Daily Constitutional

We woke up to two inches of fresh snow on Saturday. It was melting by noon, but came down hard again as the day ended. The poor calves were tiptoeing around looking for a dry place to lie. Pretty brutal after a string of lovely warm days. Garrison Keillor, our favorite mid-western humorist, warns about this time of year. He says it’s “like spring painted on a brick wall.”

I’ve been walking to ranch headquarters lately. It only takes about ten minutes and I take our three dogs along for the outing. I put them in a tiny wood shack near the corrals where they hang out until I’m done with chores. The walk is not particularly scenic, but I relish it. Every morning is different. The snow earlier this week brought 6 degree temps. Then today it was a balmy 29 degrees with thick damp air. Fog hung along the river and it was dead quiet except for the meadowlarks calling from various roosts across the pastures and red-wing blackbirds gurgling in the willows. I never hear a red-wing that I don’t recall the story my mother told of an ancestor of mine whose child asked, “Mom, is there water in that bird?”   

Cassie, the eldest dog, mostly follows along. Kate and Clyde, full of border collie frenzy, run laps in front of me, overjoyed with . . . what?- life I guess. This morning I about fainted when a truck whizzed by narrowly missing Kate. Why do people drive so fast? And why do they insist on throwing a fresh batch of beer cans along the road every week? Who are these people? I swear they go home and kick their dogs and beat their wives.   

But mostly I don’t notice the cans. Maybe tomorrow I’ll remember a bag and collect them as I go. And most motorists slow down and wave as they go by. Another beautiful morning.