3.29.2011 Ride: The Cruelest Month

Of course, it all depends where one lives.  For T.S. Eliot, it was April.  When I lived in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, it was May when the snows would melt, the mud-soaked ground would show, begin to dry and then it would snow again, just enough to turn the ground to mud all over. Here, in NW Arkansas, it seems to be March, where, even if the weather may not be that bad, the up and down of the days, dreary and wet, warm and sunny, takes its emotional toll as if we are living in a bi-polar climate. 
I was feeling particularly low this morning as I made my way out to ride after a morning of rain.  But as I stepped outside with my bike, I paused a moment to look around and remembered my old refrain of seeking beauty.  No matter what the weather, I love being outside.  I allowed all the stress of the morning to melt away and, indeed, found beauty in the day lillies that were springing out of the ground at the end of the parking pad.  I had dug those up from some wet areas in the woods last year and transplanted them.

I didn't have to ride much further before I had another small smile. Several years ago, I took a handful of maple seedlings, the kind that when dropped hover down to the ground like little helicopters, from our friends' house whose maple tree must be a 100 years old.  I took some of those seedlings and planted them in cups, three of which I put in the ground.  One has survived.  It's about  thirty feet tall now and has its own little helicopters.  I still get continually amazed at the beauty of a tree growing from such a small seed.

Because of the wet conditions, I was back on the mountain bike, riding slowly, not in any hurry.  I have spied this angle of the barn in the picture for quite some time.  Today seemed like a good time to get it.  To do so, I had to scramble over barbed wire and a gate and walk into the middle of the horse pasture.  There was only one lone white horse when I walked across.  She watched me as I made my way to get in position.  I took a few shots, then slowly turned around as I thought I heard something behind me.  Sure enough, less than an arm's length away, the white mare had come to check me out. I thought of taking a picture but I wanted to experience the moment.  She let me pet her a couple of times and then she sauntered off to be with the other horses.

Half a picture taken:  On my next-to-last leg of the ride today in the neighborhood, I saw a blue jay fly from the ground up into a tree.  As it did so, something white dropped.  When I got closer, I saw it was a white plastic fork.  Odd nesting material, I thought.  I let the fork be, in case the jay wanted to make another stab at taking it.  But when I returned on the final leg, the fork was still there.  I looked up in the tree and no jay was to be seen so I figured the fork was fair game and would make an interesting piece-of-litter-for-the-day story.


Today's Ride:  60mins.  10 miles.  45 degrees.  Damp.  Miles YTD:  1,594.87