Which way is north?
The idea today is to see wildflowers. The granddaughter, the ten-year-old one, was given a wildflower coloring book for her birthday; now she’s the expert. “That,” she declares, “is a black-eyed Susan. And that’s Queen Anne’s lace. And that’s a common field daisy. And that’s poison hemlock.” Meanwhile the dog is choking on his chain, doing his best to drag little sister into the brush.
But certain places on this earth will never be the same to you.
At the end of the firebreak the trail turns and joins the main river trail. There are parts of this trail you can drive–if you’re authorized, otherwise don’t try. When he was a cop, the grandfather gleefully arrested everyone he caught doing it. What is it they say? If you’re going to do a job, do it right?
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It was on this trail that people used to stop the grandfather’s Bronco and complain of the man in a tutu cavorting on the other side of the river, displaying those parts of the masculine body society deems it proper to cover. After a month or so of this, someone who believed in doing a job right crept through the weeds one fine Saturday morning and arrested the poor guy, tutu and all.
As for the dog, snuffling in the dirt, he sees nothing at all. Good thing–the kid holding the other end of his leash is the little one.
“Officer? Is it safe back here?”
