only three so he was like a father to me too I guess…



People say California is a different country, and certainly Los Angeles is no 'Out West', but I started wearing my cowboy boots again anyway and just felt somehow closer to my roots. You see I didn't tell you, but my Mom and I also lived in Prescott, Arizona and it was there I learned how to catch horny toads and swing on this huge tire in the middle of forest in our backyard. You know when some self help book or someone evolved says 'picture when and where you were happiest in your life?' …well that's it, back in Prescott on that swing.



I should note we passed through New Mexico on that move to LA. I went into all the Albuquerque shops thinking one day I'm gonna get me a converted barn and decorate it with all this stuff. I've always loved enchiladas, time spent at my grandfather's in Scottsdale, the preserved culture of Native Americans, been fascinated by turquoise and only wear silver…so you see, there were probably clues all along.



And this brings me almost up to date. You see when my boyfriend's Dad suggested we all meet up in Santa Fe, NM for Thanksgiving last, I was the first to book the flight. I knew I'd love Santa Fe. I loved my aunt who's gone there for years now coming back with things I'd always ask where she got them from. So the moment I arrived and stood on that balcony overlooking downtown I knew I'd have to come back.



It took me only two months and here I am, waking up with the sun, climbing to the top of the park in town to see the views, meeting real life Indians, drinking fine wine, and sparking intoxicating conversation. "You look very Santa Fe today," a sweet boy says. I look me today I think; hair down and flowing, long brown skirt and warm boots. This is me. And while I believe for a time the East Village was me too~ we change, we evolve…if we're brave enough. Our views shift, we see the world differently. And maybe we eventually return to where we came from, a small hobby farm with horses and goats.



The smell of Pinons is driving me crazy. The real life cowboys in the Plaza, the vegetarian chile and fine company…I'm in love, and I do believe it's been awhile. …So I'm coming back, to stay I think. Oh I don't know when, time and fate will tell. So many I've met here have taken one look at me and knew before I did. Like how a new love is written across your face, evident in your speech, obvious in your glow….



I want to thank you Daddy~ for being my first cowboy, for teaching me the importance of home outside the office. For showing me open spaces and wood burning stoves. It took me thirty years, but I get it now. I understand and welcome the quiet, the eclectic neighbors, the simplicity of art.



Much love to all of you that I've met in Santa Fe….I'll be seeing ya'.