two paths before me

This morning gray low lying clouds raced across the sky, heavy with moisture, that reached down to the tree tops. So full of different shades of gray, I just stood at the back door and watched them roll and tumble across the sky as if some bad mood prompted their path. In time they gave way to a pale blue sky filled with downy cotton balls. Sun filtering through the heavily leaved tree branches. A huge change in a matter of minutes.
Its the kind of morning that makes you ponder things. Maybe that's not the right word, its more like this kind of morning makes you sit and contemplate your whole life and that sure is more than pondering, its deeper, more profound. Stretching your mind to encompass all the great possibilities waiting for you and thinking of lost dreams.
My eyes scanned the property. Its changed so in the last few years. It was once such a busy little farm, so full of activity and animals. Children doing chores, or me. Networks of fences and gates, creating pens and pastures. Outbuildings served as milk house, barn and chicken house.
Now the buildings hold wood, or storage. The chicken house is as it ever was. Fences and pens gone, now rambling land, filled with young trees, planted after the animals had gone. I once envisioned a tiny forest of pine trees and grand old oaks, with grandchildren dressed as Robin Hood and Maid Marion, running to and fro. Or small hands clasped in quiet awe under the trees, watching and waiting for a fairy to appear in the morning mist while visiting Grandmother and Grandfathers house. Maybe those are visions to hold as future plans.
This week, Emery said I could have sheep again. Yes, I asked for them and yes, I want them, I think... but now with no children home, no ties to chores and long lists of "must do's" I wonder, is this what road I should take now ? Is it that my heart is still back in times past ? Is it something we really want again, to be tied to farm chores ? As I watched the clouds it reminded me of other days gone by. Long hiking trips to the woods, living off nature and a few cans of potatoes. Sleeping under the stars or in some run down lean to. Hearing the sounds of silence mixed with the steady thumping of my heart, and the sound of my breath as we climbed up rocking mountain sides. Smelling of woodsmoke and the earthy scent of the wood floor. Leaves stuck in my hair. Flannel shirts and jeans worn for days at a time. No one cared.
Dreams of hiking the Appalachian trial and discovering the beauty of Big Bend or the deep woods of Alaska came to me, alive and still doable. In my minds eye so clearly I could see Emery and I walking trails for days at a time, huge packs on our backs, looking at all around us with wonderment. Evenings by the fireside, conversations of dreams to come and of years shared.
Hiking in our 70's and 80's. Embracing life each and every moment. Two paths, one homestead like and the other one of nature hikes and trail busting.
I believe one will keep us younger longer than the other. Homesteading is so much about a smaller circle of life. Nothing wrong with that. But there is this bit of wanderlust in me. Exploring and holding on to vigor and flexibility. Being able to jump across small streams, walk up a mountain side, sleep on the rocky hard ground and hear the night sounds from a cozy sleeping bag.
Homesteading is a lot about cooking and baking and I am not one that should spend so much time on baking. I hate being over weight, its like having a huge old fashioned diving suit on that makes ordinary things difficult. When I hike, its not cinnamon rolls I think about, but rolled up whole wheat tortillas filled with almond butter that make my meal.
I am doing a fair job here of deciding which road to take, certainly its the one less traveled. I have many friends my age. But they are old. Not a one of them can plop down on the floor and get up like a child, no hands needed to rise up. They get on the floor and its a major procedure for them to get up. Roll to one side, hands on the floor hoisting themselves up like they are 80. Walking through the store with them is at a snails pace, leaning on their shopping cart handles as if they would not be able to endure without it. Bending over and touching their toes, not even possible. Lifting their leg one on to another to tie their shoes. Sitting more than any other activity. Dreaming of the next restaurant, living to eat and not eating to live. I don't ever want to be that way.
So the rougher, less traveled path is looking more my path right now.
Dreams grasped, no matter the age.
Think I will go plan a weekend trip and scratch the idea of getting more chores to do. My life has changed. No moaning for me of an empty nest. I have raised up fantastic children, independent and so full of life. We talk and laugh together all the time. They are happy and full of the future. I cannot moan that.
So now, with my true love beside me, my gentle man, we are at an open door. We have the choice to close it and remain stagnant or open the door wide and embrace a new direction.

two paths, recently taken...one easy and familiar,
one rough and new.

ROAD LESS TRAVELED
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth

Then took the other as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same

And both that morning equally layI
n leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet, knowing how way leads onto way
I doubted if I should ever come back

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence
Two roads diverged in a wood
And I took the one less traveled by
And that has made all the difference

~Robert Frost~