First Snow of the Winter of 2013

I awoke this morning to snow falling outside.  So, after getting ready for the day, I took my camera and my dog for a walk.  There was just a light dusting of snow with more falling.  The air was brisk but the wind took the mist of my breath away before it could form.  The snow stuck to the grassy and dirt areas but not to the sidewalk.  Walking was easy, not slick at all, which is important to me since I tend to fall often and well.  This year hasn’t been too bad when it comes to falling.  Some years are really bad for falling.  One year, and I forget which one, I fell so many times that my family talked about special shoes or other things to keep me from falling.  I was sure once or twice that had broken my ankle or something, and since I don’t feel pain, I could have without realizing.  Well, not really, without feeling pain, I would feel the bone give, break.  I’ve dislocated my knee before and felt the bones move.  It’s an odd feeling.  I knew it should hurt, but it didn’t hurt at all.  Not feeling pain is scary.  I’ve gotten hurt before without realizing it.  Burns, cuts, scraps, bruises, happened without notice.  My family rightfully worries about me.  I do as well.

I walked toward my greenhouse and noticed that the dirt area near the new garage.  I took a photo of the grass and the dirt area before taking a photo of the snow on top of my greenhouse.  The plants inside drooped with the night’s cold, but once the sun comes out, whenever it comes out, they’ll perk back up again.  Most of the plants in there are hardy down to fifteen degrees.  Some are hardy as long as frost doesn’t touch them, or so it seems.  I’ve had such a hard time with rosemary overwintering outside up here on this mountain.  I have one in my greenhouse for its second winter.  So far, it’s doing very well.  It had flowers on it just a few days ago.  Beside the rosemary, sits a heather plant.  It also has flowers on it.  Maybe the heat of the greenhouse confused them.  I hope the flowers don’t make them more vulnerable to the cold.

I walked past the greenhouse without opening the door.  The chicken coop was the next thing I wanted to check on.  The chickens were all inside the coop, which kept them out of the cold and weather.  The coop is not heated so they aren’t exactly warm, but they aren’t freezing.  I worry about some of them.  They were injured by a raccoon who removed many feathers from their tails and necks.  The black one looks especially scrawny.  I hope the others are helping her stay warm.

Trees all around my home offer their protection from the wind, but because of the size of the open area, their protection is limited.  Still, they wave good morning to me as Thor walked toward them and  into the woods.  I take photos of him and the trees and the path to the woods.  He’s on his way to the creek.  He loves to play in the water, and he loves to drink the water.  It amazes me that he doesn’t feel the biting cold of the water on days like this.  Maybe he just doesn’t care that the water’s so cold.  Maybe all he sees is,….WATER!

I turn around to go back inside.  Over my home, I see the smoke coming out of the woodstove.  I love going into a toasty warm house after being out in the cold.  On top of the woodstove, there’s a tea kettle that will be nice and hot by now, so I’ll make hot chocolate once I go inside.  Too bad I don’t have marshmallows.  I love to watch them melt on top of the chocolate and stick to the inside of the mug and wrapping my hands around the cup.  I take photos of the smoke rising from the chimney in front of the trees and disappearing into the wind.

Once inside, the cats meow for attention or food, usually it’s neither, but they’re cats so who knows.  Salem, the black cat, fuzzes around my ankles.  Callie runs up the hall rather than take the risk that she might actually get petted, which she might actually like and that would scare her more than anything else.  Puff lies near the woodstove purring contentedly.  Warmth and her person and safety and more.

Life is good.

Snowy trees in the backyard. I’ve taken several photos of these same trees during this snow event. You can compare this on to the ones in previous posts.

My greenhouse is covered in snow. Bet the plants inside are happy.

My dog, Thor, enjoying the snow.

