Walking the Loop

The loop is one and one-half miles long. I know. I've measured it...and walked it many times. We began calling it the loop because it makes a circular trip.

We would leave the front door of our Heston's Haven country home, walk a half mile along a south fence row, then back across Kiowa Mound hill (old Indian campsite), onto a trail following our north fenceline. We would walk down that path for another half-mile, cross the earthen dam of the stock tank, then back through the woods and over a dry creek bed toward our country cottage, and return to the screened-in back porch. The complete circuit was almost exactly one and one-half miles.

Whether we were at Heston's Haven for a weekend, a holiday, or a family vacation, walking the loop was a regular part of our daily activities. Maybe in the morning Patti and I would strike out together, or if we had guest, they were always invited to hike along. As always, Laci, our Australian Sheppard pup, would happily lead the way.

The landmarks along the way all became so familiar...the yellow cactus flowers in May, the honeybee tree, where son-in-law harvested his first whitetail buck, where we always saw the covey of quail, where arrowheads were found on Kiowa Mound, where we disposed of the five-foot rattlesnake, where the mother bobcat had her den...and where yours truly got the tractor stuck one winter. All these places and events have become a part of our family's fokelore. They are the props and scenes in stories we all know by heart and repeat to each other season after season.

When grandkids were with us, walking the loop became a grand adventure. They loved to run on ahead as scouts and then hurry back to Grandave and Grams and report what they had found, what had changed, and what was new. They grew adept at spotting different kinds of insects scurrying around the country landscape and identifying the tracks of animal neighbors that had passed that way during the night.

What a delight to weave together a story for them about how the fawn had followed its mother down to the waters edge, or how the cottontail bunny had run away from the coyote. And occasionally we'd be ever so lucky and see a doe standing off in the meadow, looking at us; or we'd spot the hoot owl perched on his telephone pole, waiting for nightfall.

The little ones were startled when the quail flushed, and would jump aside when they came upon a garter snake sunning itself on the pathway. Grandave would show them pointed deer tracks imprinted in the soft dirt. Grams would help them find ripe argarita berries, often picking enough to bring home in their hats and hands for an afternoon snack...and I'd laugh when the tart juices would pucker their little lips.

There will come a day when the grandkids will want to walk the loop alone, just them...without us grownups along. With much trepidation we'll probably say, "Yes", and then spend the next hour or so trying not to appear too anxious. They'll be fine, I'll convince myself...and so they will be.

I can hear them now, laughing and running, getting closer as they shuffle through the carpet of fallen leaves and then skip down the hill behind Heston's Haven. "Grandave," they will yell. "We saw a rabbit...and little frogs in the tank...and we have to tell Gram's about the berries...and we got our feet muddy...and we heard a woodpecker.

Then they will be off to swing on the tree rope or to play in the sandbox...and we can relax.

It was 1991 when Heston's Haven 250 acres came to me through my parent's estate. Now all these years later I wonder...how did this happen? How did this little walk around the loop become such an important part of our lives? How can you become so attached to a place?

Over the passing years Heston's Haven's landscape has changed somewhat, too quickly it seems...but you can still make it around the loop if the John Deere's shredder keeps the paths cleared.

Is it ritual or habit? Maybe it's a little of both...like going to church on Sunday. You come to Heston's Haven...you 'walk the loop'.

It's become a measure of our health and the growth of our family. There was a time when someone had to drive the Kawasaki Mule, as the little ones were too young to go all the way around the loop without being carried. Then we remember when older grandkids could walk most of the way...and finally make it all the way.

And then we think about how the loop trip is taking more and more time as aching muscles and sore backs and ailing knees catch up.

But there are grandkids still babes, and hopefully someday great-grandkids, who have yet to see the pointed deer tracks...or be startled by the quail...or see the yellow cactus flowers in May. Someone must lead them around the loop and along the paths and pass on the stories about the honeybee tree, the garter snake, Gram's argarita berries and where Grandave got the tractor stuck.

Walking the loop has seemed to let us know where we are in life. It's a common experience we can always share with each other. It seems that only as we've become grandparents ourselves have we begun to realize this little stroll's importance in our lives far exceeds the simple act of walking along our country trails.

It's only one and one-half miles long. I know. I've measured it... but the significance of "walking the loop" in the life of our family is way beyond measuring.