Scrapbook One Hundred Six…




Dal, this lady is a beautiful, petite, medical doctor and intellectual who takes her two dogs into the mountains searching for the treasure. She brings a different flavor to the chase. Maybe your bloggers will enjoy her slant, slightly edited and forwarded with her permission.f


Dear Mr. Fenn,

How have you been?  I hope you and your family are healthy and happy.  As always, there is too much I would like to tell you.  Half are stories about my recent adventures.  Half are thoughts that I believe pop like balloons into my consciousness, inspired and inflated by your subliminal airs.  Lucky for you that my memory is that of a brain damaged caterpillar’s rather than an elephant’s (or so my sister has informed me).  I may have told you already that I have been prioritizing actual exploring over writing of my roamings.  Tengo prisa for so many reasons. Winter will be here too soon and access to my favorite hunting grounds will be difficult.  The reliability of the 4 runner has been in question and hippo-worthy mud puddles have made for some interesting moments. JCs gray-gowned patience is exhausted despite my efforts to spare him from my daily “discoveries” within your riddle.  And I’m afraid that the heft of reality and repeated failures may tip my scales, outweighing the lightness of imagination and hope. The best laid schemes oft go awry, at least for this mouse.  Such an imbalance would fill my tramping boots with cement and drown desire.

Orion has found his way into my sky again!  Another year chases its quarry around the solar system without gaining ground but gaining experience.  Just now he appears to be reclining against the Sandias in silhouette, marvelling at the Milky Way.

I am enslaved by my habits.  Only recently have I been exploring all the alternate routes to my destinations.  The latest path takes me past a different quarry.  For the  most part, however, I ask for advice and direction but kind words go in one deaf ear and out the other without leveraging me out of my rut.  And my perspective is as focused as from a fixed periscope, only seeing 10 degrees of the horizon through one unblinking eye, missing the other 350 degrees above and everything below.  With such sensory deficits I have to rely upon my dogs’ noses that much more to guide our search.  But Kiva’s olfactory skills are blunted by time and Sombra’s are blunted by the deer droppings.

I feel a bit overwhelmed.  Perhaps that is my MO.  Surely this contributes to my inability to write.  And of course, there is the issue of plausibility.  It is not because I could ever be clever enough, but because I have such dogged perseverance, that I hope to understand the web you weave.  It is a daunting prospect.  JC was out of town this weekend so I researched and fanangled explanations that might tie some loose ends together.  Piles of information.  Where will all of these hours lead?  Oddly, I am considering this time as meditative, brain wave frequencies harmonizing with the universe.  well.  In the past few weeks I have searched along the sharp edge of Shakespeares blade, red-eyed and relentlessly, over hills and vales, far from the arroyos where I started, going full circle.  I have made multiple trips to criss cross the web space and pace the curves of this “holy field.”  I’ve incensed myself and gone around and around and around, chasing the wrong tail.  Its like motorboating in a morass, frustrating.  But at the end of each day, its not the pot at the end of the rainbow but the rainbow’s kaleidoscope, which was the treasure.  I fed ruby red Fuji apples to horses through barbed wire fences.  The last of the aspen’s gold shone against sapphire skies.  Dark emerald evergreens gave shade to Kiva and Sombra.  You’ve heard all this before. To give you hints as to the piece of peace I seek, tiny slice of my heart, miniscule portion of eternity, is the only way I can show you my appreciation.  So I carry on almost incessantly.

Tangentially, you have inspired me to check out some books from the library today.  Prior to reading your memoir I had not read any biographies nor autobiographies.  Now that I am trying to write my patient’s photobiography, it occurred to me that I better study the art.  My intended subject was Van Gogh but I found books on A. Earhart, Oppenheimer, Ben Franklin, Keith  Richards, and Houdini instead!  I think I wish (I’m always careful about how I wish for things) that I was a speed reader with a photographic memory.  But I wouldnt wish that if it was at the expense of my health or happiness.  To some small degree, maybe ignorance is bliss.  Who knows?