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Early Morning Walk

I awoke this morning to the rooster’s crow.  The door between run and fenced area was closed.  The chickens wanted the door open.  My dog, Thor, wanted out, too.  Once I was dressed, I grabbed my camera before heading out the door with Thor on his leash.  He bounded out ahead of me with his leash trailing after him.  My camera was still in its case which was hanging off my shoulder.  A deep breath confirmed the biting cold.  My two sweaters did little to cut the cold, but I continued to walk anyway.  The sky was blue with shades of gray clouds.  The colors of sunrise would arrive soon.  My breath came out in a cloud.  Thor met the chicken that stayed out last night.  “Silly girl,” I said, “you really should’ve gone in last night.”  She clucked her response as she followed me down to the coop.  I opened the door on the side of the run, and she ran inside where food and water awaited her.  The problem is that the rooster is there, too.  She flew out of the fenced area each day in order to escape the attentions of the rooster.   He really needs more hens to keep him happy and busy, and to keep the hens happy, too.  With the chicken safely inside, I open the door between run and fenced area.  The rooster is the first through the door.  He immediately jumped up onto the camper top that is on blocks.  It has provided them with extra cover for many years.  Once up there, the rooster crowed to announce that it is his domain.  The chickens ran from run to under the camper.  They clucked their delight.  Once done crowing, the rooster jumped down and promptly started chasing hens, who ran from him leading him on a merry chase.  I walked away before he successfully mated with any of them.  I did notice that he was not interested in one of the reds, making me wonder if she was still laying eggs.  I made a mental note to check her vent later.  Pink and moist is good; yellow and dry is not good.

Thor and I headed toward the iron gate that stands at the wood’s threshold.  The gate was a graduation gift from my best friends.  Leaves covered the path long ago.  Thor was happy to lead the way.  I knew he was headed to the creek.  I had to keep the leash fairly short so he wouldn’t get wrapped around trees or go somewhere that I can’t follow.  He learned long ago to go backward, retracing his footsteps when he gets partially wrapped around a tree.  He’s a smart dog.  Further down the path, he started huffing with each breath telling me that he smelled some animal or strange dog.  He found the spot he wanted and peed to leave his mark.  He kept breathing deep and huffing, following the path of the unknown critter.  Bear, coyote, fox, and many others animals share our home.   Thor wondered back and forth, nose to the ground, huffing and tracing the scent.  He followed the scent to the creek where he jumped into the water without hesitation.  He wondered the creek huffing and following the scent.  I watched him with a grin on my face.  I took my camera out and started taking photos.  Sunrise colors through the trees.  The glistening water flow over rocks.  Thor drinking water.  Very cold, rolled up rhododendron leaves.  The neighbors cattle at the fence where our properties meet.  Frost on leaves.  For some I use the flash; for others, I don’t.  The difference has always amazed me.  I prefer natural light, but there are times when the flash is the only way to get the perfect photo.  Some of my favorite macro photos were taken in the dark using the flash.  I put the camera away.

Thor and I walked out of the woods and toward the driveway.  Frost crunched under foot as we went from woods to field.  The sun rose through the far trees, but no warmth reached me.  Thor didn’t care though.  He was busy sniffing the ground.  My hands were too cold to hold the camera still, and so I left it in the camera even though there were so many good photos available.  Life happened that way sometimes.  Instead of walking all the way to the driveway, I decided to head up to the goat barn instead.  Thor happily lead the way.  On the other side of the field, I could see the smoke start to rise out of the stack which told me that my son had just put wood into the stove.  I smiled with the thought of a warm woodstove to stand beside once I go inside.  Thor headed up to the house, as I followed behind.  The cats joined us, meowing their desire to go inside, too.

I opened the door.  Thor and the cats entered first.  I walked in and smelled the woodstove.  My son hugged me good morning.  Coffee perked.  Breakfast waited.  Life is very good.

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Thor and the Raccoon – Day 44

One more day to go on Thor’s confinement period.  He’s doing great!  No signs of rabies, yay!

