These Roads That Cling To Me…
Roads live in me. The thought of moving just to pursue ‘greener pastures’ (maybe finding some kind of mountain or beach or tropical paradise), has no appeal.
Zip. Zero. Nada.
Growing up, I walked, biked, or motored down red clay dirt roads. Along every road was: (1) barbed wire fencing, (2) a small drainage ditch, (3) buffalo (stink) gourds, and (4) devil’s claws plants. Stink Gourds and Devil’s Claws grew side by side.
I got in plenty of gourd fights. They looked and felt like billiardball-sized watermelons, but smelt terrible. Covered in tiny hairy spines, their barbs would spike into my palm, all but impossible to dig out. It hurt like h*** when one smashed into my face.
I also had many times when the devil’s claw attached to the hollow of my ankle, often unnoticed. Well, unnoticed until I felt its sharp barbs jabbing me.
My memories of the dirt roads and ponds around Clinton, Bessie, Cordell, Corn, Colony, Foss, and Butler are strong. For 12 years I walked and rode them. Under hot summer suns, during spring storms, beneath fall moons.
They are a part of who I am.
During my adult life, there is one road I have walked and rode thousands of times. Thousands. It’s on the east side of Fort Worth, my little slice of rural paradise, almost exactly in the center of the D/FW urban area, a metropolis (metroplex) of more than 7 million people.
Its name is Randoll Mill Road. I have been traversing it for 30+ years. It’s lined with pastureland, horse stables, cattle, and goats. It runs along the sweet, rich bottom-land of the Trinity River. Few know about its existence.
My daughters grew up traveling Randoll Mill at least twice daily. My wife and I drive it just to refresh ourselves. I know every twist and turn between Temple Christian School and both my houses of the past 30 years.
I’ve watched it change. There are now 5 housing additions built on former farmland or forests. 2 new bridges. One new traffic circle.
The changes don’t bother me. I’m used to it. I don’t own the road, nor the land beside it. I’m owed nothing.
But the memories are strong.
And these roads and lands will forever cling to me, just like the prongs of a Devil’s Claw, or the needles of a Stink Gourd.
I will never try to shake them off…
