A WALK TO THE MAILBOX

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"The heat advisory expires Monday night,” I messaged to a son. “It will be cooler on Tuesday.”

“Yes, it will be a cool 96,” he responded, a note of derision in his message.

It cooled from 93 to 83 at the farm yesterday afternoon as a storm system passed through, failing to leave any moisture in its wake. The cooler temp was a relief, but the overnight temps were the same as they have been for a week. We mustn’t be complacent. I closed the house by 7:30 this morning.

Bess and I have been staycating since Saturday (July 30) when Mike and Sam left for their long-planned excellent Canadian Motorcycling Adventure. Bess immediately understood that she was left with me and began to mope. She will adjust.

Bess likes to direct our walks, and she often balks at walking the road, steering me instead around the pond or into the fields. Ordinarily that’s fine. We just have to get some exercise, and the route doesn’t matter. But this morning I was determined to carry a birthday card to the mailbox.

“Come on,” I said as Bess protested. “We’re going to the mailbox.” To my surprise, she acquiesced. She must have sensed the importance of my mission.

Down the lane we went at a good clip. “I’ll have to slow down at Plank’s Pitch,” I mentally warned myself, “or I’ll never make it.”

You can see Plank's Pitch at the high point in the photo.

Mike has been teaching me to use walking sticks, but I think it’s a toss-up that they’re all that helpful. I like to walk unencumbered, and after all, I was already carrying an envelope for the mailbox, so I left the sticks at the house.

I huffed and puffed slowly but steadily up the pitch, keeping my head down and pretending the road is flat. Hallie says that doesn’t work, but it does seem to help me.

But at the top, it felt good to be out in the open. Okay, so it’s not a trip to JoAnn’s, but it has its strong points. I see that the neighbor is haying, and they were already at work. The grain is ripening but still has a lot of green in it, especially in the low places. A haziness persists all around but the mountains aren’t obscured. (The Lewiston Tribune reports that the haziness is from a fire in British Columbia.) Bess suggested that we go back, but I reminded her that we were on a mission to the mailbox, so she agreed to stay with me. Once at the mailbox, we deposited the card, pulled up the flag, and now the return journey began.

I felt guilty that I didn’t bring water for Bess. In fact, I could have used some, too. Oh well. We’ll soon be home – maybe.

Above the pitch, Bess suggested we cross June’s field instead of staying on the road. I agreed, but I tried a different route from our usual, and that didn’t go so well. I ended up crossing rough ground, and when I looked for Bess, there she was trotting down the road! She saw me see her and evidently had the grace to feel guilty about taking the easy way, so she found her way back into the field.

“All of this just to avoid the steep incline to the house,” I thought to myself, and it didn’t work anyway. Following Bess’ lead, I exited the field just below that incline. I found the energy to march right up it, buoyed by the fact that I would soon be inside and sitting down with a glass of water. Bess was already on the porch lapping from her pail. I gave her a dog biscuit and praised her. “Good dog!”

2 miles; 5000 steps; 50 minutes. A good start to the day! KW