So, this morning I took Thor for a walk on his leash, of course.  We started down the driveway before heading into the old, goat field.  He rolled in the grass and listened for deer before doing his business.  He explored the entire field.  After he was satisfied, we walked by the chickens.  Then we went to his cable behind the house.  After making breakfast, I sat where he could look in the window and see me.  He looked into the woods many times.  I’m sure he heard some deer, but I never saw them.  Callie, our female cat, came up to Thor for his grooming expertise.  She licked him while he groomed her.  When she had had enough, she walked away.  Shortly after she left, Salem came up for his grooming time.  Puff was groomed for the longest period of time.  He wanted to be groomed on both sides from head to tail tip.  Thor thoroughly enjoyed being their groomer.

Tomorrow, the Health Department will either call or come by or both to check on Thor.  A decision will be made at that time as to whether the confinement period is over or needs to continue.  I believe that it will be over tomorrow.  I’ll let you know either way.

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Thor and the Raccoon – Day 32

Today started off with no alarm clock, which almost made my son late for his ride to college.  Fortunately, he and I both awoke about twenty minutes before he had to leave.  Thor was on the foot of my bed.  He didn’t even look up when I called out to my son to see if he was awake.  Joshua caught his ride.  Thor and I went back to sleep.

About an hour or so later, I got up for the day.  Thor, as usual, continued to doze until I was ready to take him for a walk.  Out the door we went.  He checked out the porch before heading out to the cars.  He’s always hopeful that he’ll get to go for a ride.  This morning, like most mornings, was just a walk.

We headed down the driveway.  He started sniffing the ground at the path that leads to the neighbors.  He looked down the path hopefully.  Once he realized I wasn’t going that way, he continued down the driveway.  He sniffed the tall grass with loud snorts.  Once back up the driveway, we turned in front of the goat barn.  The tall grass was wet with dew and my shoes became slippery.  I walked carefully while he explored the smells that appeared overnight.  He was very interested in the tall grass and pines in the lower field.  Maybe some deer were there.

We walked by the chickens as the rooster paid attention to a hen.  He crowed his delight afterward.  (He has a strange crow.)  We continued on to the tall grass and back to the house where Thor gladly stepped up to the cable.  I attached it to his collar and gave him a hug.  Breakfast and coffee.  Time on the computer.  A chat with a friend.  Now, hours later, Thor wants to walk some more.

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Thor and the Raccoon

We just found out from the Virginia Health Department that the raccoon that bit our dog, Thor, tested positive for rabies.  Thor is up to date on his rabies shots.  We have an appointment for a booster shot this morning.  He will have to be kept on a leash and under observation (by us) for the next 45 days.  I’ll be posting daily, or near-daily, updates here.

As for Thor’s behavior since being bitten on Saturday morning, he’s been his usual sweet self.  I gave him a bath this morning, which he promptly undid by rolling in the dirt.  He was completely dirt covered when I went out to photograph the rising sun.  Well, I told my son that he’ll have to give Thor another bath before we take him to see the vet.  So, almost straight from the bath to the car for Thor.

Anyway, Brightest of Blessings to our dog, Thor.  I’ll keep you updated.

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Freya’s Final Breath

My dog, Freya, was seventeen years old.  She was a Lab/Akita mix with the Lab’s sweet personality and the Akita’s desire to protect home and family.  Today, she took her last breath.

Freya was about eight weeks old when I came to know her.  A friend, Jeff, found her by the side of the road and gave her a home.  Later, he moved onto our land and, of course, Freya came with him.  She went into heat, as female dogs do.  She gave birth to her first and only litter in my bathroom with me by her side.  Seven puppies entered the world starting shortly after midnight.  The smallest would fit in the palm of your hand.  Each of the other six would have fit into their own shoe box.  They were that big.  How she had managed to carry and give birth to such huge puppies, I will never know.  The smallest died within days of being born.  The others were strong, healthy and rambunctious.  Freya was an excellent momma.  When the puppies were old enough, we found them really good homes.  Jeff then told us that if paid for Freya’s surgery we could keep her.  So, we did.

