Remembering Rugged Roads

I used to live on a farm for awhile when I was younger, and some of my favorite memories had to do with the dirt roads around the property. Some of the best memories I have were actually scary moments at the time. We had almost 500 acres, so we had plenty of roads around the area so we could get around with the tractor and truck

Part of the farm, where we had our mobile home, was on what I like to call the "upper level." The only way to get from the upper level to the lower level was via a very narrow, steep dirt road. My mom and dad never seemed to have trouble driving the truck down this narrow road, even though I always got nervous every time.

The tractor, on a wider road

The tractor was another matter. My parents had to do all sorts of finagling to get that thing down the road. It always looked as if it would simply tip over the side. There was nothing on the side of the road to stop it from doing just that. There was a hill that went straight up on the right, and a sheer drop-off on the left. But they always managed to get the job done.

Another memory I have involving those old roads is one where my only older cousin tried to get me to outrun my dad's van. This was on the lower level, where there was a long road alongside the creek. It was almost a forested area, with many trees on one side, and a steep hill with more trees on the other.

Me, when I was young,
with the wildflowers

This road was much wider, so the van could drive on the left side, while we had room to run alongside on the right. I was three years younger than my cousin, and much shorter. But he kept pushing me, telling me not to wimp out, telling me I could do it. At some point, however, I just couldn't go another inch without dying (or at least passing out).

One last memory I have involving the farm roads is from a time when my parents returned from a trip out of town. Whenever they came home from somewhere, I would run up to greet them on the road. This time, however, there was more than just my parents there to greet me.

One of the hills I used to hike down

I ran up the little hill beside the mobile home, and up to the main road. I was so happy to see them, and stood in the middle of the road to wave at them while they waved back.  Before I could walk up to get in the car, an enormous tarantula walked across the road between us.

I'm terrified of spiders! I froze, mouth agape, watching this monstrosity walking leisurely with its eight hairy legs as if nothing was wrong. From its perspective, there was nothing wrong at all. All it saw was some dirt, with maybe a place to eat on the other side of that dirt. All I saw was pure horror. My dad had to get out of the car to convince me to move my legs so I could get out of the middle of the road and ride back home.