Sunday, April 1, 2012

“Sunshine at Leakey”

         Every time we pack up for a cabin trip, the dogs watch with great anticipation. They eagerly await the command to get into the back seat of the car. Once on our way, they sit at attention through most of the ride. For Bridget and Koi, the cabin means twenty-six acres of personal territory where they can roam and explore.
         Yesterday, the noon sun gleamed against rock and scrub, bleaching out the wildflowers while casting shadows with harsh, sharp lines. While David and Mom visited inside, the dogs and I hiked up the back hill, meandering along the deer trail. I paused only long enough to snap a picture, slowed down only when descending along the rocky path.

         Later in the afternoon, Mom ventured out for her own hike. Zigzagging between rocks embedded in the driveway and road, David maneuvered Mom’s wheelchair down the steep hill. He took her over to the new poles. A few months ago, one of our “neighbors” asked for Mom to sign release forms to tap into the electricity on our property. Our pole wasn’t the closest tap-in point, but another landowner had refused this man’s request. Remembering how nice the owners to the ranch abutting our property had been years ago in giving right-of-way, Mom agreed to help out the next electricity link. Eventually, this man hopes to build a home and live permanently on his acreage.
         We keep a journal at the cabin, and I took a moment to jot down the details of our visit when we came back from our walk. The previous entry, dated six months before, made me realize once again that we need to make this trek more often.
         Within four hours, Mom decided she didn’t want to spend the night. Although I longed for an evening of star watching and a morning of soft light for photography, I knew that Mom’s request to return home needed to be honored. Every time we make it to Leakey with Mom, I fear it may be her final visit. I want to keep these trips positive and pleasant. We quickly cleaned, organized, and reloaded the car.
         Bridget and Koi, tuckered from their sunny hikes, settled immediately into sleep once the car rolled down the drive. I know, though, that they’ll be on the watch for signs of another trip to the cabin.


 Copyright 2012 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

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