Freya loved to chase deer, but never caught one.  She loved to bark at bears, but refused to enter the treeline to go after one.  We could always count on her meeting us at the car, until recently.  She slept at the foot of the bed or on the floor beside it.  She loved to come up beside my computer seat to get some loving when I was supposed to be working or writing.  She put her head in my lap many a time to get my attention.  She loved bologna and ham and chicken and bread.  She hated thunderstorms and guns.  The entire time I knew her, she only growled at one person, and I did not trust him either.  He just felt wrong.

Freya loved to go on walks with me or Joshua or any other family member who was walking.  Sometimes we would walk up the road.  Other times, we would walk down to our creek where she would wade into the water.  She did not play in the water the way Thor does.  She would walk in to get a drink and walk out shortly after she was done.  Freya definitely did not inherit the Lab’s love of water.  She hated baths so much that she would rejoice at it being over.

She enjoyed being in the garden.  She loved to lie on freshly tilled soil.  She also loved to dig up moles and voles, rabbits and mice.  She never once bothered the chickens even if they got loose.  She always loved her cats.  Over the years, she shared her life with cats, Cheetah, Red, Smoke, Tips, Passion, Cinnamon, Kali, Willow, Puff, Underfoot, Salem, and Callie, along with a few at the neighbors’ houses.  In essence, Freya was an excellent dog.

Joshua was two when Freya came into our lives.  He is now nineteen.  Although we have Thor, life will not be the same without Freya.  She made me smile more times than I could ever hope to count.  My family and I will miss her.  My she be at peace now.  I love you, Freya.

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Busy Day in the Garden

Yesterday, with the help of my family (actually they did the vast majority of the work), we got the cucumbers and more tomatoes transplanted to the garden.  All together there were sixteen Boston pickling, ten straight-8s, and six lemon yellow cucumbers and four tomatoes.

Later today I hope to work in my greenhouse.  I want to wait until the heat of the day dissipates.

Thank you very much to all who worked so hard yesterday.  I love you each.

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Quiet Sunday Morning….Shattered

I awoke this morning shortly after 5 o’clock.  The sky was just beginning to lighten.  With one peek out the window, I realized why it was still so dark.  Fog cloaked the trees.  The sky was grey.  The world was quiet.  Not even the chickens were up yet.  I went to the door to let my older dog, Freya, out.  I had to help her navigate the stairs, but she’s otherwise healthy for a seventeen year old dog.  She wagged her appreciation as she walked to the grass to relieve herself.  Watching her, I smiled and breathed in the morning chill.  The wild birds began to sing their good mornings to the world.  Life is good.

I dressed for the day in my long, red skirt and long-sleeved grey and black shirt.  My long hair hung loose down my back.  The tea kettle and coffee pot waited in the kitchen for me to decide which to use today.  I chose coffee for the first time in more than two months.  It just fit my mood.  Two scoops of coffee and water went into the perk pot.  With a bowl of cereal in hand, I went to my computer and pressed the power button.  It whirled to life.  The dark monitor alternated between lit up and dark as the computer went through its start up routine.  I ate while I waited.

Once my bowl was empty, I got onto the internet.  First, I played a game of backgammon with some unseen, unnamed opponent who spoke Spanish.  It was a good match.  The other player won 3 of 5 games.  Then, I opened up one of my web browsers to check e-mail and the social networking sites.  Relatively quiet online, too.  It was too early on a Sunday for any real online activity.

I closed that browser and opened another that I use for watching online TV shows.  This morning, “Kitchen Nightmares” sounded interesting.  The first was about a restaurant with too many really good, French chefs and no customers.  Come to find out, the Scottish locals hadn’t a clue what was on the menu.  Fortunately, it all worked out in the end.  The restaurant even won several awards.

