Every Venture an Adventure

This past Saturday, I set off for my longest bike ride in years -maybe trying to recreate at least a part of my past.

Just one mile from the house I pedaled alongside one of our town lakes, the low sun glimmering on the surface with a gentle breeze. I noticed a half dozen guys fishing. Chances were, most were there for the sport of it, while others were hoping to bring some free meat to the table. Successful or not, I thought, what a wonderful way to start the day.

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Photo by Mark VanLaeys

Heading north were the last sprinklings of town. And then endless cornfields, occasional cars, and pick-ups. On this particular Saturday, all were glad to share the narrow road. The soybean fields had started to turn a rich green, as the young plants shaded the dirt between the rows. Small flocks of geese flew across fields and the occasional raptor soared above, adding a three-dimensional quality to the landscape.

By fifteen miles out, my bowl of Wheaties and banana was long gone. It must be my refined upbringing that leaves me reluctant to admit to a touch of jealousy, as I surprised a turkey vulture feasting on fresh roadkill. He was unusually slow to abandon his breakfast, so I got to see where the expression “a face that only a mother could love,” originated.

Photograph by Steve Adams - Unsplash

A few miles up the road, as the sun started to cook my back, I was greeted with an “Aunt Mable’s Sweets” sign a few houses away. Having gone a mile between houses at some points along my trek, her house actually had two neighbors. Each of those homes were senior citizens as Americana goes. A couple of traditional black buggies, an underfed chestnut mare, and a few more healthy-looking horses caught my attention, as I passed the first house. It was the prospect of food that lured me up the next dirt driveway.

Opening up the aluminum storm door, I was greeted by a thirtyish-year-old, dark -haired guy, who looked like he spent more time in the fields than the kitchen. He was seated behind a large desk with his roughly five-year-old daughter standing beside him. A younger lad stood quietly in the corner with the same blonde locks and beautiful blue eyes as his sister. Next to the desk, on the wall, were a couple of wooden shelves holding assorted sweet breads, fudges, and a solitary box of homemade doughnuts of which I took two - a dollar each.

I handed the dad a five-dollar bill, and he pulled three ones out of his drawer. His daughter whispered something to him as she grabbed the three ones out of his hand, and proudly placed them in mine. Her father topped off my water bottle, and I headed out the door to indulge. I looked forward to sitting on the deck - sizable only when compared to my tiny leather saddle. As I sat there in the welcome shade, the lass, the lad, and then a sheltie mix followed.

The girl sat down a few feet from me on the edge of the deck as I started to eat. Her brother walked up in front of us and just stood there observing. And then, the dog hopped up on the deck, almost onto my lap. I had barely gotten to ask the dog’s name when a white-capped Mom showed up and started to clear the deck. I reassured her it was OK; I didn’t mind the company. With a measured smile she went back into the house. And then things got a bit awkward.

Maybe she didn’t want the three young ones bothering a customer or maybe she was concerned for their safety. Either way, I understood. One response I never considered was, “I’ve always enjoyed the company of dogs and kids.” But it’s true.

Young children more times than not, manifest the best of what it is to be human. Kids are notoriously creative. They love to play, it’s unbridled, and they know nothing about being self-conscious. They have nothing to prove. They’re not judgmental and they couldn’t care less about the color or age of a person’s skin. . . their love is unconditional.

And they are kind - at least until they’re injured, typically by those who have been injured themselves. It seems both ironic and sad that the most endearing attributes of children make them so vulnerable. The thought of people taking advantage of that is truly repulsive . . . but I digress.

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The kids and fido were all intrigued by this old guy who showed up on a bicycle, half-way between somewhere and nowhere. They were pretty much just watching me eat - though I did learn that the furry head on my lap belonged to “Lassie,” a very sweet and sociable sort. I also learned the assistant cashier had just started homeschooling with schoolmaster Mom. So after remarkably little conversation and a lot of observation, I was off.

Time spent rolling quietly along wide open spaces provides an opportunity to focus and reflect on lives as they are intersected. Each life observed tends to pass in slow motion. Unlike the fleeting glimpse we’re typically exposed to, we’re offered more of a short video clip than a snapshot. Each includes another level of nuance and the all important context. And, there’s time for the imagination to fill in some gaps.

Could there be any connection between a slowed-down life and and a childlike approach to enjoying it?

Addendum June 17th - as one of my subscribers, Steve Harvester, suggested - How would my time at Aunt Mable’s Sweets been different if I was a black guy, everything else being exactly the same?