TO WALK IS TO LIVE

A simple, gray, clouded sky makes up this south-central day on my small farm here in Missouri. It is St. Patrick's Day and the NCAA basketball is on in the front room, -droning commentators voices of March Madness TV and packed in, seated crowds cheering constantly. I have broken away from the half-time score of a particular game ( Ohio State vs Xavier ) to take my best pal 'Elijah' -my Yorkshire Terrier puppy, for a walk out into the misting, 40-degree afternoon. I throw on a hooded sweatshirt and my denim jacket and next hooking 'Eli's' leash onto him, we both head out the front door onto the porch and then make our way along. The weather of last week was a wonder of near 70-degree sunshine and mild breezes but today it is nothing short of a damp and raw, chilling experience. I have my green sweater on beneath my jacket and with the memory of my Irish mother in my mind I move along holding onto the little guy that is my bouncing and running 'Eli'. We make our way up the county road towards the more southerly portion of my property towards the large flat sweeping pasture and we are each a little bitten by the cool wind as we amble on. 'Eli' is a skipping, bounding ball of blue-gold hair and he is loving every moment of our adventure. We walk on a daily basis. Elijah never grows tired of our little jaunts up along the farm and forest and the running, spring-fed creek known as North Bridges Creek. This land is a part of a farm I had bought nearly two years ago. I have named the farm BLUECAT FARM. Somewhere along the line, goats and llamas and over eleven cats have made this farm their home as well as me. It is a wondrous thing! The gray sky is an iron-chalky canopy above Eli and I as we make our way up into the pasture through the last green metal gate. He ducks and dashes beneath the welded round pipe of the gate and I climb over it. The keys to the padlock fastening the chain and gate are hanging on a tiny hook beside the kitchen stove back at the farmhouse. Eli and I have gotten quite used to doing it this way. My little Yorkshire Terrier scurries along and I, holding onto his 'auto-release and retract leash', walk along following. Cardinals, wrens, cedar waxwings and robins flit about in the bared branches above us. There is the sound of a Great Horned Owl in the distance. His hoot, hoot, hoots can be heard far off down somewhere along the flowing waters of the creek. The day is gray. I am with a great friend. It is Saint Patrick's day. I wonder about the beautiful, cheerful spirit that was my mother. I picture her face. I see her smile. I hear her laughter. I think of how much she would adore my little dog 'Elijah'. It warms my heart and then next Eli and I move on down towards the creek side that is North Bridges on my property. The waters flow and gurgle and sparkle in the drab color of the afternoon. It is movement and life and motion on to itself. I smile once again. Then Eli and I circle about and head on back towards the house. It has been nice. I'm thinking to myself, "To walk, is to live." Elijah and I hurry on. Where is Henry David Thoreau and Edwin Way Teale on such a day as this? The farmhouse calls. The trail is beneath us. The sky is above. And a friend is before me. Elijah turns and barks. Magic in Missouri.
-RSC/Mar. 17, 2007.