Precocious Cowgirl

April, 1980

When we walked into the barn, she was at the far end of the building standing on an upside-down five-gallon bucket feeding a horse. When she saw us coming, she jumped down off the bucket and began walking toward us. She was wearing mud-covered cowboy boots, jeans tucked inside, and a dirty white T-shirt. About ten steps away, she stopped, shoved her butt out to one side, and put her hands on her hips. Uh, oh. Was someone in trouble? "Dad, did you forget to feed King?" she said. It was on his list of things to do, he told her, but right now he wanted her to meet a visitor to their farm. That would be me.

She forgot about her dad's dereliction of duty and greeted me with a quick "Hi" before running off after a couple of cats who had strolled past us during our introduction.

Little did I know, while standing in that old dilapidated barn in Greenwood, Indiana, what an impact that spunky little four-year-old who would have in my life. A forty-pound tornado was how I described her after our first meeting. She was here, there, everywhere all at one time. Just watching her made me want to go lie down somewhere and take a nap; her never-ending energy wore me out.

"Let's play," she would say once I moved to the farm. (I married her dad.) Play, play, play. She always wanted to play, have fun, explore, be adventurous. All of that was easy to do within the confines of the 160 acres that encompassed the farm. And then there were the dog, cats, horses, goats, hogs, and chickens, all avenues for more fun.

That little package of energy was jam-packed full of love, and she did not hold back one ounce of it from me. I got it all. Whenever I sat down, she was on my lap. She would curl her arms around my neck, plant kisses all over my face, and whisper secrets in my ear that no one in the world knew but her...and now me.

Here I sit all these many years later reminiscing--something I seem to do a lot of lately--about those early years on the farm. Amy loved me then--when we were a family living together on Morgantown Road--and she still loves me today with the same intensity, thirty-five years later.

Yesterday I met a precocious four-year-old cowgirl standing in an old barn,  and today I call her my daughter--well, she's Jason's sister so wouldn't that make her my daughter? I could not love her more if I'd given birth to her. All these many years, Amy continues to reach out to me and give her love abundantly, freely, and without conditions. I cherish her love. I cherish Amy.

In August, my daughter will turn forty, one day after I turn seventy.

Amy, age four, on the farm

All grown up with a cowgirl of her own