A noise outside drew my attention.  The young chickens were riled up and making a fuss.  I grabbed my camera and changed to the shorter lens.  On the way out, I told my dog, Thor, to stay inside.  I took a photo of the fog before heading around to check on the chicks.  “Sorry son of a bitch,” I yelled as I took photos of dogs attacking our chicks.  One was inside the coop; the other outside.  Two dead chicks lay in the run.  Photo.  Photo.  The dog got out of the run and started running.  Photo.  They ran toward the woods but did not enter them.  Instead, they turned and ran up the hill before entering the woods near the top of our property.  I took photos of the dead chickens and the damage to the coop before going inside to report to my family.

One of the injured

Second injured bird

Two were still in bed.  I shared the photos.  We discussed them before heading outside.  We harvested the dead and the injured.  All told, we lost 4 out of 9.  Joshua carried them inside.  I heated water to dip them in, making them easier to pluck.  Three hours after the attack, the chickens were in a pot to become tonight’s supper and soup stock for later meals.  The remains were buried.  The damage to the coop took most of the day.

I called a farm over on the next road that raises chickens to warn them.  Come to find out, the dogs went there after leaving here.  They killed 40 pullets that had just gotten old enough to start laying eggs.  They now have guns at the ready.  Then, we called a friend who was given some of our chicks.  She went outside to discover that 4 of 5 were dead.  The 5^th was injured and might not make it.

The decision was made to call the Sheriff’s Department.  The Animal Control Officer returned my call.  He confirmed details of the dogs’ descriptions, direction of travel, and devastation left behind.  Tomorrow, the officer will come here to view the photos.  He will probably talk with our friend and the farm, too.  The dogs were not wearing collars, so it’s doubtful that the owners will be found.  If found, though, the owners would be expected to pay restitution for the lost livestock.

It’s now approaching 4 p. m.  Most of today has been taken up by the events surrounding the attack.  The nice quiet Sunday morning was indeed shattered.  I only hope I’m not the one who has to shoot to kill these dogs.  I don’t want to kill someone’s pet.  If the dogs are feral, that’s a little different.  In my mind, though, a dog is someone’s companion.  It would hurt.

We’ll see what tomorrow brings.

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A morning of photos

As I do on most mornings, I took my camera for a walk at dawn this morning.  I walked out of the house where my family sleeps.  The air was chilly, and there was a slight breeze.  I could not see the sun only its affects on the slowly brightening sky.  The clouds from East to West were various shades of orange ranging from peach to rust.  I started taking photos in the East before I ever left my screened-in porch.  Then I walked beside the woodpile.  I paused now and then to photograph an interesting cloud or a bird.  I walked behind my son’s truck which is appropriately named Rusty.  It’s proper because the truck and the sky are both rusty in color.

The dog runs by on his way to his favorite spot in the yard.  He rolls onto his back, feet in the air.  He wriggles from side to side and makes sounds that leave no doubt that he is in doggy heaven.  I smile and turn to the South.  I raise my camera and take photos over the top of the greenhouse.  I keep walking toward the stairs that lead to the chickens and the garden.  Once past the greenhouse, I stand at the top of the stairs.  This allows unobstructed photos of the southern skyline.  The darkness of the trees is a stark contrast to the brilliant colors of the clouds many of which can be seen through the uppermost branches of the hardwood trees.

I breath deep the morning air closing my eyes briefly to enjoy the sensation.  The chill of air passes through my nose and down into my lungs taking a moment to warm.  I shiver and smile.

I turn and walk back toward the house, but only a few steps.  I turn beside the greenhouse and walk toward the West.  The tire swing is waiting for me to snap today’s photo.  It was going to be a 365 project, but I’ve missed a few days.  Oh well.  It can still be one of my photo projects.

I pause to take photos of the western skyline.  The clouds are richer in color here.  The sky and trees are darker in contrast.  The chickens come out of their coop.  They talk with each other as they look for bugs, worms, or whatever else interests them.  I take their photo as I often do.

