This afternoon, as i loaded mulch onto the bed of our pickup, the three mammoth donkeys, who steer clear of running pickup engines, gradually grazed their way closer and closer. I'd said hi on my way in, and then kept up a steady monologue.
"Thanks for cleaning up this pile. I really don't like transplanting wiregrass with my mulch, so you've done me a big favor. Sorry about the bottles and cans. The Asplundh guys toss them in with the chipped branches. I'll get them out of your way soon. Don't come too close, you don't want to get stabbed by a pitchfork...."
All of a sudden Jaz blew her horn so loud i almost fell off the mulch pile. So much for the monologue. "Let me finish this job, then I'll groom you before I head back." She seemed happy with that answer. I kept my promise.
Meanwhile, Thorpe had called, suggesting a run while the rest of his family visited Karen, the donkeys, and Fiona, their Nubian we've been kid-sitting since they went to Italy. My timing was perfect, so they and my load of mulch shared our driveway, saving a couple stops to open and close the gate. "Let's run to our house," he greeted me, "I figure it's about 14 miles."
I'm pleased to say this blog posting will end soon with no fantastic story about what happened as we crossed the mountain. The sky did not blacken until we walked up his driveway. Neither of us sprained an ankle when our trail crossed a creek countless times. No hunter mistook us for bears. Losing the trail was not an option because yellow triangles and a well-trod path told us where to go. Rhododendron groves invited us back for blooming in a few months, and time flew with continuous conversation.
The Bowman Women; A Work In Progress
1 week ago