Potholes, Mud, and Mosquitoes

I love old country roads. It’s the weird, eclectic buildings, the deepness of the valley they’re always set in, and the general coziness of the whole atmosphere, like nothing will ever change or go wrong. No time will ever pass. My work happens to be on one of these magnificent old roads, and I thought I’d give y’all the pleasure of its sight that I get to enjoy every morning at   dawn-ish, and every night at sunset.

As you first approach said country road, there are two buildings, which make me think of the 1800’s but which were probably built only about 100 years ago-ish. Both are white cinderblock or brick or something. One is tall, and the other is short and squat, with a false front. They’re both sitting not-quite-square to the road, which makes a nice, picturesque entrance-way back in time.

The road itself is a potholed blacktop that’s faded to mouse gray. It sits down in a narrow valley between two steep ridges, and in the summer it’s so humid it feels like you can drink the air. But the weeds and stuff grow so thick down there it’s gorgeous and lush, although the mosquitoes put up quite a roar. In the evenings its worth it to climb the ridge just get up in the wind where they can’t handle it as well.  The road may be called a two lanes, but it’s really one and a half lanes. One has to time passing another car very carefully.

The first house on the right is an adorable old yellow thing with a bay window, and a rusty tin roof, and a little white bridge across the creek by the road. Its front yard is full of tall weeds and one bush, but they don’t really detract from the quaintness of the place. Across the street is a run down old mobile home, with a pole barn to the side, and a truck from the forties with weeds growing through the engine. Perfect waste of an antique.

On down, there’s a house that actually looks modern, with a Clydesdale in the front yard. Next on that side is a white shed and yet another antique pickup truck wasting away in the weeds on the side of the road. Down in a small basin below that, there’s an empty old white house with real wood siding and one wing of the place is ripping off like someone moved part of the house but left that part behind. Next to and kind of behind it, there’s another little white wood house that’s collapsed in the creek like an exhausted toddler that’s been out shopping with its mother too long.

Across from that there’s two or three large, old wood structures, like a big dog kennel, or a poultry house, and a sawmill. Next on that side is a funny little house built in the seventies or so, with a really old looking well-house behind it. It used to have a carport that one of the supports had fallen out from under and which was falling down. Now all the windows are busted out and the people I sometimes see seem to be taking it apart one nail at a time.

Then there’s the house where the Beautiful Idiot lives. The Beautiful Idiot is a gorgeous yellow ad black brindled mastiff or boxer type dog, with her head being darker than the rest. She’s a beauty. But she’s an idiot because she stands about as tall as the window of the little car I drive (mostly with the windows down), and she likes to lunge at me as I pass by and yell a huge “WOOF!” right at my level, which is extremely startling.

Farther along and across the street there’s a field with giant white cattle in it (I’m convinced they’re mythical creatures), accompanied by a hundred year old barn. The funny thing about this hundred year old barn is that hanging in the doorway is a single bunch of drying tobacco, which looks like it might also be a hundred years old.

Just above that on the same side is an adorable log cabin with a tin roof. It’s really legit, with mud chinking between the logs. It looks perfectly OK except for the boarded up windows. There’s a lot of crying shames and perfect wastes on little country roads.

That’s where I turn off. I’ve explored a little farther once, and the farther back you go into the labyrinth of old country roads, the farther back in time you get. There’s a lovely two story farmhouse, that would be worth a lot if only it wasn’t falling apart, and weird compound-type place that looks like the set of some movie about a cult. But that’s the fun of roads. I think this road is prettiest right at dawn. It happens to be east of me, so in the mornings the two white buildings at the entrance stand like door holders at a really nice hotel, and the sky is a nice fresh blue in the middle, framed by the fiercely alive peachy orange on the clouds. I’M ALIVE. NOTICE ME. If it has rained recently a terrific fog sets up, that makes navigating its little  twists almost impossible in the near darkness of five o clock. But I love it.

Here’s to the uniqueness and quaintness of country roads everywhere. I hope you enjoyed virtually exploring mine.