Backroads of Morrow County: Backroads Trek July 30, 2012

Backroads Trek

     Yesterday, it was a Sunday, and we didn't have to worry about coordinating our activities with the Hospice folks, so I took Mom on a trek into the backroads of Morrow County--we even slipped into Knox County for a little while.  It was a bit of a struggle getting her into the car but well worth the effort.  As we travel, she comments about everything:  the crops in the fields, the animals, each little country burgh we pass through, the weather, the sky--everything.  A running commentary for our hour or so of meandering.  She loves to cherish each moment of the present tense.  And, of course, each present tense moment brings something from her memories into play.  Sometimes I can see the connection; sometimes not.  But they're good memories.  She loves to relive moments from her past.  After all, a vast portion of her life resides there.  One of our family heirlooms is the time (many of them) when one of the kids would ask Pop something, and he would say, "I don't know.  Go ask your mother.  If she doesn't know, she'll make something up."  She observes, comments, rests confidently in her conclusions.  I nod, occasionally throw in an "uh huh," and smile a lot.  Wouldn't have it any other way.  Drive on.
     We encountered an Amish horse and wagon at the very outset of our journey.  I've never seen one this far away from their communities.  He was a long, long way from home.  And no gas stations between here and there.
     I'm not a farmer but despite having so little rainfall the crops look marvelous to me.  The corn is ten, twelve feet high, tasseled.  The soy beans look lush; one big five, ten acre bush.  The fields resonate green.  Farm animals are out and about.  Cows, roving chickens (they're all free range out here), horses--what a regal animal, sheep with their guard llama.  The sheep, at times, don't appear to be too bright.  I've seen them on days when it was a zillion degrees with humidity to match all huddled together next to the barn.  How can that not be suffocating?  (I better understand God referring to us as sheep--not too bright at times.  I speak only for myself.)  The llama has it all together.  He likes to stand right in the middle of the creek under the shade of some small trees.  He may be their protector and champion, but I get the idea that they're not exactly good friends.  Unless he's trying to pull the wool over my eyes again.  Today, it was cooler and the sheep were scattered,  I couldn't even see security.
     We saw the biggest flock of barn swallows I have ever seen.  Had to be at least fifty perched on the telephone wires, on the road, flying over the fields.  Amazing.  I wanted to race home, get my riding mower, and come back, and mow the field.  Can you imagine being surrounded by four or more dozen of gorgeous, acrobatic, velvet blue, dive bombers?   Just thinking about the glory of it makes me laugh out-loud for joy, makes my heart race at the wonder of it.  Undoubtedly it would be better than any out of body experience.  I have never seen so many!  It's either been a good year for barn swallows or they're flocking together for a trip South sooner than I would have expected.  We had summer in winter; maybe a blizzard is coming in mid-August?  They wouldn't say.  Maybe one of my ornithologist friends can educate me.  Saw another flock about half that size no more than a mile further down the road.
     Anyway, it was a good trip.  No destination required.  Just meander aimlessly.  Mom enjoying each moment, "educating" like good moms always too, soaking in the beauty of the day.  She shared one of her favorite anecdotes of a woman walking down the street and calling out to her, "Heaven is my Home, but I'm not Homesick yet."  To be perfectly honest, I rather think she actually is at least a little Homesick.  Lots of old friends to see again, Pop is waiting, myriads of people she introduced to Jesus, the One she's been carrying on a conversation with for decades but has yet to meet face to face.
    All roads lead Home.  Travel on.