We wake up to the light smell of smoke each morning. The sky is hazy. And the first not-quite-awake thought I have is, “It’s back to school season.”

Back to school time is forest fire time around here. Sometimes, we connect certain smells with the season; I love noticing that feel. Cinnamon, roasting apples, falling leaves, sharpened pencils… and forest fires. We even spotted some yellowing trees on the pass.

(In mountain talk, the pass refers to the point where a road is at its peak on the top of a mountain before you begin to wind your way back down. Or it refers to the entire up and down journey.)

Hello to Rocky Mountain life.

Hello to the time of year my journal business, Gadanke, began.

And hello to all of your questions on how Gadanke began. Here’s the first one (from this post):

I’D LOVE TO HEAR MORE ABOUT HOW YOU CAME UP WITH THE CONCEPT FOR GADANKE.

** childhood **

As a girl, I was always labeled shy or reserved, when really, as my parents knew so well, I was actually a very deep listener.  I wanted to hear people’s stories; I wanted them to celebrate the ordinary moments of an ordinary life.

In middle school, I volunteered to dust my grandma’s curio cabinets after school… just because I knew she’d tell me stories of her stuff. Dorky. I know.

But it worked! She chatted for hours and hours.

Somehow, in this desire to hear more and more story, I developed a knack for helping people tell their stories.

It’s kind of funny to think back at club banquets and ceremonies when my classmates would start off a speech, “Well, I never really knew Katie. She didn’t talk much…”

I would get so frustrated and want to shout out, “Hey! Don’t you remember that 4 hour bus ride? We talked about da-da-da…”

Okay. So now I get it. I was asking questions, prompting on stories, and they were talking. And we were both loving it. There’s nothing cooler than watching a person get into a story.

Story catcher. That was me.

(Ever see a school cafeteria full of 17-year-olds dressed in suits? I’m the girl on the left.)

At the same time, I was on all of those bus rides and attending those banquets because I was a serious club participant. My favorite was speech and debate. I was nerdy; I was addicted to telling others’ stories. I told first person stories of a teacher who befriended an abandoned child. I told the story of being an alcholic teen. Sometimes my judges cried.

I saw the impact of story.

I just didn’t notice the talent I had for it.

** college **

I was a business major with serious plans for law school. Just for fun, I took a creative writing class. The next thing you know, I was transferring colleges to focus on personal essay writing and children’s poetry.

What on earth could I do with an English degree from a women’s college in Virginia and a business degree from my state school, I thought.

** my grandma’s 90th birthday **

By now, you probably know about this incredible day.

NPR’s StoryCorp had driven their sleek little recording bus into town.  “Come tell your stories!” they urged everyone in town.  So my grandma and I signed up.

I created a list of prompts and questions to ask her.  We practiced over two bowls of vanilla ice cream with extra chocolate sauce.  Then we stepped into the recording bus.

I started asking the questions on my list.  “Where did you and grandpa meet?”  “What was it like losing him to Alzheimer’s?”

She paused.  Her soft blue eyes just gazed into my own blue eyes.  And then she spoke.

“I don’t remember.”

Later she tried writing her story.  You can imagine how much she struggled.  Too much time had gone by.

And now, those stories are gone forever.

My dad turned to me and said, “Alright Katie, I really need you to write about what life is like for you today.”

I became serious about my journal making and story keeping THAT DAY. It was 2007. Martin and I had just quit our corporate jobs. We had dreams of doing something so different, we just weren’t entirely sure what it could be yet.

** 2009 **

It was August. It was smokey like today, but not quite so bad. I should have been studying for my flight exam. I should have been packing up the tire house because we were moving back to Germany.

But I was writing a prompt book for my future journaling. I was right here at this same desk.

I kept going back to my book of prompts every day (when Martin wasn’t looking!). I was developing my prompts and strengthening the bits I knew I needed for good story keeping.

Then it hit me:

It was time for me to stop merely listening to people’s stories.  It was time to help people start writing – before it was too late.