As many of you know, Sarah “Sally” Parker is going to be honored in a few weeks during Santa Fe Trail Daze. Well, her dear daughter, Susie, approached me a few weeks ago with a request to write a poem about her mom. I heartily said “Yes” and with a rough draft of Sally's life story before me I opened up a brand new word document, ready to rhyme a mighty poem that Sally herself would be proud of. (After all, I was once a fairly articulate rhymer of words.) What happened instead was my inability to create anything beyond limericks which all began with “There once was a gal named Sally”. No matter how many times I attempted a legitimate poem, the rust of disuse had settled too thickly on any talent I may have once had in that department. Thank goodness for Bonnie Jean Warner - she will save the day with a real poem about a wonderful lady, and I'll keep the limericks to myself.
I am embarrassed to have to correct an error I made last week, because it reveals that I am geographically challenged. I said I had walked more than halfway to the New Mexico line, and that statement would have been true if the state line was 19 miles from Boise City. Then I was corrected on the distance. (It's 36 miles, right?) But that's okay, because as of the writing of this week's column (Sunday night) I really have walked more than halfway to the line - 19 miles. Now, if I am wrong once more and the distance is more than 36 miles, let's just pretend I got it right!
It has been quite a journey these past several weeks, out there walking. My resolve has not dipped, because I am already feeling and seeing the health benefits derived from my tennie-runners hitting the road. And I have discovered a fantastic world that lies beneath our feet - or under the tires of a fast moving pickup. I have followed the tracks of the three-toed pheasant and those of her babies as they zigzagged across the road. I have stopped in amazement and watched the tiny black ants marching back and forth on their route - with their itsy-bitsy feet they have actually created ruts across the road from so much walking. I have witnessed lots of “S's” in the sand - and wondered if a snake had just gone before me. And I always smile when my path crosses that of the black “stink” bug, because he stops in his tracks and immediately raises his hindquarters, as if to say “I'm tough and I'm stinky! Leave me alone.”
And then there are the birds and their joyful chorus of sheer delight in living one more day - especially the meadowlarks and doves. Even with nary a tree in sight to rest their wings, they swoop and fly around me and call to one another from clumps of grass. Add to these creatures the three deer I have seen on several occasions, and it is a thriving world that we seldom get to witness. And I do declare I have seen jackrabbit's the size of my dog, Sweet Pea.
But best of all - and my reward for another mile walked - is God‘s blessing me with a sunset, a sunset that never repeats itself. There may be just the bright orange/red sun shining against a backdrop of ultimate blue sky - not a cloud from horizon to horizon - as it slides out of sight. Or there may be a plethora of clouds and the sun will illuminate them with the pallet of my favorite colors - orange, turquoise, purple, pink and yellow. Sometimes there are giant thunderheads in the eastern sky, and the setting sun's light will make them brilliantly white for just a moment. Then there are evenings when the sun's rays shoot past the clouds in pure arcs of light. In some ways it is almost a sacred moment - this setting of the sun - and so I always stand very still as I admire the vista before me. Sometimes it is so beautiful that I am awestruck, and so often I hear myself whispering a simple “Thank you” as the sun bids “adieu” and peace washes over my soul.
Boise City News