25 thoughts on “Scrapbook One Hundred Six…

  1. Beautifully written E,
    I thought about writing a book about the revolutionary war and how aliens came down and showed G Washington why America had to win/help them win because a few hundred years later an old man would hide treasure and someone would search for it and it would become the final battle of good vs evil…..maybe you could ghost write it for me( I think that is what I mean)….

    • Oops! This was suppose to have posted in the next scrapbook. Sorry about that.

      I was just being silly.

      This is a very nicely written letter.


  2. ATREYU !!

    old fester (sun) fenn…
    New Forrest Fenn….
    AURYN !

    I name her Michaelray

    I’m calling the name OUT LOUD…here, there, and to the home of Brwn. Listen to Fal

    With pure heart I BOLDLY
    claim the title to the gold

    I wish for the map, to retrieve the chest with my father, and for the the memory the look on his face at that moment to be the one to remains eternally safe and guarded from the Nothing. With this I am ready to do my gardening with a silver spade…
    And to all..


    I’d shout it louder if I could or knew any other way

    I hope this bears a familiar sound of the hornless honk and rings a bell in a little heart (or two)

    • Jamie – I don’t understand most of what you just said. However, What does resonate, are your bold words “WHAT DO YOU WISH? WHAT DO YOU DREAM?”

      I’m middle age, and by this point in life many adults have set aside or given up on dreams. Even if dreams don’t come true, Forrest has reminded me how important and fun dreams are. They are what keeps my imagination fresh and my countenance joyful.

      Thanks for shouting. No one’s home tonight, so I shouted out one of my dreams right back to you, “I want to find Forrest Fenn’s treasure and do some good with it!”

      • Hi Lia,
        That is a great idea. But if I had Forrest Fenn’s Treasure it would be up to him what he wanted to do with it. I am sure he has a special place he would like it to go but I don’t know where that is only he does. So I would have to ask him. As for what I wish and want I would love to emulate the simple homestead life my great grandparents have lived together the last 72 years. Simple but beautiful and rewarding. Every one has a dream.

        • Spallies, I agree with you. If Forrest is alive, what a great joint-venture to see his dream for the treasure fulfilled. It was always his money anyway. If its found 100’s of years from now, we can all hope his spirit of generosity would be honored by the finder.

  3. Marvelously written post. You must have been a flower child in your past life or maybe Cleopatra lolling among the reeds and lilies of the Nile. Keep up the search as we all should. Only by searching, can we find the treasure within ourselves.

  4. Yes, I would love to have the depth and scope of this lady’s writing ability. And if I did, would I write in that style ? No; and here’s why…. The written word is a form or method of communication with others, and what ever the intended meaning or hint of that message is, or the audience delivered to, it should be understandable at as many levels of intellect as possible. A prime example of a good communicator in the written word, was Mark Twain, one of the best. Words should reach out and grab you, not you reaching out to grab a dictionary to look up the meaning of a word such as “Tangentially”. Ask yourself what is the purpose of using such dusty unused words, do they convey more meaning to the message than other more commonly used descriptive words ? Or maybe using such words brings you into the realm of “poets, but they don’t know it, but their feet sure show it, their Longfellow’s.”

    • sharpsburg, You stated;

      “A prime example of a good communicator in the written word, was Mark Twain, one of the best. Words should reach out and grab you, not you reaching out to grab a dictionary to look up the meaning of a word such as “Tangentially”. Ask yourself what is the purpose of using such dusty unused words, do they convey more meaning to the message than other more commonly used descriptive words ? ”

      Wassup with this comment? Didn’t The Author, Mark Twain, himself do just that? Use Dusty words from the more commonly used.

      This leads to why I asked so long ago…why write a poem and not just hide clues in the book TTOTC itself. Poems allow the use of words for interpretation from the author to the reader. So what fun would it be to just use straightforward meanings…

      Oh, “Wassup” is now in the dictionary. I wonder, a hundred years down the road, if someone will need to dust it off has well.

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