Best Things In Life
At six o’clock, we gas up the four-wheeler and the five of us pile on…yes, insanely illegal…but for pasture trailing, safe enough! We bump up the ruts of the steep hill behind our house to the swinging gate that is just wide enough for our ATV to squeeze through, rock-stacked fence stretching up the hill to our west and down the hill to our east. Prairie grasses–thick and green with sprinklings of purple, pink, and blue wildflowers clumping up here and there…
We tear across the flat bank of the fishing pond and see the horses grazing, their silhouettes stunning in the golden sunlight. Four-wheeling into their midst, our gray roan gelding, Legend, friendliest of the herd, noses us all and nips at the white plastic bag I’ve strapped to the ATV’s rack–its contents a secret from our 3 girls. He won’t leave us alone as we try to coax the baby colts near enough for our toddler to touch. Tangled manes, cockleburs, lazing and grazing from April to September before homecoming to the block of pens stretching down from our horse barn.
After satisfying ourselves that none of this year’s foals have hurt themselves running through fence, and that the horses aren’t out of salt and mineral, we head to Walker Branch. One of my most favorite places to play and our girls have no idea. The white plastic bag that so enamored Legend contains water mocs, a towel and a change of clothes for our toddler.
Walker Branch. A wonderful bubbling creek that meanders around and through a gravel bed. The stones underfoot are water smoothed and slightly mossy in places. To one side is a sheer vegetation-covered cliff-overhang, to the other, gravel and a bluff of tall prairie.
We arrive, and the sun is a foot above the horizon…perfect for casting our shadows over the glossy brook and its sand-brown rocks. Of course, we immediately start looking for crawdads and minnows and are not disappointed. The biggest minnows we’ve ever seen are bumping into our sandal encased feet, soft slimy things…my six year old daughter pulls back screeching while the rest of us are in awe, trying to catch one of the slippery things on its way past! No luck.
We follow the water till the creek widens, deepening. Tadpoles dart out of our way. A fourth of a mile later, we turn around and end our water-fun with a lesson on skipping rocks. Yes, there is definitely a technique and passing it on from generation to generation is a necessary thing.
There is something so sacred and pure about being in a pasture before sundown. Acres of green, hills of it stretching forever…and the sounds of nighttime ratcheting louder… We dry the girls’ legs off and switch their water shoes for boots and tennies.
At exactly this moment of packing up our fun, a chorus of frogs start chirruping at the creek. Loudly. My husband says, “I bet it’s 8 o’clock”…I just look at him. He grins. “What do you want to bet?” He pulls out his pocket watch and smirks. Turns it to me.
8:01 pm.
This is the life.
