Love/Hate

Loathe as I am to go into town, I have to admit I (mostly) love the drive.  It is a constantly changing scene.  If I had a daily commute, I might not notice the differences, but since I try hard not to go more often than every two weeks they just jump out at me.  On my last trip, the brilliant yellow Scotch broom bushes were in flower.  Yesterday they had been replaced by patches of some wildflower that looks like bright magenta phlox (according to Google, it could be Dame's rocket).  Sheep along the way are getting their summer haircuts.  Cattle are dropping calves here, there, and everywhere.  Mares on the horse farms are getting the big belly and are about ready to foal.  A number of ranches have added alpacas to their herds; they seem to be the current livestock fad.  Remember when emus were the up and coming thing?  More and more deer are foraging closer to the road.  I saw three yesterday.

The rule about not passing over a double-yellow line seems to be a thing of the past, as almost every time I leave the house, some idiot whips around me (and I'm usually going 45-50 on our curvy, narrow roads), seemingly intent on self-destruction.  The prevalent thought up here is, "Well, that's an accident waiting to happen," and unfortunately, it does.  Either the speeder will hit a deer or lose it on a curve and end up down in a gully.  If there are even one or two cars behind me that seem anxious to speed, I will pull over as often as necessary in one of the few places available.  The pull-outs are even less cared for than the pot-holed roads and it sometimes feels like you could break an axle trying to do the courteous thing.

Regardless of how pretty the drive is, I feel like Dorothy in the Wizard Of Oz, "There's no place like home; there's no place like home."