Living on a dirt road –

The fall may be its most beautiful.  The leaves act like a colorful new jacket as they cover the patch of earth between two very old stone walls. Occasionally if the truck is going fast enough, there will be 2 tire tracks that invite you up the hill to the fields of golden rod, where the bees are having their last snack.

The winter may be its most beautiful.  A fresh coat of snow on frozen ground just invites you to enter. Towering trees, a white blanket between, it says, “something great is here”, please follow me.  If the dirt road is lightly traveled, and you raise the plow an inch or 2 … and the snowbanks are just the right height, the sledding is perfect when you are 12.

The spring may be its most beautiful.  There is always a brook to catch the water, skunk cabbage and the fiddleheads show up like clock work.   The ruts grow deeper and the dirt road is more of an adventure than a means of travel.  Dirt roads in spring say “I can and I will” .. until black fly season.

The summer may be its most beautiful.  The water has dried up, the road has gone dusty, your step is slower, the leaves shade you as you walk.  A breeze funnels down the road, keeping the mosquitoes at bay.

As you follow the dirt road you are reminded that people once lived here.  Not just the last 300 years, likely the last 3000 years.  Our roads follow the old trails that were handed down, generation by generation.  We are only stewards.

It speaks its own story, always.

(inspired by Chip, “Howard, That’s life on a dirt road”)