One spring evening, after prayer meeting, the Harrimans invited us to walk home with them for an evening visit. They lived out of town about two miles away. The air was warm and fragrant with new blossoms. Fireflies flickered in the fields.
On Hill Road, we first descended into the gully where the stream ran through. Then up the long, long hill. (a challenge on a bike - I learned to zig-zag up it to reach the top without getting off and walking.) The road took a turn at the top of the hill, where Tuttle Road branched off toward the dump. The road leveled out now until we turned right onto Battle Ridge Road, up another short, steep hill to the Harrimans' farm.
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A few weeks later, our family decided to visit them again. It wasn't quite the same as walking the way with friends. My foster sister, Candy, said she knew the way and walked ahead of everyone. My brothers ran back and forth, as young boys do. My parents were back a ways, talking together and taking their time. I was in the middle somewhere, all by myself.
When we got to the Battle Ridge Road, Candy and the boys turned off, but I thought that was the Tuttle Road. I tried to call to them to tell them they were going the wrong way, but they couldn't hear me. (I figured they'd find out soon enough that they were on the wrong road.)
So I continued on.
There was a stand of big pine trees at that corner, that were dark and spooky - especially at night when you're by yourself. I walked on and on and nothing looked familiar, but I hadn't walked there by myself before, so I wasn't sure. I walked until the Hill Road made a sharp turn, and there was another road, the Henshaw Road - one I had never seen, for sure. I knew I was lost.
I knocked on a door and told them my story. They knew the Harrimans and called them on the phone. There was a short cut, a dirt road, back to the Battle Ridge Road. The Harriman kids met us at the end of Henshaw Road. I was embarrassed and ashamed of myself, but it was kind of nice to get all that attention. I was sorry to frighten everyone and make them worry.
I walked or rode my bike on those roads many times over the next few years, and I never got lost again - at least on that road.
5 comments:
i remember doing that once....and i remember the freedom i felt when all of us girls stripped our nylons off and walked barefoot...such a country thing for teenage girls to do.....
Walking barefoot? Of course! Country girls don't put shoes on except on Sundays or when school starts again in the fall.
That night that you walked home with us from church is one of my nicest memories......still remember it quite vividly.
Aunt Gloria, do you remember the time I got lost?
No, Yvonne, I don't remember when you got lost, but I'll bet my kids do....
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