"Swamps where cedars grow and turtles wait on logs but not for anything in particular; fields bordered by crooked fences broken by years of standing still; orchards so old they have forgotten where the farmhouse is." ~ E.B. White Stuart Little
On walks on the country roads around Fat Hummingbird Farm I have seen or experienced all of the above. The marshes that border our country road further up, trickle and chortle with the sound of unseen springs that come down from the mountain and red wing blackbirds sing on the tufted and exploded bulbs of bull rushes. The wood turtle finds quiet escape here in the waterfall landscape feature of a neighbour's property. There are, indeed, crooked fences broken and slumped in fields and meadows, their original purpose long forgotten. There is a common feature of fence corners standing alone, far out in fields, supporting nothing within their triangular presence. There are so many, many old and sometimes ancient orchards; so old I can really believe they have forgotten where the farmhouse is. Along our road, we come across apple trees tumbled together in brakes and thickets that must once have meant the presence of a farmhouse and an orchardist - nothing left of either but a stone foundation for one and a gravestone for the other.
It is a wonder beyond exploration when we walk our country roads - in this place where we have found our footing and lost our hearts. A country road is a fulfillment in solitude, a silence, a place where memories come and you must catch them before they evaporate; where hopes are mulled on. Walking on a country road is somewhat like walking in a dream. You don't quite know who you are. As you walk along, the cows in the pasture watch you silently - their jaws working on that inevitable cud. Further along the horses in that field lift their tails and trot to the other end of the field, their eyes rolling suspiciously. In the next field the sheep pointedly ignore you. At the next farmhouse the chickens in the front yard scratch and squawk, the dog barks with a wagging tail, and the small child on the swing waves at you and calls "Watch me!" as she pumps her legs to get higher. You are a strange, anonymous human, one among all.
Up the road, we pass the dairy. Listening to the milking machines and the slow munch of the cows in their stanchions is tranquilizing. There is an odd, though comforting, mammal-ic sisterhood I feel with all those lactating animal spirits in one place. They snuffle with damp noses. There is a diaphanous sort of steam that hangs above the herd - made up of warm bodies, damp manure, and the heavy wetness of milk.
There are vineyards along our country road. A vineyard is the epitome of hope. All those dreams and aspirations vested in a vining plant and its small bulbous fruit. The vineyards crawl up the side of the mountain in regimented rows, facing south for the heat of the sun and the kinder winds. They grow on belief. An early frost like we had just this week can spell disaster - or ice wine.
You don't walk on country roads for exercise. Well, I suppose you could but that is not really the purpose of a country road; not if you are seeking its essence, its quality. Besides, moving aside for the bulk of various farm machinery, the occasional car with its waving passengers, or the school bus means that walking a country road is a jerky-jerky business.
And walking a country road at night is yet another wonder. You must use a flashlight or a lantern. There are no streetlights at all along our road. If the moon is full then perhaps you can walk without a light. Starlight alone, though there are a literally dizzying number of them, is not sufficient for illumination. What keeps you safely on the road is the peeping of frogs, accentuated here and there with the deep throaty croak of a bullfrog. They are in the ditches either side of the road. Keep yourself in the middle of choruses and you walk true.
You know, there is a saying that when we are in love, we walk. I don't think it matters if you are in love with the road in the country or with each other - it's the being in love that matters. Country roads just provide the romance.
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