I am finding as my mind leans forward into the possibilities of my future that I see the things around me with a bit more clarity and appreciation. My little town, the town I’ve lived in now for 12 years, has some wonderful aspects I have grown to appreciate a great deal. Just the other day as I was cleaning my car with the shop-vac outside of my garage after taking the Great Furred One (my white German Shepard) on a drive, I unknowingly hit the lock button, with the keys in the ignition. This is probably the fourth time I’ve had to call the police over the years to open my car for me. Inevitably the kind officer showed up within 15 minutes, and not far behind him, a huge tow truck to lend moral support. After recovering my keys, the tow truck driver and the cop stood in my driveway for a good 30 minutes just chatting and laughing.
The trails that I run my dogs on (the dogs run; I do not) are miles of intertwined paths through beautiful forests, just up the road from me. When I forget to trust, I wonder where I’ll take my pooches to have such freedom (for all of us) in my future unknown place. I’ve shared the seasons of these forests as the dogs have grown older, one has died, another has grown up and is now sporting some grey patches. I remember walking these trails with my exchange daughters, in winter, spring, summer, and fall. I have, some years ago when I was just starting to re-enter the dating world, walked these trails on a couple of dates, providing a fine opportunity for starting to get to know a man. It’s very hard to think of leaving these woods. I sometimes have such a hard time imagining finding something so idyllic that I even picture driving the dogs back to this little town now and then, to walk them on these trails they’ve been sniffing and hunting and peeing on for years. I imagine they’ll miss them. What I have to remind myself of, to not forget to remember, is that it’s entirely possible I will find something even better. Something sublime. Even euphoric.
My commute to work is all back country roads. There is a farm with a farmhouse, barn, and silo I’ve been taking photos of in early morning light through various seasons that I will miss a great deal. Farmland borders much of the drive, intermixed with swamp and forest, and for one stretch a farmer’s field is so low that it floods repeatedly, collecting water that overflows onto the roadway. It gets deep enough that cars going at the full mph will be in for a jarring surprise, probably a wreck (I’ve seen two), and in the winter, it freezes and brings about it’s own set of dangers for hurried drivers. I think about this area, about the farmer who has tried to dig a gully or a ditch to offset the low land, about the orange barrels the road commission places to warn of the water over the road, that for the past year they’ve just left in place since nearly every season brings with it a danger. These familiar places have served as landmarks, spun threads of thought as I ponder the what, why, and how, and brought many odd moments of comfort. I stay alert approaching the spots where the deer tend to cross, and anticipate the spots where the leaves fall like a fairy tale, the snow drifts in blankets of frosting, and the sun dapples the road through the tree tops.
It’s hard to leave a place you’ve lived, a home you know the quirks of, the sounds from the road, the sounds of the house settling on its bones. It’s hard, but sometimes it’s the very best, very bravest choice. I think that’s true for me, if I am to live an honest and fulfilling life.
