Life In The Trees

December 12, 1978
Trinidad, Calif.

Dear Mother,

Bob is using the typewriter to type s first report to the tribal council. They meet on Saturday & he has t
o tell them what he has been doing since he started. He also has to submit reports when he inspects an area for being a possible Indian burial ground. I had planned on typing this, which is why I mention it; as a matter of fact, I started a letter on the typewriter-but if I wait for Bob to finish… Don’t know what our plans are for Christmas. Bob really doesn’t want to drive down & back. He would like to fly, but that would mean we would have to build a fence for the dogs by Christmas & I don’t know if we can do it. So, everything is sort of up in the air (we will probably drive down). Our new house is really nicevery bright and cheery. Not really much news- just trying to put everything awaynot many cupboards or closets. I’m planning on enjoying a long winter, making things for Bob & Michelle & going for walks to the beach when it’s not raining. Hope you can come & visit soon. Will write as soon as we know what we’re doing.

Kathi, Bob, & Michelle
P.S. Michelle is really enjoying the house- lots of room to run around & play & she likes to go for walks & see the houses.

Trinidad, Ca.

Dear Mother,

Jesus is not some abstract idea or person who died 2,000 years ago. He is alive. He said, “I will never leave you.” He knows you cannot do it alone. We are too weak, every last one of us. Who do you know that really “has it together”? No one- not you, not methere is no security here. No perfection hereyet- until he returns. There is no plateau that we reach on earth where everything is happy and harmonious because of our physical appearance, our home, our job our incomethat is grasping at empty air and only in our spiritual life will we reach only with Jesus accepting His Lovein believing in Him can we experience that security & happiness that everyone seeks.

The Trees like Tassels — hit — and swung —
By Emily Dickinson

The Trees like Tassels — hit — and swung —
There seemed to rise a Tune
From Miniature Creatures
Accompanying the Sun —

Far Psalteries of Summer —
Enamoring the Ear
They never yet did satisfy —
Remotest — when most fair

The Sun shone whole at intervals —
Then Half — then utter hid —
As if Himself were optional
And had Estates of Cloud

Sufficient to enfold Him
Eternally from view —
Except it were a whim of His
To let the Orchards grow —

A Bird sat careless on the fence —
One gossipped in the Lane
On silver matters charmed a Snake
Just winding round a Stone —

Bright Flowers slit a Calyx
And soared upon a Stem
Like Hindered Flags — Sweet hoisted —
With Spices — in the Hem —

'Twas more — I cannot mention —
How mean — to those that see —
Vandyke's Delineation
Of Nature's — Summer Day!