Part of the farm, where we had our mobile home, was on what I like to call the "upper level." The only way to get from the upper level to the lower level was via a very narrow, steep dirt road. My mom and dad never seemed to have trouble driving the truck down this narrow road, even though I always got nervous every time.
|The tractor, on a wider road|
Another memory I have involving those old roads is one where my only older cousin tried to get me to outrun my dad's van. This was on the lower level, where there was a long road alongside the creek. It was almost a forested area, with many trees on one side, and a steep hill with more trees on the other.
|Me, when I was young,|
with the wildflowers
One last memory I have involving the farm roads is from a time when my parents returned from a trip out of town. Whenever they came home from somewhere, I would run up to greet them on the road. This time, however, there was more than just my parents there to greet me.
|One of the hills I used to hike down|
I'm terrified of spiders! I froze, mouth agape, watching this monstrosity walking leisurely with its eight hairy legs as if nothing was wrong. From its perspective, there was nothing wrong at all. All it saw was some dirt, with maybe a place to eat on the other side of that dirt. All I saw was pure horror. My dad had to get out of the car to convince me to move my legs so I could get out of the middle of the road and ride back home.