My brother and I were the only children that didn’t live within a few miles of my grandparents (on my dads side.) They lived in the only mountains in North Dakota, only a skip to Canada. I visited once a year. Meeting new family members each trip. Too many to count.

When my dad was very young, he met a girl, on a combine crew. And he followed her to Wyoming.  And here our family was very small.

But since I’ve grown up, had a son of my own, I realize the importance of knowing the people out there with my blood. They look like me. They behave like me. We have weird tendencies that are so much alike. We are grown women learning that we all have different problems, and different lives, but we’re the same.   This is only 4 of us (a minuscule portion of our family) And I’m so thankful for them. I went 9 years after my grandmother passed away without visiting them. Something I will never do again.  And life is too short not to spend time with my same blood. The only other people who can remember the distinct smell of pie wafting from a farm house in the hills of North Dakota.