Trudy Andrew | Canadian Author

Tails From the Farm

Home Again

As much as we loved travelling, it was wonderful to be back home again. We missed our family, and then there were the animals. We missed them, and they surely seemed to miss us. The sad thing about coming home after a while away, is how quickly the trip feels like it was forever ago. Other than the hundreds upon hundreds of photos my girlchild had taken, along with the many stories we had to tell, it was almost as if, we’d never gone. Just like that, we were back in the daily routine. Not that our daily routine was humdrum or the like. Our lives were actually far from humdrum. Between the horses, teaching lessons and driving truck, life was extremely busy. Life was always extremely busy, yet we loved it that way, at least most of the time. With all the experiences we had in Ireland and Scotland, I was ready to tackle the novels I’d written from the long-running dream. I didn’t really have time to look at it, because summers are far too busy for reading, but when things slowed down, like in the winter, I would surely begin making the tweaks the story needed. We would watch for a good deal to get at least some of the hundreds of photos developed, and hopefully get to sit and enjoy them and the memories that went with them. It was something to look forward to.
Thankfully, we were so busy, the dream didn’t force me to write. You see, when the dream starts, it repeats night after night, until it gets written down. Once it’s written, the full colour movie I get to watch while I sleep continues. I certainly didn’t have time to write down what I watched all night. There were horses to work and a semi to drive. I was simply too busy. When winter rolled around and things settled down though, the magic began again. I would watch the dream movie then get it into print during the day. I never knew what was going to happen, and for the most part, once it was down, it was forgotten. I can read what I put down, as if someone else wrote it. It’s pretty wonderful to go to bed at night, and know that you’re going to be swept away by a great adventure.
Now, I’m a bit of a sissy. Sure, I can train a rank horse, drive a semi and deal with the nonsense the male gender can throw my way, but I hate scary movies. I’m not good with violence either, and tend to avoid it, including in the dream. If something was happening that I was uncomfortable with, I’d gloss over it. I’d avoid writing it down, and did my best not to remember. Sometimes, if I was particularly bothered and upset, the dream would leave it be. The movie would carry on, then maybe two or three weeks later, it would take me right back to the scene I didn’t want to face. This would keep happening night after night, until I finally relented and wrote it down as well. Then and only then, would the dream movie carry on, which after multiple nights of having the same dream, is a bit of a relief. I know it sounds weird, but that’s how it works. I can read what I’ve written and enjoy it, like it was written by someone else. At least having to read it later, isn’t at all boring.
The problem was, as time marched by, and the years passed, I knew I couldn’t avoid it. I had to go back to Ireland. There was so much more I needed to know. Sure, I’d managed to put more realism into the story the dream had given me, but it had to be better. The whirlwind trip we’d done didn’t cut it. There were things I had to know, important things. There was no way around it. Sweetpea and I needed to hop that salty pond again. There was much more that we needed to explore and learn, and horses to ride. There were things that needed clarification, and only by experiencing first hand, could that happen. We began to watch for seat sales, and were ready to fly at a moment’s notice. The first time we’d travelled to Europe, we purchased the tickets and were on the plane two days later. We were ready to do so again. This time, we would spend a month in Ireland and really focus on learning and experiencing as much that was Irish, as we possibly could. This would be no whirlwind trip. There was much I needed to know, and I was determined to learn it.

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About Trudy Andrew

Trudy Andrew lives on a small farm just east of Winnipeg, Manitoba, where she enjoys her Morgan horses. A dreamer since she was a child, its no surprise to those who know her well that her imagination would find an outlet in writing, as it has in the past through artwork.
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 Oakbank, MB