One of Those Moments
It was one of those moments. I was walking down the dirt road from my house to the patch of pecan trees, bucket and nut collector in my hands. Bubba, the muttdog, sprinted through the field rejoicing in his temporary freedom from the boredom of the back yard. The road, turned sandy again after a return to dry weather after the deluges of the previous two months, shifted under my feet. The weather was finally nice with just enough nip in the air that you could feel your skin, but jeans and a T-shirt weren't too skimpy attire. The sun was less than an hour from setting and Iron and Wine's "Carousel" undulated inside my heads, pumped there from the mp3 player in my pocket.
The pecans were worthless. For some reason all of the shells held nothing but dust, probably a side effect of the painfully hot and dry summer, but the soundtrack was nice and the scenery was pleasant. Earlier in the afternoon, I'd watched a large flock of turkeys, between 15 and 20 birds, picking their way through the harvested peanut field behind my house, probably searching for leftovers from the combine feast the previous week. It was one of those moments in time where there's that perfect peace inside, that joyful melancholy, where laid-back music resonates in your soul, and watching an overgrown puppy pounce on imaginary mice in the weeds seems meaningful. I filled my bucket with those dust-filled shells and headed back through the dust of the road to the house and see K wheeling E out in the stroller to meet me before we head back into the house to warm up and eat.
It's at times like this that I remember why I wanted to move back to these swamps in the first place. This afternoon wouldn't have happened back in Adairsville or Rome. Asphalt and huddled houses would never allow for that peaceful stroll. Bubba wouldn't be running free because of fears of bugging neighbors and traffic. E wouldn't have been here. We couldn't have afforded daycare we trusted there the way we could here, and even though I occasionally regret having taken the path of parenthood, it's hard to feel those regrets at times like this.
I'm not saying I'm going to stay here forever; I've had wanderlust since I was a teenager and can't see myself staying in one place for the next 60 years. I already daydream about my next move despite K's distinct distaste for moving. But for one crystalline moment today, I was happy with where I was and what I was doing.
It was one of those moments. I was walking down the dirt road from my house to the patch of pecan trees, bucket and nut collector in my hands. Bubba, the muttdog, sprinted through the field rejoicing in his temporary freedom from the boredom of the back yard. The road, turned sandy again after a return to dry weather after the deluges of the previous two months, shifted under my feet. The weather was finally nice with just enough nip in the air that you could feel your skin, but jeans and a T-shirt weren't too skimpy attire. The sun was less than an hour from setting and Iron and Wine's "Carousel" undulated inside my heads, pumped there from the mp3 player in my pocket.
The pecans were worthless. For some reason all of the shells held nothing but dust, probably a side effect of the painfully hot and dry summer, but the soundtrack was nice and the scenery was pleasant. Earlier in the afternoon, I'd watched a large flock of turkeys, between 15 and 20 birds, picking their way through the harvested peanut field behind my house, probably searching for leftovers from the combine feast the previous week. It was one of those moments in time where there's that perfect peace inside, that joyful melancholy, where laid-back music resonates in your soul, and watching an overgrown puppy pounce on imaginary mice in the weeds seems meaningful. I filled my bucket with those dust-filled shells and headed back through the dust of the road to the house and see K wheeling E out in the stroller to meet me before we head back into the house to warm up and eat.
It's at times like this that I remember why I wanted to move back to these swamps in the first place. This afternoon wouldn't have happened back in Adairsville or Rome. Asphalt and huddled houses would never allow for that peaceful stroll. Bubba wouldn't be running free because of fears of bugging neighbors and traffic. E wouldn't have been here. We couldn't have afforded daycare we trusted there the way we could here, and even though I occasionally regret having taken the path of parenthood, it's hard to feel those regrets at times like this.
I'm not saying I'm going to stay here forever; I've had wanderlust since I was a teenager and can't see myself staying in one place for the next 60 years. I already daydream about my next move despite K's distinct distaste for moving. But for one crystalline moment today, I was happy with where I was and what I was doing.
5 comments:
Nice, man.
Awe, this was normal, beautiful and positive. Are you coming down with something?
That is a gorgeous photo. Places like that are hard to find, although there is still a pretty nice swath of countryside around Armuchee. Think of the drive to our usual camping spot.
Awwww. The softer side of Jacob.
Chris, I didn't take the photo. I stole it from a website that obviously stole it from someone else. I can't find it now but it was a bizarre, horribly designed rant about something called radical centrism or radical moderateness or something. Most of it was clip art, but that photo came up during an image.google.com search.
And there are plenty of spots around Rome that are just stunning. Not so much here. There are patches of interesting looking spots, but it's sandy scrubland, not the wooded hills of the north.
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