We spent all day Saturday working on the farm, deconstructing the horse training arena. I plan to put the flat four acres into a soft fruit plantation. The old riding ring is the only sand I own on that piece of land. It will make a perfect spot for the raspberries. So then, the 80 x 120 foot three rail arena must come down. Last year, oldest daughter and I started that process and gave up with three quarters of the circumference to go. So there it stood, waiting for decommissioning. I say we worked; really I watched a very strong friend work, when I wasn't napping in the shade. He is so good to me. We stuffed the back of the mini van full of the salvaged wood for future barn projects and drove the sagging car to the hen house. Mission accomplished, I stole a kiss from each and sent them on their way, the day well spent. The sun easing behind the hills left me looking ahead to Sunday services at my beloved "Jeff Church~ the little church with a big heart..." a quiet day of rest and reflection...the usual small town day of comfort. That all changed when a brilliant beam of morning sun awoke me, with my little blue-eyed wonder boy jumping on my bed. No sleeping-in that morning. It's all good as I was wide awake when my riding partner beeped me on my cell. "So I was thinking of going for a ride today, wondering if you'd maybe wanna skip church and join me?...? his thoughtful lure. It took me less than the time to click his number in my call list to reply: "yes!" I love my church community, loving and giving people all of them...but I reasoned that God would allow if I got a little "churchin' up" on the back of a gleaming Harley behind a very good friend. My ride arrived on schedule; younger daughter tended the horses; older daughter tended the boyz. I leathered up and we poached a Sunday twirl. (poaching is taking a ride when maybe we should have been more dedicated to our responsibilities). "have you had breakfast?" he queried. "nope, I am hungry though," my earnest answer. "let's get breakfast up by Jay Peak then..." his solution. We headed east and north over the ragged back roads of Lamoille county. I zipping my jacket against the morning chill and closing up a little tighter to his broad, shoulders, holding tight over the broken black top. Seems like they pave our roads after all of everywhere else gets done, or so it seems. Early enough on a Sunday morning, we did not see a soul on this road. And quiet, not even a barking dog in a yard nor any lawn mower worshipers clipping grass. Only the rhythm of the loud pipes to lull us in the morning light. We rolled into our destination, a small home cooking kind of place in a tiny town. We grabbed a deuce in the middle of the crowded room and studied the menu. We were the only breakfast couple in riding gear; all others in their Sunday shirts...we stuck out just a little. With the order placed, we warmed up and plotted our ride. North to Newport, east and south to Lake Willoughby, down to St. J. and circle back home... its the nickel tour of the North East Kingdom. I never tire of riding up here, expanses of time and space that lift your troubles away. A brief chat with a patron and we were ready to ride, wet or dry. This day, we would head for the sun as we cheated the looming storm front. Skylines that looked ominous, storm fronts that promised mean weather. Bursts of sun streaking through darkening clouds, we followed their light. We journeyed up to Newport, counting more churches than I think Vermonters could fill at any given time. Another reminder of this day of rest. Amazing Grace would linger in my mind as the breath taking views would emerge. Rolling into main street Newport, our northern most "city" on the shores of Lake Memphremegog spanning the US/Canadian border, it is one of my favorite burgs in Vermont. We parked the bike in a generous lot at the lakeside boardwalk. The sun dazzled across the water as the wind snapped the flags at full mast in the court yard. We pulled up a bench and I leaned my head on my abductor's shoulder pondering the "then and now" of this once thriving railroad town... The storm front was gaining on us, we had out run it so far, but we needed to head south and east if we had any hope of staying dry... a challenge in the Vermont spring time if one is any where near the mountains. Snapping a few pics before remounting, he grabbed a happy shot of our twosome, evidence of our day of "hooky"; I won't be able to fib my way out of this one...we were only half way in our day's venture. On the further journeying, still no traffic, the road and the vistas all ours. Looking westerly, the storm was coming and my belly was groaning..."I need to grab some pepto..." He spotted a small market, in Lyndonville, I think. He elected to stay with the bike while I procured the blessed pink tablets. In and out, we'd be off and out running the rain. Not today, everyone in town must do their grocery shopping on Sunday, no blue laws here, and no express line either. I found the shortest wait, I thought. I thought wrong. Though they had only a small inventory to purchase, the couple in front had coupons, lots of 'em. My tummy was aching, in my chaps and road jacket, I caught the eye of a beefy biker who slid in behind me and started the usual "what, where, how" chat. I learned that he "hated Harley's, what was I on?" I didn't answer, I was in no mood to defend my favorite ride, mustering small talk as I counted minutes, too many minutes. I finally got to pay, my cell jingled, I didn't hear the clerk's cost for the pink medicine rightly, "sorry, it's a loud pipes thing..." as I fumbled for bills, tried to answer my phone and get out the door. While I was nursing a belly ache, my driver was getting soaked. The rain found us, or more accurately, him. But still, he was smiling and that alone was worth the price of ditching church. I dried my seat and saddled up behind my soggy chauffeur resuming our course for St. Johnsbury and homeward...It all rolled gently by, a few more cars, the occasional bike, Sunday bliss. Meandering on rte 15 westerly homeward through the tiny towns left behind by time, the familiar landmarks more abundant now as we glided into Lamoille county. I'm 19 days from my BRC moto class, it was here in East Johnson, just 12 miles from my farm, I witnessed the stopping proficiency of the front brake. In a small line of traffic, we were cruizing nicely until the lead car stopped and turned left without warning. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! what the f_ _ k" I gasped as we decelerated from 50 mph to a near stop, running out of road and shoulder with another sedan in front of us. My driver's wits, calm and experience bought us the inches we needed to escape a ruined day. I was shaking, he was not. "sorry I cuss like a carpenter and swear like a sailor...that was close," my weak remark. "ahh, you said it for me" as he reached back to assure me, "it was all under control..." the moment crystallized a sobering note: three motorcyclists died on Vermont roads last weekend...its by God's grace and the biker's savvy that all's well that ends well. Breathing more lightly, holding on more easily, enjoying the view over this big man's shoulder, I mused the reassuring words Pastor Peggy opens every service with: "this is a day that God has made, let us rejoice in it..." Amen ~ let it be so...
luv and peace ~ ell
this one is for my "big man" who brings us home safely every time...
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