On Winding Roads and Rolling Hills

As my husband and I made our way to the city on Saturday, we had to take a detour that proved to be a wonderful treat.

As we meandered our way along the winding roads through rolling hills that housed small farms within clusters of oak trees. Farm houses, old and new, stood beneath shade trees. Everything was lush and green. Farmers' crops were coming along nicely, yet the straight plow rows still were clearly visible. The occasional dairy cow could be seen, no doubt responsible for producing milk only for its own family.

Twice, we crossed railroad tracks as we ended small towns along the way. No, the train did not come while we were there, although we did see one pass as we had dinner with our children and grandchildren. That train ran on a different, much more active, track than the track we had seen earlier in the afternoon.

I felt as though I had been carried back in time some sixty or so years. We should depart from the main road more often and allow ourselves to enjoy those reminders of days and places gone by.