This summer, my fact and fiction shared an afternoon in a tiny little town near the site of the country school where I taught the dear people in the picture above and many more.

The children they once were captured my heart. For decades I have carried the memories of them and Camp Crook, the town where my husband lived and worked, since we moved away. I expected them to fade as time marched forward. Instead they grew more vivid with each trip we made to that wild country to see our friends.

As time went by my memories began to clamor inside me. Insistent. Demanding to be put down in words. To be shaped into a story. I spent years writing and rewriting a factual story based on our life there. Eventually I incorporated the facts into the books in the West River Mystery Series.

This past July my memories came to life again at the Camp Crook All School Reunion. Between 135-150 former students and their families came. Two former students––who used to take a food truck to area rodeos, fairs, and other events––prepared the food. The oldest person in attendance was 102. The oldest former student was 91. The youngest was in her twenties. Seven former teachers, at least one of them a former student as well, attended also.

Everyone talked and ate and looked at tables filled with decades worth of school pictures. Students who attended the school before my time there and those who attended afterwards shared their memories. Amazing memories. This post would never end if I tried to record them all. Even then some would be missed.

In light of that, I will focus on a few memories I hope to carry into the future.

• The delight on the faces of school friends reunited.
• My former student who asked, “Mrs. Philo, was I in your class the year the lamb ate my homework?” I laughed. “Yes, Micki, you were! You have no idea how many times I’ve told that story.”
• Listening to students describe the firm educational foundation they received at Camp Crook’s country school.
• Observing groups of classmates who took pictures together and kept talking long after the reunion was supposed to end.
• Seeing people pitch in to clean up without being asked.

But what captured my heart once again were my former students. Getting to know them as adults. Hearing about their lives and their kids. Watching their eyes light up while we talked. Seeing the bright, eager children they once were still shining from within them.

Gratitude overwhelmed me. It overwhelms me still. For the privilege of teaching these children. For this rare chance to have seen them again. For the realization that my former students are the reason I love to write school scenes with Jane and her students into my mysteries.

This summer my fact and fiction shared an afternoon in a tiny town near the site of the country school where I once taught. The school building is closed but, but I am happy to say, its spirit is alive. May it ever be so in our hearts.