I walk out past the new chicks in their smaller home.  The white ones are getting fur-like pinfeathers on their legs, which is normal for that breed.  I take their photo, too.  I pause and look to the tire swing.  It hangs waiting for someone to actually swing in it for once, just as it has since it was first put up.  I’m not sure my boys ever played with it.  It’s still a good memory of their childhood.  I take its photo and pause.  I hear the deer in the woods.  I can’t seen them, but they’re there.  Thor takes off running past me toward them.  I hear them react and run.  Thor won’t get anywhere near them, but that’s not the point.  He must guard his home and the garden from these creatures.  It’s his job, you know.

I turn to the North.  The tall pines behind the house stand guard duty, too.  Their job is to guard us from heavy winds.  Like Thor, they are good at what they do.  I take photos of their tops and the clouds behind.  I look at the photo in the window on my camera.  It’s blurry.  I realize I’m shivering a little.  Time to go inside to the warmth of the house and to breakfast.

I breath deep again and smile.  My life is truly blessed by living in this place.

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Cruising on a Saturday Night, rewrite

Cruising on a Saturday Night

On Saturday nights while in high school  when I had babysitting money to spend, I would borrow my mom’s Ford Grenada to go cruising.  Unlike most kids in my town, I never cruised the circuit that went up Magnolia Avenue over to Sycamore and to the small gas station at the other end of town that had a parking lot you could drive thru.  I also did not go to the drive-in theater where the cheerleaders and athletes hung out.  Instead, I put gas in the tank and drove it back out again.  Most times I went up on the Blue Ridge Parkway.  If I drove north, I stop at Stuarts Draft and back on I-81.  If I turned south, I got off at either Troutville or Roanoke.  Then, I came back by either Route 11 or I-81 depending on which would get me home on time.

This particular Saturday night,…, I decide to drive out to South River Road.  I leave the house and drive through town to the cheapest place to buy gasoline.  I put five dollars into the tank, which adds six gallons.  While pumping, I see several kids I know from school.  I do not talk to any of them.  They do not talk to me.  That is okay.  I want to be alone, although many of the boys will later claim they cruised with me.  Of course, they would also claim that we did much more that cruise.  In all my years in school here, I have dated only two boys from my high school.  The others are just rumors.  I do not always hear the gossip, so I do not know who all has made that claim.  I do not care what they say.  I do not hang out with any of them.  As far as I am concerned, they can believe whatever they want to believe.  I know the truth, and that is all that matters.

I pay for the gas and get in the car.  It is a warm night so I reach over and roll the passenger window down about half way.  I roll my window down just a crack.  I do not want my waist length hair getting into my eyes.  I start the motor and leave the lot.  The tires roll on the pavement causing a slight vibration.  I push the tape in and turn it up.  Music spills out of the speakers and fills the car.  It trickles our the windows as I drive.  I play drums on the steering wheel as I drive up Long Hollow Road after going through the culvert.  I make sure not to speed.  I do not want my evening alone interrupted, and I certainly do not want to explain a ticket to my mom.  I drive past the prefabricated houses that were built in the 1970’s.  They all look basically the same.  The same siding in different colors.  The same roof and shingles.  The same shutters.  The same storm doors.  Some have their narrow ends to the road, but most have wide fronts.  Most have stoops.  A few have actual porches.  One has a chain-link fence.  Between these houses, the older homes stick out like sore thumbs.  In one place, a brick house with a wrap around porch stands beside a two story farmhouse.

I keep driving past the trailer park.  Soon, I pass by Pinky’s Grocery which is smaller than the average house.  Pinky’s is usually busy on a Saturday evening.  As I go by, I notice five cars in the lot.  One is a classic beauty.  Two are trucks.  I drive by the house of the trailer park owners.  The lot beside the house has dump trucks, a backhoe, and a bulldozer.  Beside these sits an empty trailer.  I continue past the auto repair shop.  I slow a little to see what classic cars he might have there.  I never stop.  Classic or not, driving is more important.  I love to drive.

