I can’t pretend anymore that Lassie and I take 2 to 4 walks a day because of her Australian Shepherd background. Most of my friends and family are on to me.
“Does she play with toys, can you teach her tricks, would a cable runner help?” They ask.
The answer is always the same. No.
We follow old deer, bear and cow paths, behind our house and our neighbors.
She would be fine with half the amount of time we take traipsing, I’m the one who needs it more. I find it very productive. I get to try out all kinds of material. It’s like an open mic night with just me performing. It can be stream of consciousness, educational, or just plain fussing. And as we remember fussing is the art of creative problem solving where there doesn’t seem to be a problem.
It’s the perfect excuse to think about anything I want to think about. For example, just now during a hike on the big loop:
It’s about 50 degrees and drizzling. If it were 15 degrees warmer I could count the orange newts. The other day I saw 6. Last year my record was 27 in one day. This morning they have burrowed back underground until the sun gets stronger.
At least I don’t have to watch out for stepping on them.
My cowboy boots feel sturdy, comfortable, and reliable through the spring water overflow and the slick leaves. This downhill section is a good test. It’s fun to lope in slow motion.
The first owners of the old house, after us, reclaimed this part of an old sugaring road for horseback riding but it ended up being too steep.
I spotted a lone daffodil off to the side and mentioned it to my friend, Jenna, the other day. She suggested a bird had something to do with it.
“You mean it picked a daffodil and dropped it in the woods?” I asked.
“No, maybe it dropped a bulb” she replied.
“From its mouth?” I asked incredulously.
“I thought maybe it pooped it out or something.”
“I think they prefer to eat worms,” I said officiously.
We both laughed. I’m not sure which of us thought the other was more of a dope.
That owner must have planted it decades ago. Has it taken over 30 years for that flower to burst out, or 30 years for me to notice it?
Peter should be home from singing in the choir any minute. I took another mystery casserole out of the freezer for dinner earlier today and made a cucumber salad.
The last frozen meal I pulled out was labeled Vegetarian Lasagne with Pork Sausage. Obviously it wasn’t vegan. Did I mean the pasta was vegetarian? Opposed to what?
Interestingly the reheating instructions were rather intricate, thaw for 24 hours, heat wrapped, continue heating unwrapped, and then let sit forever. It was pretty good, however I have no idea where this recipe came from.
Yet another successful dinner never to be repeated. At least I know I’d be a terrible cookbook author.
After dinner the three of us will take our nightly stroll. We have to be prepared for that fumbling porcupette. It keeps coming around the house and we shoo it off with brooms and the old pool skimmer. The mom came by earlier in the spring to see how we all would react. Everyone was calm and Lassie gave it a wide berth. It ran off after a little coaxing.
She was letting us know that one of her offspring would be fumbling around soon but would eventually get the picture and head for the hills.
The young porcupine is still learning as the mother watches from the treetops, and we all wait patiently.
That was a very productive walk.
It gave me a chance to remember that sometimes no one is right and no one’s wrong, remain observant even when I think I’ve seen it all, I can write what I want, and community requires patience with fumblers.
“Lassie, I think it’s time we stretch our legs.”
Alexandra Langstaff 