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Saturday, October 6, 2012

A ride in the country

   Sprinkles of rain greened the fields, showing signs of spring in September. Along with the sprouting hay seen from the road, were cows, new herds to graze the land. Just as the green popped so too was cattle of every color. Further along the road where the fields faded into brush and trees the road forks over a stone bridge that traverses a still dry creekbed. Here the road has been gravelled. With each passing vehicle the white dust brushes up and kisses the trees. Almost the snow scene of winter except for the leaves on decideous trees, and the patches of goldenrod glistening in the sun. It feels as though it is the beginning of spring, rather than the entry into autumn.

The dry summer slowly fades from memory until the sight of a dry pond that is being excavated to a larger size in the hopes  of hitting an underground spring or a large enough size  that will sustain a small herd through tougher times and not go dry.

There is little to no industry here, mostly small scale farming and a few of the chicken barn operations, Tyson signs warn of the scent of excrement, large metal buildings usually four but as many as twelve in one confined area, where the lights can be seen on through the night and the stench waifs the air for miles.

Further into the road is less rural, somewhat primative, dust covered mailboxes mark the site where cars turn off to a pathway to a homesite, buried deep within the woods. Even here though are the familiar signs of civilization, beer cans and the paper debris from a meal provided by the golden arches.

There is a stone and wood log home with blue barrel halves filled with earth and plants blooming, herbs spices vegetables and flowers, an oasis of activity all neatly tended.  A place someone calls home hidden with the trees kissed by nature and hugged by homeowners who are happy to be here.

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