Restoring My Walking Path

Years ago my walking circular path, bisected by a wide path through the once Second Meadow, now full of pine trees, well, it was well maintained by me, mowed monthly, and branches that hit me in the head were lopped off.  Three times around equal one mile, I knew this as I'd once driven my old Toyota Corolla around it before it reverted back to a forest.

Years of trying to maintain law and order here at home cost me the time to either walk happily, or to maintain my lovely, shaded, private walking area, one I greatly preferred to hike, as no cars passed by and all of my dogs could gallivant along with me.

Yesterday I walked with two men from church up there, to show them the other path to the Big Creek, as they were scoping out an area in which to deer hunt.  Today is Opening Day for deer season.

This aspiring vegan has no problem with meat eaters, if anything I admire more those that'd either grow or hunt their own meat, there might be something less manly about buying it in the supermarket, sealed in plastic, all vestiges to its former life sanitarily removed.  That ain't real meat.

I chose to step off my vegan platform the other night and eat a slice of cheese pizza slathered with my Fire Hot Pepper Sauce, a mistake I quickly realized, as the slice felt heavy and greasy in my belly.  One slice, giving me an interesting perspective again, thoughts to ponder, maybe I am cut out for veganism after all.  It feels cleaner so to speak.

But as I walked with the two men, my eyes were quickly insulted by the realization that some of my angry destructive kids have literally vandalized the woods with litter, plus evidence of a long ago fire.  I was pissed.  One of the men is a fireman in the next county.

I know who did it, and I don't have to worry anymore about their murderous rages and crazy outbursts, as they've taken their issues with them to town, the police now dealing with their manic refusal to obey the laws.

I begged my sons to come help me in what might've been our last 90 degree day, right after school.  We took the push mower, a pruning saw and hand clippers with us, and did battle for two hours until I was super happy once again with my own private walking path where I can walk in PJs, or carry coffee with me.  We hauled off trash and discarded possessions up there and I felt whole once again, a complete zen feeling of a job well done.  Of taking my life back one step at a time.

The men that are hunting deer are also helping me to keep growing my fall greens, these dang deer nibble everything down to the ground.

I'd gotten up early, gone down to unlock my gate at six this morning, as we're setting out soon for soccer practices and a couple of yard sales, me with plans to work on the second pathway that heads downhill to the Big Creek.

At one time, many years ago, we'd even lined that path with fallen logs, pretending it was The Appalachian Trail, which had greatly influenced me as a child.  Our parents had taken us camping in the Smokey Mountains, in the Appalachian Mountains, and in many other lovely state or national parks, cementing my deep love for nature.

"Bring it on," I'd told Allen last night after dark as he was flexing his muscles and acting like King Of The World, thinking he could leap across the kitchen counter from the living room in a single bound.

He nearly made it but slammed his knee cap into the counter causing Martin to nearly fall down laughing.  "Ha Ha!" he guffawed at Allen, "You're posturing up against Mom and she took you down without even touching you."

All the rest of us were laughing too, such an improvement on our now-passed away dangerous days.

Now we can laugh without being negatively emotionally blackmailed into violent episodes if we didn't respond as some wanted us to do.  The problem was we never knew which way the proverbial wind was supposed to blow, it was arbitrary, untriggered, and resulted in irrational acts of violence that tore at our very souls, compounded by more than one person acting that way at any given moment, leaving us now so PTSD, so literally traumatized, that the noise of Allen crashing into the counter drew others into the room quickly to check, to assess if anyone needed help or protection.

Such a relief to only be met with laughter.