The long walk

 
   Growing up in the country, the long back roads are the defining thread that weave many lives together, and just like those lives, no two are ever quite identical. They are the fingerprints of the land and its boundaries, that tell unique stories which run through and amongst us living here, vital as our own veins and arteries, in which we navigate the curves, dips and contours, the hidden mysterious passages where many a 'no trespassing" sign hangs rusty and sad, and where not much more than the shadows are all that appear to change like a sun dial, bending and stretching  with the passing of the long days sun.

  As were most of the roads around here, they were made up of a chalky white caliche - a gravel and powdery mix of crushed limestone that left its dusty signature covered on every element, crack and crevice in sight.

  Looking down, I could see this pearly chalk had heavily dusted my boots and cuff almost to my knees.
I was on our own private road that wound like a snake through the many acres of our property, so familiar to me in its lonely, soothing and mundane way, with its defining constance of sweet sounds and memorable landmarks, where I knew every different and distinct water filled pot hole and muddy tire track rut and even the unique shape and order of each and every single cedar fence post that skirted the roads edge.

  I could have walked this road blindly by now, where even the usual neighboring dogs would bark on cue sensing my approach. Cottontail rabbits scattered always on the same turns, and quail and dove would flutter and scare from fat bushes where they did countless times before. There was a permanence that warmed and soothed to the heart and home within.

  I was on the last stretch of our road that hugged up against, and parallel to the ominous railroad tracks that ran on for miles in a straight line in both directions for as far as the eye could see.

  Walking alone, I always played this same silly game where I would pick up a single rock and throw it as far as I could onto the stretch in front of me, and while it was still hurling high through the air, I would take off running as fast as I could  to try and catch up with it before it landed and got lost amongst infinite others that looked exactly the same, even though they were each as different, and individual as snowflakes were.

As soon as I would find mine, I would instantly pick it up and throw it again, making the walk seem to pass much faster, especially the further I threw it. Time would be of no essence between throwing and finding my rock, and quite often I would actually loose time when I would have to stop for minutes searching thoroughly to try and find it, and of course never leaving until i did.

With each throw, there was an anxious presence of fear growing in me as it flew from my hand, wondering if it might get lost this time, but looking back over those countless walks, however it be, through determination, luck, or fear,  never once can I remember losing one of my rocks.

I would eventually make it to the main paved road, where I would continue on my way leaving my rock where it had last landed on that final throw, still feeling its sharp edged imprint on my fingers from the countless repetitious  throws I flung from beginning to end of our winding property.  But then as always, without fail and within a few steps more, I would get this same sinking sad feeling as if the rock was sitting there watching me walk off.
 No matter how stupid  it seemed, shame would engulf me as if I was leaving a friend behind for no reason, and in a place it didn't want to be.

Feeling completely ridiculous and aware of how foolish this looked to God and the small sparrows on the telephone lines, I would again try to keep walking on, but as always after a few steps more, I would knowingly turn around and run back to begin frantically searching  until I found my exact rock amongst the bright caliche, which I never failed to do, and where I would then, without question, immediately pick it up and put it in my pocket, maybe feeling a little self conscious and silly, but too relieved and happy to care.
Then with a shy awkward glance all around, and a nod to the birds and the empty sky above me, I would continue on my way with a smile.

I often wonder what ever happened to all those rocks my mom must have found in my pant pockets?...