I run four miles a day, two up and two down, a little farm-to-market road that intersects the two-lane highway close to where our dirt road hits it on the other side. Have been doing this for years, and when injured, I am missed.
I have friends and acquaintances on the road. One man sells us shrimp. He has made a little business for himself by riding up to North Carolina to a supplier, buying at wholesale and selling around here to us at retail. Another man and his son are big farmers having land on each side of the road. Clark helped me in taking out tree stump a couple of years ago and I gave him a mosaic in return. Below is his handiwork on a load of cotton.
Last year Glenn brought his Dad, Tommy, two cups of soil from the Midwest. One from Missouri and one from Illinois. Clark said that dirt was nothing like the su-gah sand we have around here! He was amazed at the blackness and richness of the stuff.
Since their farm extends to both sides of my running road, and they have pastures on either side, sometimes traffic has to stop to let the cows and bull amble across the road leaving their particular fertilizer on the blacktop.
Love it when the cows cross the road. The calves are nosier and want to look and wander as they cross. The mama cows are better trained and have their eyes on the green grass of the far pasture. Last week two employees in a truck were just closing the gate on one side and it was unusual to see that one cow remained on the first side. She looked stoic. I asked why and they said she just had a baby. It was still on the ground and had not found its wobbly legs yet. Next day, they were with the rest of the herd which is about forty girls and one boy.
A couple of weeks ago, I had a classic conversation with Tommy, as we waited for the cows to cross. He is a man of few words.
Me: How do you get them to cross the road and leave all that green grass? Hay on the other side?
Tommy is a tall guy who has to bend down to converse with me. He tilts his head a little, and his mouth looks a little like a peanut shape when he talks.
Me: There is only one bull in this whole group (I had just noticed that with the forty plus crossing at that time, only one had horns)?
Me: All these babies are from just one bull?
Me: If you had two bulls, they would fight?
Tommy looked at me for a few seconds and what he and I both knew about males flowed through the space between us. He set his mouth in a particularly fine peanut shape, and layered a smile on top.