Pieces of My Life

By Keith N Fisher

I went hunting with my brothers last weekend and enjoyed getting out. The mountain air and romance of a campfire, made up for the trouble of getting ready to go. It was good to be with family, and I got a little editing done.

I have a word of advice for you: Don’t eat a pear while editing in your truck in the dark. The juicy mess gets all over your laptop, and writing suffers.

While driving with my brother down familiar roads, on the way to different areas, I became aware of my rambling. My mouth was spilling out recollections of past experiences, both mine and those of my father.

Being blessed to have spent time, as an adult, with Dad became evident, but so did my feelings of being at home. I felt sorry for those who moved around a lot as kids. There might be many nostalgic places from their past, but I have memories piled on top of others, and all in the same places.

Almost anywhere I go, in Utah, I can recall a fond memory of the place. Some places dredge up more memories than others, but most of my life was lived in those areas.

Perhaps you can understand my distress over the closing of roads and limiting regulations. This blog is not the place for political soapboxes, but I’ve been feeling violated. It seems that certain groups are systematically destroying my whole life. When the powers that be, close off an area or legislate where I can shoot, they are pushing me one step closer to the grave.

I’m getting old and out of shape. I can’t walk into the areas where the forest service closed the 100-year old roads. I can’t afford to go to a private shooting range, and I shouldn’t have to.

My brother made a comment, last weekend that sticks with me. We watched a herd of cows crossing a meadow and I, with tongue-in-cheek, asked, "Why don’t you shoot one of them?"

He said, "I ought to. They’re grazing on my land."

That hits the nail on the head. It is, after all, our land.

As I said, this blog isn’t for political soapboxes, so you might be wondering how my story applies to writing. Spending time in familiar places from my past opened the floodgates of memory. Along with those recollections came reflection, and that is the inspiration for writing. Try visiting your past, the next time you get writers block.

Good luck with your writing---see you next week, unless they close another road.