Another Walk

The little red wagon is back in working order. It wasn't too cold out and the wind wasn't howling, so we ventured to town to get the mail.

As I walked down the silent street I pondered why someone would choose to live here. Yes, I live here, but I didn't really choose it. I think many people choose to live here precisely for one of the reasons I don't like it: nothing happens here. It's quiet and sleepy and distraction-free. This also explains why most of the population seems to be over 60 years old.

On the way home, I had to correct myself about the nothing happens. The stupid yappy neighbor dog got out of its yard and chased us. I don't like strange dogs anyway, but our other neighbor had mentioned that they didn't trust that dog, so I had already worried about the possibility of it getting out. It eventually stopped coming after us, but not after getting my adrenaline up and preparing to kick it if it came anywhere near my child (sorry animal lovers, anything threatening my child is going to get a kick).

I sincerely hope the stupid dog doesn't get out again. Because if it does we're going to have to talk to the owner. I've only met his daughter and she was old, so this guy must be ancient and I think practically house-bound. But I also can't be made to feel like I can't safely leave my own house. Especially when walking to the post office is the only thing there is to do here.

On a lighter note, before the dog incident we stopped and admired a patch of snowdrops growing on the side of the road. My daughter even thought they were pretty enough to eat.



Our Little Red Wagon

Today I deemed it warm enough to walk to the Post Office. It was the third time we’ve been able to take out our new Radio Flyer All Terrain Wagon. And there’s only been a handful of other times we’ve been able to walk to town since we moved here months ago. Stupid winter.

Well, just over 40 degrees out, only a light wind. I convinced my daughter to put on pants so we could bundle up the rest of the way and head outside. She loves playing outside—and every time we go outside she tries to walk down the road. So a trip walking to town? Tons of fun. She gets to ride and look at the birds while I pull the wagon.

I don’t know if it will be any different in the spring and summer, but when we walk down to the heart of Bickleton, it feels a bit like a ghost town. There are houses and buildings but absolutely no people out. There’s nothing to listen to but the occasional dog barking at you and the jingle jangle of the wagon riding over gravel and poorly patched pavement.

And then, I heard a new sound. The light tinkle of a bunch of little metal pieces falling off the wagon onto the road. I stopped and turned around to watch the front of the wagon slide off the axle and rest on the ground. And my daughter looking at me wondering why we had stopped.

What do you do with a young toddler and a broken wagon a quarter of a mile from home? After a moment of hoping that maybe this wasn’t actually happening, I took my daughter out of the wagon in case it fell more. Then I grabbed the pieces of the wagon and pulled it all to the side of the road. We were right next to the tavern so I hung the blankets that had lined the wagon over a horizontal wooden rail that probably was used to tie up horses a century or so ago.

Long story short, I did not have the tools to properly reattached the front axel and wheels, but I got it just enough so it could limp along without me having to toss the handle and front wheels in and pull it along on its back wheels, making it so my daughter would have to walk the rest of the way home—which was my back up plan. I did this while intermittently yelling out to my daughter to stay close to Mommy. Not because there was any real fear of cars coming by, but it’s a good habit to learn not to run into the road. And if I’d let her run free, I’m pretty sure she would have been to the other end of town before I finished putting the wagon more or less back together.

We walked to the Post Office, said hello to the lady who works there, and headed for home. My daughter was content to walk home instead of ride, but what she really wanted to do was stay outside indefinitely and run wild down the side streets of Bickleton. So then I carried her. And eventually put her kicking and fighting back into the wagon. Our walk home was much longer because I had to stop every few yards to retighten the nut/bolt thing that was keeping the whole thing precariously together. (Eli will have to use his Daddy skills when he comes home to rebuild the front of the wagon.)

And thus begins a spring and summer full of frequent walks to and from town.

Disclaimer: I love our all terrain wagon, despite it falling to pieces. Can you imagine what the roads would have done to a cheaper wagon? Plus it pulls quite easily through gravel, mud, slush, and snow.

Driving

We do lots of driving out here.

In good weather it's 45 minutes to church.
45 minutes to a gas station.
45 minutes to a grocery store.
45 minutes to a library.
1.5 hours to a bookstore.
1.5 hours to the doctor's office.

That's a long drive with a sick child (and a sleep deprived parent who's been taking care of a sick child).

There are a few good things about the long drives. We encounter very little, if any traffic. The road up to Bickleton used to be gravel and was paved only a few months before we moved here. And the long drives let me see something besides the view outside my window. I don't really like the views in Bickleton itself, but there are many areas close by with lovely views of trees, mountains, the Columbia River, fruit orchards, green fields, and wind turbines.

The Return of Winter?

A couple days after we returned from our trip, it looked like winter had returned to Bickleton. But then the snow melted. And then it snowed. And then it melted. All day long.

The last couple of days have been dry but cold. Give me one or the other. Either really snow and stick and give us something beautiful to look at and play in. Or warm up already so I can go outside, walk to the post office, and use our new wagon.

As it is, we're stuck inside all day every day with nothing but a dry, blah landscape to look at.

Where Nobody Knows Your Name

We took a trip to our old stomping grounds this week--Portland, Oregon. I've definitely missed the landscape and the family and friends we have here. It's nice to be surrounded by the familiar.

But it's also nice to go out to the store or go out to eat and be completely anonymous. Nobody knows you, nobody looks twice at you, nobody comments about watching you walk down the street earlier in the day (note to self: do not scratch your butt when walking down a street in Bickleton, you are most likely being watched).

I'm not a hugely social person, so it's nice to go out and not have to make conversation with every person I pass. My husband on the other hand is one of the friendliest people I know and he loves the fact that you talk to everyone you see and wave to every car driving by in the tiny town of Bickleton.

Coyotes

We have only seen one coyote since we moved here, but we’ve heard of and heard many more.

A few weeks ago our neighbor invited us to bring our daughter up to see their kittens. She adores cats so we took him up on the offer and got to see the cute little kittens (well, cute until they started attacking my leg). They were living in a sort of mud room between the garage and the house. Our neighbor said that they are going on a trip in February and when they get back the two sweet little kitties will be neutered and put out in the barn. (Cats earn their keep around here by keeping down the mice.) And then he said that he just hoped the coyotes wouldn’t get them.

*****

Last week my daughter started turning on the baby monitor that was hanging over her crib, which made it hard to hear her crying on the other side of the hall, especially when we’re sleeping. So we moved the monitor out of her reach so we would always be sure to hear her crying in the night.

Last night as we were trying to go to sleep, I thought I heard crying in the distance, but I couldn’t hear it on the monitor. I finally jumped up to check on my daughter when my husband figured out what we were hearing: coyotes.

A Taste from Home

Every winter when I get a little blah, I start to get homesick. And just as that was hitting me, I got a package from my sister in Utah filled with Stephen's hot cocoa.

I've heard people question aloud why Utahns are obsessed with Stephen's hot cocoa. I'll tell you: because it's delicious. If I search I can usually find Milk Chocolate and Chocolate Mint Truffle in my stores, and if I'm vigilant I might find Belgian Dark Chocolate. But that Cherry Chocolate I've been drooling over? Definitely not. Toss in some White Chocolate and some Caramel Apple Cider and I'm set. I will survive the winter one warm and tasty cup at a time.