I grew up in a busy, Omaha suburb. But now I live miles and miles away from grocery stores, traffic, the mall, and, well, just about everything. I’ve grown to love the quiet. Now, when we drive into Boston, I inhale and look around like a wide-eyed holstein. Man, things change quickly.
When I can’t (or don’t) run, I take walks with whoever I can wrangle outside with me. The air is getting cold and every morning there is frost on the ground. It snowed the other day but has almost melted.
The forsythia are taking the frost like champs. Hearty things. Lack of snow and freezing rain make it much easier to run, and much easier to take morning walks with Paige.
We anxiously looked in the mailbox for Christmas cards. I love cards.
I’m loving these mornings with Paige so much.
Paige likes to feed carrots to the horse up the road.
This is…Bob. Seriously. Bob? That would not be the name of my midnight black horse. But Bob is friendly and likes our carrots.
We walked to an almost-frozen pond with ice just skimming the surface. And because I’m a mom I have to give the speech about ice.
We talked to big, tall trees
One would think it’s still fall around here.
Then we visited our neighborhood cows. I really like cows. Once I used a whole roll of film on cows and my mother was very annoyed.
And then as my camera is in shooting mode, the biggun’ made his move.
It just happened right then and there so I pushed the button.
What is he doing!? Paige yelled.
“Uh…Flirting…” I said. It was the first thing that came to mind.
“They…like each other.”
You don’t think badly of me now, do you? I tell you, it’s a whole other world out here in the sticks. This was our entertainment for the morning. Well, yee-haw.
This is a Holstein. My father taught me how to identify cows when I was a teenager. He grew up on a farm in Bear Lake, Idaho. He’s so proud I know my cows.
I’m scared of that big boy, Paige said, suspiciously. Yeah, me too.
Don’t even think about it.
So we left the cows to do whatever they do.
And walked home at a slow pace, me and my five-year-old, on a perfectly ordinary and quiet morning walk. I reached down and took her hand and she looked up at me, and smiled. And then we skipped.
Isn’t it often the ordinary that makes up the best of days?