Return the American dream where life is simpler and there is affluence without stress through self publishing.
We love our farm because the children can still walk safely down country roads.
Once I made a horrible mistake. Almost!The supposed error? Letting my mind wander decades back to an hour I spent with a girl.
The girl was pretty and blond. Terry was her name. My imagination spanned 40 years returning to my Oregon roots seeing her as if she were there.
We were 11 or 12 and had known each other since we started the first grade at Rockwood grade school. Just buddies, our non-romantic friendship lasted 12 years, from first grade till high school’s end. Then she went off to Pepperdine College in California. I started traveling the world. Never saw her again. I hope her life has gone well. But until that reflection I’d never thought much of Terry in all these years.
What could have been the tragic error was letting that memory touch my heart. Two kids, walking on a crisp, Pacific Northwest autumnal afternoon.
We walked down a sun filled, pine needle covered, dirt path. Huge, fat, green Douglas firs lined the road. Traffic was no problem, not many cars. Crossing Stark Street we turned left, hiking three blocks to 182nd. There we passed an old clapboard candy store. I can still hear the wooden sidewalk there slap beneath my feet, felt the soggy planks sag and smelled astringent pitch from the fir trees. Then we turned right, up 182nd for about a mile. There was Terry’s house. I carried on, walking through a big field, waist high grass turned straw brown by an early frost. There were dozens of paths made by countless generations walking home alone from school. I rambled through a wood of tall, rough-barked fir. Crossing one more field, I climbed a rock wall, struggled through a barbed wire fence (my Mom hated that fence ripping my jeans). I was home! Sweet simplicity, that dream. Two kids holding hands, walking on a dirt trail under a crisp, but blue, sunny sky. Pure innocence.
My tragic error was coming back. I returned to Rockwood, Oregon with Merri and my kids to show them this part of their roots. Following the route, instead of home spun honesty and charm, we found six lanes of fast, frantic traffic and road rage. McDonalds, KFC, strip shopping centers. The car radio blared warnings of local gangs and drive-by-shootings. Beauty, innocence, sweet simplicity, replaced by drive ins and drive bys.
I started to cry as gangs and drive-by shootings replaced that tender walk in the sun. How can our kids walk in places like this?
Children playing at the farm without fear.
How can any of us possibly keep pace in this world that’s moving so fast? That is when something inside snapped. “There has to be an answer for honest, hard working people to enjoy the wonderful opportunities of today and regain what we’ve lost over the past forty years”, I swore to myself.
How can we keep up, without having such a fast paced life we turn into machines? Where do we find time for God, family, charity, and our friends? How can we rediscover those sun filled, pine needle covered, dirt paths we want to walk? There has to be places that are still innocent and pure, I thought. There has to be a way of life that does not pound us with stress.
This thinking led me to review thousands of economic and business experiences I have shared with readers over the past thirty years.
I started a search for ways to return the American Dream…to gain a simpler way of life and a better place to be. We dug, asked, observed, traveled and talked to investors, investment managers and wise men all over the world.
This search led to our mission of helping readers find richer, better lifestyles without tension… abundance without strain… affluence without stress through writing.
This search has led us to create our writers camps.