Taking the other road home

Went to a square dance in Fayetteville, AR on Friday night.  Good dances always last until the wee hours.  Andy and I were late getting to bed.  In fact, it was Saturday morning before we closed our eyes and finally drifted off to sleep.  Needless to say, the alarm rang a little earlier than we wished but we were tempted by the smell of pancakes and sausage coming from the restaurant next door.  We were hungry and we answered the call.

After a few cups of coffee and a heaping plate of food we were ready to head on north to the Missouri line.  We debated which way to go and finally decided to trace our trip back the way we had come on Friday through Huntsville to Alpena, Harrison, and on to Midway and the Missouri/Arkansas line.  Somewhere along the way we got talking and gawking.  I was driving.  Andy was navigating.  We were both square dance hung-over.  We took a wrong turn somewhere around Elkins.  And the rest is one of those happy tales you remember forever.  Taking the other road home.

Yes, we were on a windy road.  Motorcycles were ahead of us.  Motorcycles were behind us.  And a few other cars and trucks.  Not much traffic.  And about ten or twelve miles along we noticed the names of towns we had never seen before.  And the topography was decidedly more hilly.

Checking the map we saw we were definitely not on the short road to Huntsville, but on the long windy highway to Huntsville.  It was wonderful.  That is until we came up on a line of two pickup trucks, a chicken truck(thankfully empty), three SUV's and us.  The motorcycle behind us slowed to almost a stop...and the line of rigs just kept growing.  The cause?  A highway truck ahead of us was laying down a long, double line of yellow paint, right down the center of this windy, hilly Arkansas road.  We crept along at 10 MPH for miles, it seemed.  I was afraid the motorcycle behind me would topple over.  I didn't know they could creep along too, but Andy assured me  they would be OK.

After a few miles I began to enjoy the scenery.  We passed in leisurely fashion a cafe called The Pig Trail, a sweet small farm house with chickens in the yard, a ranch with well tended buildings and fences, and a ramshackle cabin with a WW I ambulance hulk sitting in the yard.  Lots of things to see when you are cruising at 10 MPH.

By this time we decided to turn at the junction to Kingston and head on over to Newton County where we have spent many an enjoyable day.  Thankfully the road crew pulled to one side at a convenient place and we all streamed by.

Most of our fellow travelers left us at the turn we made to the east.  Before long we were headed to the S-curves of the Buffalo River valley.  Boxley and the road to Ponca.  But we took the turn to Jasper.  Storm clouds were rolling to the south and headed north.  We didn't want to be in a rain storm on that highway.  Before long we were parked in front of the Ozark Cafe in Jasper.  It began to sprinkle a little as we made our way inside.  The morning's pancakes had left us somewhere around Low Gap so we were ready to eat again.  Thick juicy hamburgers, a root beer float, and a good cup of coffee put us to rights.

We couldn't visit Jasper without seeing our friend Emma and her Museum of Junk.  Just down the street the people were milling around outside her store, looking at the old porch swing and various pots and pans.  Inside Emma greeted us as if we were long lost friends.  And of course, we bought a few odds and ends that we couldn't resist.  No wonder she likes us!

Headed out of town toward Harrison we drove ahead and behind the storm clouds.  It seems as if every trip we take this summer is rain-covered.  We took the bypass toward Bellefonte and the easy road to Gassville and home.  We didn't really want to go into Mountain Home but my Walmart list had a few items on it that we needed before we headed north.

Back home, we realized  there had been no rain on our hilltop.  Unloading the car seemed an awful daunting task so we put it off for a time.  I stood on my west facing porch and appreciated the view of Caney Mountain yet again.  Arkansas is a great place to visit.  I love the scenery and the people.  And the extra bonus of  a trip to Jasper was wonderful.

But, when all is said and done, the road home is the best one of all, even if you take a detour here and there.

Grace Notes

After so many cloudy, rainy and foggy mornings it was a joy to open the window and feel cool, fresh air and clear skies as the sun made a red and pink line on the horizon.  Putting on my boots I hit the trail for my early morning walk.  Grace notes.  That is the thought that immediately came to mind.

Grace notes.  Just a little extra added to a musical score that really is not necessary, but makes the piece sound richer.

Deer are now hiding in the edges of the woods.  I can see them scattering as my steps make crunching noises in the gravel of the road.  One quail and then another flies across from north to south....making that familiar whirring sound with their wings.  No rabbit this morning.  He must be sleeping in today, or else ate his breakfast at dawn.  And the birds.  They are usually silent when fog and mist shroud my hilltop.  But today I heard..and saw...a woodpecker, a summer tanager, and a yellow billed cuckoo.  Our neighbors' rooster was crowing his usual introduction to the day.  It sounds like Beethoven's Fifth.

It felt like fall today.  I am not rushing the season. I know very well that even though we would like it to be cooler, autumn is still almost a month away.  Crisp air, shining dew drops on bright green grass, waving blue stem, golden sun rays lighting up the leaves and late summer blooms.

Grace.  You know what it is.  Something that we do not earn.  Can not buy.  And certainly do not deserve.  How could I not smile on a day like this.  Indeed...notes of grace for you... and me.  

