Red Dirt Road is a song by Brooks and Dunn that tells the story of growing up down a ... Me, I grew up in the 'burbs no dirt roads of any color in sight. I'm listening to Garth looking out of a window at a good rain that portends to last a couple of days. The mobile home that Deb's sister, Eileen, has kindly put us up in is cold today and the tea kettle has already been whistling a couple of times today. The mobile home is on her acreage near the tiny town of Agra. The location is both literally and figuratively a description of the song. Although today that road is likely 'The Red Mud Road'. I wisely got my only chore, a trip to the Post Office, done early today and Deb has kindly set me up with a laptop so that I can happily tap out this blog and sip tea. The Bishop women are generous and kind.
Another example of the Bishop women's kindness is outside my window. Deb has set up her late father's bird-feeders. This morning a spectacular Cardinal was singing me to the window. At the feeder he was sharing it with a Red-Winged Blackbird, who likely lives down by the pond. The next feeder over was a lone Ruby Throated Hummingbird. Like us, this is not the hummingbird's destination just a stop on the way. While Deb's efforts were feeding these creatures Eileen was worrying about and feeding a couple of the neighbors dogs. The dogs, Buck and an unnamed female, had wandered over upon hearing my truck return from the Post Office. The dogs were strays that the neighbor, Wes, had sorta kinda taken in. Wes himself is the kinda rural neighbor with way too many rusting Chevy pick ups in the yard who probably could use someone to 'take him in'. Anyway the dogs sleep under his trucks and greet Cooper and me on our morning walks. Eileen, she was worried that Buck had worms and got him some pumpkin which he eagerly wolfed down. We'll see if the homeopathic cure makes his health better. Today he was just part of a pair of tail wagging strays looking to lure Cooper off to enjoy the pond or some other vagabond dog pleasure. Cooper was told to join me in the house.
From our friend Sandy's southern Colorado mountain home I've marveled at flocks/gaggles (OK how 'bout "bunches") of hummingbirds at her feeders. Our lone one here might just be a beginning of a migration or perhaps the little guys have already moved on. I don't know or have the local knowledge. Eileen says he's a "scout", but I've seen the hummingbirds chase each other away from a feeder at Sandy's. Humorously, they will almost rather chase others off than feed themselves. Even when there is plenty of room for others. (I'll leave politics aside for the day and let you draw your own parallels to our world!) So I really can't see the hummers having scouts. Perhaps they just follow the fat ones - "Hey Rufus you musta put on an ounce there - where you been?"
Oddly as I write this and several hours later Cooper has just gestured to be let out and the hummingbird has retreated to the barbed-wire fence. Oh, hi Buck! Yup, it's a fine line - feed a hungry dog and.... That is the dilemma of describing a rural America. Most of Eileen's neighbors raise cattle for slaughter and wouldn't think twice about shooting a stray dog that was harassing their herd. If that same stray came to their door he'd likely get a meal and a pick up to sleep under. Some who drove down this red dirt road would only see the rusted pick ups scattered across Wes' yard. Others would see a piece of heaven with some angels like the Bishops.
Probably never thought of himself as an angel is another neighbor, John. I met John on another morning walk with Cooper. He called off his dog (again a stray he'd adopted) Harley, who had me convinced I was going to die. Walking in a rural area requires a level of awareness of which dogs are friendly and which are not - and don't piss off the bulls! John spent a good part of the other day showing me his garden and giving me thoughts on what works and what doesn't. I showed up out of the blue, and after Harley went inside, John just dropped what he was doing and took the time. Today I arranged with him to have a friend who 'was having a hard time' pick up some metal Eileen needed to have hauled off. John also casually mentioned that his wonky left eye was blinded in a bar fight. Yeah no angels. Ok well maybe the Bishop girls.
I'm glad you asked. The potato onions are doing fine. Eileen let me plant them in an old garden bed and while it's early they seem to be at least, well doing fine. I've worried that the near constant wind when we first arrived would be a problem. So far well, we'll see. And who knew Oklahoma had wind. OK, OK, apparently everyone. John even laughed when I mentioned it the other day and said "We have a song about that you know!" and belted out a chorus of the old Broadway tune.
Wind, dogs, and angels this remains for Deb and me a stop on the way. I'm a suburban kid and like the hummingbird I have a destination. I've never understood how such a tiny creature who live relatively short lives can navigate to their purpose. I guess we'll both know it when it feels right and meanwhile rely on the kindness to direct us. Thanks for reading Doug A.
I should note one of Deb's other sisters, Karen, died from her relatively quick cancer. Thank you all for your thoughts and prayers. Sometimes angels have to go home!
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