September Stroll

Afternoon Commute

I came home from work yesterday itching to get outside and enjoy the quintessential September day.  This month is one of my absolute favorites because of weather like this.  I knew it would be the perfect specimen of a day when I left earlier in the morning. As I swung the front door open the air had given me a refreshing wave of chills. I had fought with the heavy dew and the golden morning glow of the sun just to see out my windshield.  Then into the time warp of the school building I went...never to see sunlight again until 3 p.m.  As my wheels swung back into my gravel driveway I had my heart set on a walk.  I figured I'd go check on our ancient pear trees and determine if Saturday would be a pear canning day.  Like a little kid I crept into the house (certain that my husband was taking a needed nap).  I tiptoed to get my grubby jeans, decided to forego a change of top, grabbed my camera, and slipped on my chore clogs.  Then I carefully closed the screen door behind me wishing in vain that it didn't creak so vehemently every time it moved an inch.  Oh well...I was off into the wide world to see what I could see...

Goldenrod...not worth it...

Nearing our new acreage and deciding to take the long way to the pear trees, I started at the end of the lane at the bottom of the hill.  I felt a bit overdressed in my knit cardigan, but figured I was safe from the waist down.  I'd only be on the lane or in the pastures.  How bad could it be?  No sooner had I posed the question when a clump of leaning goldenrod caught my eye.  I hopped the ditch and took a handful of giant steps into forage as tall as my armpits.  Snap.  I got a shot of the goldenrod.  Then I caught a glimpse of myself -- I was literally covered in beggar lice (my husband has since informed me that these are also called Stick-tites).  For those of you who don't live in a place that harbors these little beauties I will at least reassure you that they're not contagious.  In fact, they're not lice at all.  They are, however, as annoying and persistent as lice and beggars put together.  Hence, the name.  Beggar lice are seed pods that latch onto any moving surface (like my jeans and knit cardigan) and will not give up an ounce of ground unless you literally pick off every last one of them individually.  As a rule, no one ever gets just one pod stuck on them.  On this occasion I was actually blessed with hundreds.  Hmmm.  I assessed the invasion, feeling my knit sweater stick to itself and me like unruly cellophane wrap.  My jeans were freckled from zipper to cuff.  "That was stupid," I said aloud.  Unwilling to go backward, I tromped through the last twenty feet of jungle forage picking up who knows how many more straggling pods.  Like a seed-laden tour bus I got back on the gravel lane and headed up the hill. Next stop, pear trees!

Slightly perturbed, but determined not to let it ruin my enjoyment of the stroll, I plodded upward and fumbled at the hems of my clothing in a vain attempt to start shedding my unwanted passengers.  It was calming to be out in the fresh air, in the cool breeze, feeling the warm sun, and squinting my eyes to distinguish a photo-op from the blinding blur.  I made it to the pear tree pasture unscathed.  Only a large swath of briers stood between me and my destination. Eager to redeem myself from my city-girl beggar lice faux pas and feeling fairly Lewis & Clark at that moment I stomped the briers aside with my clog and charged onward.  Redemption is sweet.

The aged pear trees stand haggardly on a north facing slope just down the ridge from where Weldon and I intend to build our cottage dream home.  I love coming to this place.  Not only does it get my wheels churning about house ideas, but the view to the north and east is expansive and serene.  The rolling hillsides (owned by our extended family) are often dotted with cotton-ball sheep or grazing cattle. Stretches of woodlands roll through the landscape like waves. The entire view is topped with a massive sweep of Kentucky sky.  The hint of a few rooftops and a small stretch of the main road remind me that neighbors are nearby, but otherwise I always take in this view and feel enveloped by the natural sanctuary that will be my home for many years to come.

Turning my attention back to the scraggly pair beside me (pun intended), I eyeballed the hanging fruit some feet above my head.  Once again feeling like a child I stretched as far as I could to get a fingertip or two on the lowest hanging prize.  I've always been short, so this part of the action is very familiar. Thankfully, I didn't have to start jumping at it, so my dignity remained in tact. With the blue blazing September sky above me and a brisk breeze sweeping my sticky cardigan, I chomped into that pear with the satisfaction of a kid in a candy store.  It was crunchy and sweet...ripe enough to be enjoyed, but not quite ready to harvest the lot for the season.  "Maybe next Saturday", I thought.

I took the path of least resistance back to the gated lane, all the while nibbling on my pear and thinking about what would fill my Saturday now that canning wasn't necessary.  My in-laws' cattle greeted me from the far end of the pasture. They, too, were out for a September stroll.  Every one of their faces said, "Bless your heart. Poor city girl, you're one big walking beggar lice!"  I shrugged and grinned.

Locals

I suppose that despite how very comfortable I am in my country life, having a "city girl moment" every now and again just reminds me how far I've come and how contented I really am.

Ugh...I suppose today will have something to do with removing 879 beggar lice from my cardigan and jeans.  At least I can face this horribly mundane task sitting outside on another perfect September day.