Block Heads

Back when I lived amidst the sea of concrete and asphalt, I was the proud owner of four young children, a station wagon, and a shed full of suburban survival tools.  Being a first-time-homeowner of what was affectionately known as a "town home" ( in the sense that it was IN TOWN), I quickly learned that multiple means of escaping the four walls was a necessity. Actually, it was more like escaping the two walls. I don't count the walls shared with my neighbors so it was more like living in a breezeway. (If you opened the front windows and the back door on a day when the wind was blowing then you got a breeze.) My favorite means of escaping the heat radiating off the living room floor was the little red wagon.

The red wagon is a status symbol or at least it was twenty years ago. Today, it's the jogging stroller with it's own dashboard and a thin woman in spandex running behind it. The red wagon was more than a toy. It was a way for my young boys to haul all manner of junk from the back alley into the yard. It was the wheelbarrow my husband never bought. It was...it was...better than duct tape. Seriously.

On a normal use day the red wagon was what I piled my kids in for the proverbial "walk around the block".  A walk around the block in town meant roughly 1/4-1/2 mile of sidewalk, an eensy little upgrade, and a knowledge of where the uneven pavement existed. Sometimes I'd even go twice. Then, I felt very much like I'd exercised and could spend the rest of the day patting myself on the back for one, spending quality time with the kids; and two, getting a workout as well.

A "walk around the block" is very different here in our new home in the pasture. No one wears spandex on the dirt road because it simply makes you look like a vending machine snack for the coyotes. Not to mention, it only takes one person seeing you in that and you're branded for life as that "flatlander from Jersey". I'm not from Jersey, but here if you seem a little odd you're from New Jersey, even if you lived fifty years in Vermont. Sorry, Jersey folks. 

Outfitting yourself for a walk around the block here means you pick the brightest shirt you own, preferably blaze orange. That way nobody runs you over, and nobody shoots at you during deer season. You throw away your hundred dollar walking sneakers for a pair of sturdy, all-terrain, hiking boots (and that's just for walking on the road, people).  Plus, you take a dog, a canister of pepper spray, maybe a big stick, and your cell phone. Nobody here likes to be eaten while exercising, it ruins your whole day.

So, that is where I'm headed from the pasture this foggy morning, in my neon pink shirt, pepper spray in hand. I will walk the 1/4 mile down the road to meet up with my "next door neighbor", observing the damage the deer have done to the corn crop along the way.  Then, maybe I'll pick a flower or two, comment to myself on the amount of ragweed out there this year, and peek cautiously around the bend looking for bears. If I return unscathed, I'll be back tomorrow with another little glimpse into life in the pasture. See you then.