A Walk on the Ridge

Almost every day, I walk the ridge road that runs out behind my farm. Two and a half miles there, and two and a half miles back, for a total round trip of five miles. Sometimes I run parts of it.

From my farm, the road starts out following along my upper pastures. The first half mile or so leads to a family cemetery, the Payne Cemetery. The Paynes were a major family player here in the old days, and the Paynes remain. The name Payne is on mailboxes up and down the road leading to my farm, and my neighbor Jim who helps me out when I have a plumbing or a cow crisis, and whose daughters mow my yard, is part of the Payne family. His girls mow the cemetery, too. If my family had stayed in this county, my family name would be up and down the road in Stringtown, maybe. But they didn’t, except for my cousin. And then me. And now Ross and Selena plan to settle here when he gets out of the Navy. I did, after all, bring my family back to Roane County. (Too soon to say what Weston and Morgan will do.) Anyway, the half mile leading up to the cemetery is a long, long uphill, starting my walk with a good workout.

By the time I reach the top of the ridge, I’ve made it past my upper pastures and to one side is land that is part of a large cattle farm that stretches all the way over to the next road on the other side of the hill, and the other side is the ravine dropping off from the ridge road. The road will hug the ravine most of the rest of the way. There are no homes, farms, or even cabins for two and a half miles.

There’s no traffic here. It’s like a walk through a nature preserve. I see bunnies, turtles, white-tailed deer, wild turkeys, and birds, so many birds. The woods are filled with their song.

The path is narrow, canopied by trees that make a good shelter when an unexpected rain falls.

Rain is a virtuous excuse to turn around early, by the way. I’ve been caught out in the rain a time or two lately. There’s nothing to do then but keep putting one foot in front of the other and pretend you don’t mind getting soaked. There’s only one way to get home. Keep walking. Dogs come with me, friends and protectors along the way. There are obstacles–muddy ruts in the road that these days lately are filled with rain. Dogs don’t mind splashing right in.

I find ways around. Mostly. The ruts are made by the only traffic you ever find out here–gas company trucks. There are gas wells out here. Lately, by the way, I seem to have more and more company on my ridge walks. If Chloe is out, she comes with Casper and Gwennie. And now–

Seriously. I think I just need a couple chickens, and maybe a donkey, to complete my animal train, don’t you? Maybe a sheep and a horse and that ornery goose. And Glory Bee. CAN YOU IMAGINE?! Yeah, that little goat, she makes me imagine. Some have suggested she is of Clover. Believe me, I have thought of it. For the first time in a long time, I am inspired by a goat, and loving it. And her. It has been hard to get over Clover. But Maia, she is doing it.

Just before I reach civilization at the far end of the road, I turn around and head back. I’m sweaty, and my legs feel strong. Here in the middle of this lush nowhere, I might be in a quiet piece of Central Park. Or the deepest Amazon jungle. A Pacific island, or Snow White’s darkly magical forest.

But I just keep putting one foot in front of the other. A little faster if I hear the rustle of raindrops in the leaves overhead. Because the only place I really want to be is….

…c’mon, Maia….

….home.