A River Runs Through It

When I am visiting Ruidoso in the summers, I always walk down the river. It is so peaceful-you can hear the water running, the birds, and sometimes people's voices. I always think of how Kyle's family has spent so many years of fun in this river. Generations since the 1940's have played in the water, moved rocks, splashed, fallen down-hours upon endless hours of fun. They have watched their children's children come and play in this same river. They have been brought there as infants, grown into children, then into adults-some lived long lives, and some were cut too short. But the rocks are still the same ones that have always been there. Every generation has seen these exact same rocks. The rocks have been silent witness to this little family dynasty. The world has changed, the people have come and gone, but the rocks never have. Can you imagine how many times little boys in this family have stood right at that very spot and tossed pebbles into the river?

I can't walk down the river at the cabins that I don't think about one of my favorite shows, A River Runs Through It. The end is my favorite part....................................

"But when I am alone in the half light of the canyon all existence seems to fade to a being with my soul, and memories. Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs."

Lots of words. A lifetime of words. A family's words. The ones we miss the most-their words are there, too.

Ramma's life is alot like this river. She thrived on memories. She was a timeless raindrop, dripping joy and hope on all the people she met. And eventually, her long life merged into a river. Ninety-two years, wrapping herself in the love of a family. A family that grew up in this river. A family's very own river. A family's very own rocks. And under these rocks are voices. Some of the voices are theirs.

We miss you, Ramma.

Mary Lois Gowdy Ledbetter

June 18, 1917 - September 20, 2009