{The Hike}

On wednesday I went for a hike. For an hour. By myself. In the sunshine.
It was glorious.  I have been a solo hiker in the past, when my independence, or loneliness had driven me to it.  However, lately I have avoided going alone.  Which is sad because I sorta love to hike and a lot of other people don’t.  So, I don’t find people to go. Then I don’t go.  On wednesday, I decided to do it.  I figured I could call some friends and family as I hiked, which I did.  I caught up with my mom and my cousin.  I took pics on my phone as well since, silly me, I left my camera at home.
I took a road I’d never driven to a trail I’d never hiked.  I felt like an adventurer. I felt like I lived on a farm and I was walking across my land.  In a gingham dress. With a bonnet. While my man roamed the land on his horse . . .
Perhaps my imagination went a little far.  That’s what it does. My imagination. It goes far.  I spent a major portion of my hike imagining. Mostly about things like farms, and ranches, and gingham dresses, and horses, and old houses with big front porches, and washboards, and living on a plot of land with all my family, and working the land we live on so that my man could come home for lunch every day.
I read about the history of the ranch before I hiked.  ‘Cause I’m a nerd like that. It may have inspired some of my imaginings. I’ll probably dream tonight about riding in wagons, and picking wildflowers, and shopping at a mercantile with a basket over my arm. At least I hope I do.  That would be a rockin’ dream.
Did you know it is my dream to teach in a one room school house?  Do they still exist? Anywhere? Please.  I would get to ring a bell, and go on nature walks, and use a chalkboard and an outhouse, which on second thought might not be so awesome.
I’m a sucker for wildflowers.  In my oober introspective, vaugely hippie high school and early college phase, I would collect them everywhere and press them between the pages of my journals where I sporadically wrote diary entires, poems, and descriptions of the places where I’d found the blooming beauties.
A brook.  An actual brook. Gurgling no less. Be. Still. My. Heart.  This is where my horse would stop for a drink or where I’d sprain an ankle and my husband would ride gallantly up on his horse to save me, and my gingham dress, from peril. Sigh.
So. Green.
Is this a cottonwood tree?  About 1, 572 country songs just popped into my head.  My head is now full of twang. And steel guitars.
I love bridges. Especially over water.  Especially over troubled water.
I jumped over a small brook later in my hike.  I loved that even more.  If only I’d had a tree to walk across it on, or perhaps a gingham dress to lift up or to get mud on the hem of.
We shall build our homestead here, upon this verdant pasture where we can oversee our livestock and our land anf the fuits of our hands and watch our children grow and . . . sorry. I got carried away. Again.  It happens.
I attempted to take a picture of the old jalopy.  It didn’t really work.  But, you’re probably grateful becuase I had another 37 stories that involved the jalopy, and more gingham.

{Where have you hiked recently?}
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2 thoughts on “{The Hike}

  1. Did you see any wild pigs on this hike? The day after the kids and I visited this trail, headlines read, “Wild Pigs Attack Visitors at Johnson Ranch”. Fun times. Not sure how they'd fit into your storyline, either. Unless your man comes to your rescue when you're trapped by wild pigs? Hm. I'll work on that a little. 🙂

  2. Ha ha! Jenny, I love this! It totally reminds me of growing up on our ranch up here in Paso – which you should totally come visit by the way 🙂
    The three of us girls lived on imagination…

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