The Path

I often recall when I was 12 we moved out in the country. It was only about 3 miles from true civilization but it seemed 300 at times. The real difference was we had family living on the same 15 acre plot. (Plot sounds so such a graveyard term so I think it's best to just say it was 15 acres of isolation - ha! Or so I thought.)

Over time we adapted and somehow the next several years we adjusted, had things you'd never have in the city (like horses and a big garden) and as one of my cousins stated last year, "we had the best family support structure that a kid could ask for or imagine". There was a time when I believe not only my family, my paternal grandparents but two aunts and one uncle along with their families lived within walking distance. Maybe we didn't all live there at the same time but I think the years for sure overlapped some.

I often made the path between our house and my Grandmother's house. She was always cooking something and always sharing a meal with us. Her house was warm and there was always someone there. It was like a hub. Relatives stopped by and there were many.

The worn path meandered around a tree stump, a big rock or two, you could tuck under the clothesline or go around. In some places it was wider than others and easy to navigate. It was unlit except by moonlight. I walked it often without even a flashlight and traced my shadow and trajectory to the end point porch lights. It was worn and true. It represented the connection between the houses but oh so much more.

I haven't taken time lately to look at the path and for sure I haven't walked it but the path stands out in my mind and I want to remember everything that it represents.

Today.

And Always - Life is a journey. A path.