Whispers in the Wind

By Roberta Whittemore

This book contains the musings of an Owyhee Mountain gypsy, inspired by the history and beauty of the mountains, and the interesting people met there.

You were real once
As real as I as I stand here
And try to imagine the scene

Buildings line your street and horses go clip-clopping by
Miners, housewives, and businessmen
All are bustling around me going about their daily lives

I almost feel the stir of air as you brush by me
I turn but your flitting shadows are just beyond my sight
And I hear your soft whispers in the wind.......
excerpt from Whispers in the Wind

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 10, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504912679

Roberta Whittemore

Roberta (Bertie) Whittemore, a native of rural upstate New York, and her husband, Gary, moved to the Treasure Valley of southern Idaho in 2010. She now spends her summers camping near and working in the old mining town of Silver City in the Owyhee Mountains. Bertie's spare time is spent around camp or exploring with her Welsh Corgi, Dewey. Her days' experiences and stories of life long ago inspire writings such as those found in this book. The months of October through May are spent at home in Caldwell, where she passes her time writing, crafting, researching history in her museum/workshop, cherishing time with family, and gazing through her living room windows, where beautiful views of her beloved Owyhee Mountains beckon her to return.

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© 2015 Roberta Whittemore. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse   07/09/2015

ISBN: 978-1-5049-1235-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-1267-9 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgment

True Magic

The Listener

The Lonely Sentinel

Death of the Sentinel

The Plea

Companions

The Promise

House on the Hill

Ghost Town

Abandoned

Black & White

Just Around the Bend

Secrets to Tell

Passing

Crescendo of Quiet

Making Memories

Silent Watchers

Sno-wing

Voices

Whispers in the Wind

In The Shadows

Whirlwind of Time

Gone

Remember the Brave Men

Stronger Women They

Tumbleweed

Tennessee

The Seed

The Dewey Confession

Memories of Al

Sighting

Sighting II - Eliza’s Story

Eliza’s Dance

The Leather Bound Book

Tennessee and the Rattlesnake

Tennessee’s Vaccination

Tennessee & the Tarantula 2-Step

Escape

Joy

Hope

Snowfall

Falling

Moments

Littering

The Master Plan

Flying

Never Satisfied

Word Nerd

Impatience

Downhill

Dreaming

Humility

Dedication

To my husband, Gary, whose love, support, and hard work make everything possible. I love you.

Acknowledgment

Thank you to my sister, Jennifer Green, for being my sounding board when I needed help and another opinion, and to my beautiful niece, Jacquine Lathrop for being my Eliza model.

I would also like to thank Tennessee for sharing his knowledge of the mountains and inspiring me to write in the first place, for always encouraging me and being my friend. Thank you for many wonderful memories.

True Magic

There must be a secret door

Hidden just out of my sight

That would allow me to see more

And opening it would give me the right

A door worn and faded with days

But yet with dignity still stands

As down through the years it stays

Despite the beating of so many hands

If I could but find the key

That would fit its ancient lock

I have found many, but so far it isn’t to be

And I think I’ve looked under every rock

If the door I could but open one day

And I could step over the sill

The sights I would see, I say

Would certainly give me a thrill

There may be a sort of magic in old photographs

But since there are no people left to tell

And old pictures can’t show what happened by half

I would, if I could only see it well

To step through the old door

Into a long-forgotten scene

I would return knowing so much more

Of the time and place where I’d been

But, then again, perhaps the true magic

Of what is hidden so deep in the past

Isn’t in seeing it clearly, both good and tragic

But the mystery itself that makes the real magic last

For I’ve come to understand now

That to see clearly might make the past mundane

So even if the key I do find somehow

I should from looking through the door refrain

Let the past keep its mystery

Let the magic continue to be alive

In this place of old history

For those of us who survive

The Listener

Their stories, secrets, and tales are told

In myths about hardy pioneers of old

Some as songs sung with voices lifted high

While others are so sad they make you cry

Down, down, down through the years

Their stories are told with laughter and tears

They come to us from everywhere around

You never know how they may be found

But, no matter how, I hear them all

No matter how quiet, I hear their call

When the voices softly call my name

Saying listen, listen, we are the same

They lived, they laughed, they loved, they cried

They did it all, and