I exercised yesterday. Felt good! Well, for a little while. Hours later I felt pain.
Why do I do it?
The reasons never measure up. They never counter balance the pain.
So, why?
A person should just do it. Despite the negative thoughts and outcomes.
For my muscles I scream no until the next time.
On the Raton Pass
Out exploring today. Actually looking for the Old Raton Pass Road. Richens Lacey (Uncle Dick) Wootton’s toll road. It amazes me that such a historical figure is barely mentioned. What amazes me more is that such a huge mine like the Morley Mine also is barely mentioned. There is nothing in the area of Raton Pass to entice a person to stop and learn more.
We per chance noticed a church steeple and decided to investigate. All roads were gated. Paddle locked. Blocking exploration.
With curiosity yanking on our brain we stopped close to were we first saw it. Along US highway 25. A huge pull off. Why there was no information plaque is beyond me. While my husband took pictures I tried to do internet research. No service. Curiosity had to wait.
So, I marked the spot on BaseMap. That way I could search in more detail once internet was available.
Turns out it was one of the largest coal mines. Over 11,000,000 tons of coal taken from the mine between 1878-1956. But not any information available nearby to make you stop and learn. A very interesting find.
Oh, to go back in time. To our simple youthful selfs. Especially in times like these where the days news makes you shake your head.
The following is an excerpt from my book “Essence Survives.”
The shoe box barely gets a sidewise glance. No time to lace up boots. A smile creases and pronounces Elizabeth’s high cheek bones. “I’m off to the garden,” she announces. There is no one paying attention. The cool dirt pathway invigorates her feet. The wind lifts hair off her back as she skips. An excitable giggle exudes. Outdoor love overpowers the task ahead. Feeling the autumnal sun drench body and soul. Autumnal. Such a fancy word for autumn. Just one of the many recent onslaught word gains. Too many to recite presently. In preparation for a possibly Journey to America. Never knowing when such a word may prove to be useful, but she relishes the knowledge. Her current favorite being bucolic. Meaning country life. Yes bucolic! Where Elizabeth can be free to go barefoot.
“Bucolic is country,” Elizabeth starts singing, “and country is free to roam. Without shoes, if you please,” twirling, arms outspread, “to dig your toes in the dirt while you pluck potatoes,” she voices. Long brown hair strands follow her to a stop. The momentum continues draping hair across her face. A quick toss, into the wind, places it back where it belongs. On her shoulders and down past her hips. “Bucolic is country and country is for me.”
Katherine Murie Webster