RERUN: Most wonderful time of the year...

I know this is a re-run, but It's so fitting, I had to post it again! Dedicated to all the lucky parents out there... ;-)

Tales of the Inanimates

I usually take Raytown Road home, and from there, I take the back roads into Raymore. These are the same roads I used to take home when I attended Longview College back in '93. There's a reason that these roads seem so familiar, and today it finally hit me. So many things are still the same. There's the old farm tractor, nestled in the hedge-row off 155th street, slowly but surely rusting away. The trees are taller and thicker, and in the summer you can hardly notice it's there. But looking close enough, it's there. It's been there for at least 16 years, and I can only imagine that it was there 16 years before I first noticed it. There's the old property corner stones, the old fence posts, and even a few rock piles here and there; bring back memories of when I first noticed them over 16 years ago. Time goes by, but do these inanimate objects even notice? They've all taken on the constant barrage of time, weather, and nature, yet they are still the same. I can't say the same for me. But that's nature on its course. Sometimes when I'm at the office and feel stressed to the max, I think of these things. It's a weird simile of peace for me. Sometimes when I'm 1000 miles away in a different city, I think about that tractor, or the rock pile, or the corner stone in the middle of a now divided field. Constantly in its place, and wondering what it's "thinking". Then when I'm really in the mood to daydream, I think of the history behind that stone, rock, or tractor. How many hands have been placed on that item, and how long ago it must have been. I wonder the history of those people, and what was it they were thinking about all so many years ago. I'm sure that 'ol tractor got several thousand hours on it, before it croaked in the middle of a field now overgrown by a hedge. And how many times has that old man filled her up with gas, and what old stories could he have shared. The mason and his corner stone... possibly 100 years ago or more. How much history can a old fence post have, when you break it down through those that have touched it. I keep wondering...

Fence Post

Early Morning Friday Breakfast over Coffee

Me: "I guess I'll head out and fix that ol fence post this mornin."

Old Neighbor: "You wanna need som help?"

Me: "Nah, I'll go fixer myself."