Leftover Posting
Last Monday, I was going to post about the previous day's walk in the woods on the new trails so, faithful readers, bear with me that today's info and pictures are a week late:
Last Sunday morning, John and Maggie and I walked the Polecat Creek Farm. John had finished bush-hogging a few days earlier, so more trails were open.
The problem with the walking trails is that I don’t walk well. The heel spur is improving (more about that later) but it still makes its presence known. I need to walk, not only for better diabetes control, but also to lose some weight that will help the diabetes, etc. Nature, however, is not often handicap accessible.
One of the things that help are the “farm use” chairs that John has placed in the woods for me. When an outdoor chair becomes too badly worn out for home use, it gets another incarnation as a “farm use” chair. (No, I don’t have little tags on them. Yet.) It’s nice to know, especially during tick season, that I don’t have to sit on the ground when I need to rest.
But the “new” trails we walked Sunday didn’t have any resting places—except for the porch on the old home site. Maggie, of course, ran big circles around me while I, limping along, marveled at the fall color:
When John and I were much younger—when our move to the country was a distant plan—it didn't occur to us that we wouldn’t be able to get around as well when we finally made our move.
Did we think that we’d always be young?
In spring, do the leaves think they’ll always be green?
Looking back, I wish I’d thought about what I was doing to my feet when I wore high heels in my 20s. Now I notice lots of women of, ahem, a certain age limping along like I do. (Didn’t I notice limping women years ago? If so, didn’t I wonder why they limped?) Two bouts of plantar fasciitis, the fibromyalgia I was diagnosed with in the mid-90s, and the current heel spur are sometimes painful reminders that I’ll never move the way I used to.
Therapy has helped. Currently, Ruth Mitchell—a myofascial release specialist who's also done great things for my elderly horses—is doing wonders for me. Sometimes I can make it through most of the day without hurting. In fact, I felt so good Monday afternoon after she worked her magic on me that I was going to sing her praises on this blog and post the pictures of the previous day’s fall color.
But when I walked into the house, John told me about my stolen tombstone. Minutes later, the deputy arrived to investigate, and I put off my feel-good post.
Until now.
Time is fleeting. Next year we will not be so young. Or so green.
Last Sunday morning, John and Maggie and I walked the Polecat Creek Farm. John had finished bush-hogging a few days earlier, so more trails were open.
The problem with the walking trails is that I don’t walk well. The heel spur is improving (more about that later) but it still makes its presence known. I need to walk, not only for better diabetes control, but also to lose some weight that will help the diabetes, etc. Nature, however, is not often handicap accessible.
One of the things that help are the “farm use” chairs that John has placed in the woods for me. When an outdoor chair becomes too badly worn out for home use, it gets another incarnation as a “farm use” chair. (No, I don’t have little tags on them. Yet.) It’s nice to know, especially during tick season, that I don’t have to sit on the ground when I need to rest.
But the “new” trails we walked Sunday didn’t have any resting places—except for the porch on the old home site. Maggie, of course, ran big circles around me while I, limping along, marveled at the fall color:
When John and I were much younger—when our move to the country was a distant plan—it didn't occur to us that we wouldn’t be able to get around as well when we finally made our move.
Did we think that we’d always be young?
In spring, do the leaves think they’ll always be green?
Looking back, I wish I’d thought about what I was doing to my feet when I wore high heels in my 20s. Now I notice lots of women of, ahem, a certain age limping along like I do. (Didn’t I notice limping women years ago? If so, didn’t I wonder why they limped?) Two bouts of plantar fasciitis, the fibromyalgia I was diagnosed with in the mid-90s, and the current heel spur are sometimes painful reminders that I’ll never move the way I used to.
Therapy has helped. Currently, Ruth Mitchell—a myofascial release specialist who's also done great things for my elderly horses—is doing wonders for me. Sometimes I can make it through most of the day without hurting. In fact, I felt so good Monday afternoon after she worked her magic on me that I was going to sing her praises on this blog and post the pictures of the previous day’s fall color.
But when I walked into the house, John told me about my stolen tombstone. Minutes later, the deputy arrived to investigate, and I put off my feel-good post.
Until now.
Time is fleeting. Next year we will not be so young. Or so green.
~
Labels: aging, rural life
posted by Becky Mushko | 6:32 AM
4 Comments:
Lovely post. I enjoyed reading it.
You're not old Becky, you're just getting started! As for high heels, I've never had much use for them- I'm 5'7 in my bare feet. You have many great novels waiting to pour out of your head and into your pen - I can't wait to read them!
What a nice post. Glad to see you're writing about beautiful things.
What lovely trails--you are fortunate to have such a nice place to walk. (And Maggie is a very lucky dog!) We made a trail through our back woods. We find such peace there. And I'm so glad you've found help for your pain. Chronic pain can really sap your energy.
Happy Thanksgiving!
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