Long Hollow Road, like so many roads in rural Virginia, is not straight, in many places.  I am careful to pay attention.  Traffic.  Blind turns.  Side roads.  Animals.  People checking mail.  If it were later in the night when the roads are empty, I would take the turns doing the speed limit of fifty-five.  Instead, I slow before turns and accelerate after.  The car responds nicely to gas or brake.  The motor purrs.  I sway slightly with each turn.

I slow as I approach the railroad tracks.  The one side runs parallel to the road for a while so I know that it is clear.  The other side is somewhat hidden by bushes and trees.  I slow and look past the foliage.  No train.  I nudge the gas.  Bump. Bump.  Over the tracks.  I press the gas pedal as I drive by Mountain View Elementary.  My turn onto South River is coming up.  A market by the same name occupies the intersection lot.  I think about stopping in for a drink.  The road calls.  I make the turn and hit the gas.  The car responds.  I relax in the seat.

To my left, the swimming hole called ‘The Ledges’ is empty.  It is warm, but not warm enough to swim.  I drive past without slowing.  The car hums.  The road’s turns allow me to cruise at a nice fifty miles an hour.  It’s getting dark.  I turn on the headlights.  The darkness retreats.  I smile.  The headlights of oncoming cars warn me of their approach.  I slow for a truck that appears in front of me from a side road.  I consider going around.  His turn signal comes on, he slows, and turns into a driveway.

I nudge the gas pedal.  The car reacts.  I drive past Twin Falls which cascades in one large flow because of recent rains.  I continue on.  Soon, I slow to make the turn onto Irish Creek.  There is no traffic so I press my foot down to bring the car up to speed.  I drive past what in later years will become a favorite fishing hole.  I watch for deer and see none.  It is not mating season, yet.  I feel the curves move me.  I feel the vibration of the motor and tires meeting road.  The music dances through the air.  I smile and sing along.  The road becomes gravel.  I slow to avoid spinning out in some of the turns.

I think about the road.  I think about the car.  I think about speed and the turns.  I turn down the music and listen to the motor.  I feel the road through steering wheel and seat and floor.  I nudge the pedal and feel the result.  I smile.  There is the road, the car, and me.  Nothing else exists because nothing else matters.  I feel free as the wind blows my hair.  It tickles my arms.  I breathe in the air of farms, and river, and trees, and dirt road.  I move the steering wheel to avoid potholes.  I slow down and move to the edge of washboards.  I make sure to stay on Irish Creek.  There are many side roads that lead to dead ends and being late.  And grounded.

Far too soon, GrantCemetery looms in front of me.  I stop for the sign at the threshold of the Blue Ridge Parkway.  I check my watch.  I turn south toward Route 60 and home.  I drive the Parkway at the posted speed even though I have it much faster before this.  I have time.  I enjoy the intermittent view of the city lights in the valley below.  Buena Vista close; Lexington further away.  I am grateful I am not there.  I drive in excellent solitude.  I reach the turn and slow down.  I brake to a stop before turning onto Route 60.

I head down the mountain, meeting more traffic along the way.  I carefully watch my speed.  The police love to give tickets here.  It is easy to miss the speed change.  I come down into town with five minutes to spare.  I stop at the light near Hardees, which is fairly new in town.  I turn onto Sycamore and drive to the other end of town.  I continue on past the turn around lot that other cruisers use.  I head home.  I pull onto the side street, going slow.  I turn into our driveway.  I park the car and shut off the motor.  I pull the key out of the ignition.  The tension returns.  I sigh.  I open the car door and step out.  I close the door and walk toward the house.  I stop by the car.  “Thank you,” I say as I pat the hood.

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*Which version do you like better?  This one?  or the other one?  Why?*

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