Thanks for the encouraging comments from my last post, where I whined about having to run on roads. Really, I should be thankful that at my age (I am a wee bit older than most runners reading this post, hee, hee), I’m able to run and enjoy it as much as I do.
So yesterday I stopped my whining, got on Google map, found a series of country back roads, mapped out a couple of longer routes, tied on my Adidas and hit the streets.
|Grain facility I run past. Scenic, no?|
After 1.5 miles of traffic (semi trucks filled with grain blaring past as I squeezed the narrow shoulder), I reached dirt roads and 11 miles of bliss, just me and the cornfields, hayfields and occasional dog wandering out to see why a human was doing something so strange as to run (run!) down their road.
It was peaceful and quiet, the temps warm (70ish), the sweat poured, I was in The Zone, and while the scenery rarely changed, I was ecstatic because it was all hills. Whoever said Nebraska was flat? These country roads contained no flat areas. It was one long, sloping hill after another. Loved it!
Also loved the smell of cow manure. I grew up on a farm. Cow manure is like perfume to me.
|Lean forward and sniff: Ahhhh!|
Now I’m in my writing studio, surrounded by books, scattered papers and stink bugs. Nebraska has been taken over by stink bugs this year and it’s impossible to keep them out of the house. They like to perch on my desk and watch me write. They’re good company. They keep their mouths shut, never complain, and each time I read a passage out loud, they wave their little front legs as if applauding (They really do this, though probably they are tellling me to shut the hell up.)
Happy Friday, everyone.
2 thoughts on “Bliss in the cornfields”
Love the pile of manure. My grandma and uncle run a dairy farm together and the smell of manure always reminds me of them. “Yes Grandma, the smell of shit makes me think of you.” Perfect.
You're not older than I! My husband loves the smell of manure too. Me, not so much.