Million Dollar View

I have been fortunate in my travels to see many beautiful and awe inspiring places.  From the rocky shores of Maine to the tide pools of the Pacific Ocean.  From mountain peaks in New Hampshire to higher peaks in Colorado.  I have seen the Grand Canyon.  I have witnessed the spectacular night skies of southern Arizona, skied in Michigan through pristine snows and brilliant sunshine.  I have fished for blues off  Ocracoke Island, strolled along the shore of Catalina Island, marveled at the art work in the Met in New York City, gazed in awe at the beauty of The Pieta during its visit to the World's Fair many years ago.  I have wandered the steep trails of the Buffalo River, pitched my tent in sighing pine forests, felt the lash of the last of a hurricane on the beaches of Cape Cod.

But I come to this scene and it brings tears to my eyes.  This is a view I experience each and every night of my life now.  Just off my porch, I am so lucky to have a 180 degree view that many never experience.  Sunsets from the west.  Sunrise in the east.  Snow storms, rain storms, gentle spring, blazing summer, crisp and sparkling fall, peaceful winter when the sun graces the sloping hill with golden light.

Three years ago this month we moved to our Luna hill.  I am so glad that I insisted on not just a front and back porch, but an all-around porch.  The view never disappoints me.  It is worth more than anyone could ever pay me.  Priceless.

Can this be August?

Lots of rain keeps the grass growing, even here on the hill.  It drys out and we think we are done with mowing and trimming.  And then here comes a cloud and leaves us with a few more inches.  Don't get me wrong.  I am not complaining.  But this is unusual for August.

I know it is August.  The papers and media are all announcing the best buys for school kids.  Sports teams are starting their practices.  New shoes, new backpacks, and lots of school supplies.  That's the order of the day.

Nights are still on the humid side.  My morning walks are early, and the evening strolls are often taken at sundown.  The birds seem to know it is trending toward fall.  They are already gathering in flocks in preparation for the flight south.

I saw two young bucks in my east field early this morning.  Rather than grazing peacefully side by side, they were nose to nose and looking sternly at each other.  One would back up and lower his rack, making a few tentative swipes at the grass, almost daring the other to charge.  Then the other would prance away, turn and make a charge at the other buck.  It almost seemed as if they were dancing.  Practicing for the season ahead when they would be true competitors. 

Tomatoes are still ripening, and perhaps with all this rain they will continue to bear fruit even into the early fall.  You never know.

Walnut trees are heavy with nuts.  And some of the bushes are already starting to be tinged with orange and red.  

Yes, it is August.  And we are traveling through this year, just like all the others, one month at a time.

Enjoying the unexpected rain.  Sweating through the heat-filled days.  Looking forward to the cooling winds of autumn.  September will be here before we know it.  All we have to do is wait. 

Moist Mornings

For the past several weeks my view from the bedroom window is milky white.  Fog, fog, everywhere.  Going out on the porch before I make our morning coffee, all I can see is white mist, blotting out trees and road.  As the sun rises it helps to lighten the endless cloud that surrounds my hilltop home.

After breakfast I lace up my boots and head out for a walk.  The resident barn swallow babies are leaning on the very edge of the nest, up under the porch roof, waiting for one or the other of their parents to arrive with their morning meal.  We don't usually encourage birds to build nests on the porch, but this year we allowed a phoebe to raise her brood above one of the north facing windows.  We even made a perch for mama bird so she could survey the field before she took off to find food for her youngsters.  After they left we thought we might as well let the barn swallows have a chance.  The chicks are about ready to leave.  Seems as if they were a long time coming.  Weeks and weeks of nest building and sitting before we could hear the peeping.

After my wildlife inspection I head on down the road.  Spider webs are strung all over the field.  It always amazes me how many webs there are.  You only see them when the dew is thick on their gossamer strands.  The sun barely lights them up but they stretch clear to the edge of the timber, ready and waiting for the unwary bug to fly into their net.

The pond lies under a curtain of mist, floating up and covering the reeds and weeds to its very edge.  Ever since Andy killed a 31 inch cottonmouth near the pond a few weeks ago, I have been cautious about venturing too near the thick growth on the banks.  But I can see the mallow plants and their pink and white flowers shining through the fog.

Rabbits hop around the edge of the road eating clover and grass.  The mist hides me and they are so tame they let me get too close for my comfort.  I tell  them silently, in rabbit talk, hurry away little rabbit to your hideaway in the grass.  Somebody will have you for his breakfast if you insist on loitering here in the open.

On down the way I flush a few of the quail who have taken up residence in the heavy growth under the pine trees to the east.  Such a joy to have them here.  The first clue we had was earlier in the year when we heard a persistent bob, bob white from the east and then the west.  And now we have quite a few of them, of all sizes.  We have tried for several years to make some places on our farm quail friendly and this year, at least, we have succeeded.

I would like to spend more time walking around and inspecting, but housework is calling me back home.  The mist has disappeared and the sun is climbing higher.  Going to be a hot day.  But the enjoyment of my solitary walk in the moist morning will last me all day long.