The Road Less Travelled, Not I

I have often wondered who travels the lonely road.  Certainly not I.  Some may think I did given my circumstances, but I have not done anything so unique or different from others that I feel I have followed the road less travelled.  In this day and time are there any of us who can really claim that title?  It is all a matter of perspective.  Our roads are rarely forked but a series of left turns, right turns, u turns, and sometimes we land in a ditch.  Our roads move up over hills and down through valleys.  Our roads stretch straight into the horizon for miles and miles only to be interrupted by an interloper or another fork in the road. But such is the way of life.

I knew as a young child I would not travel the same road as my father.  I did not want to live my life as a gambler (although I guess all choices are a gamble), so I lived in a book world far away from the realities of my life.  Farming any land is hard work.  Farming the plains of Texas is brutal.  One sand storm and the tiny cotton plants wilt and die or are stripped bare of their nourishing leaves.  Paradoxically, praying for rain may bring hail or floods that would destroy the crops in an instant.  Living with that stress takes a toll on an individual, a family, and a community. 

One autumn, not quite harvest time, but close, my parents were at the hospital with my brother who had contracted some fungus or bacteria that required more testing as the doctors were unsure what the red streaks in his legs were.  My two sisters and I were home finishing up homework and daily tasks when a storm blew in across the area.  We were accustomed to such storms, and we could see it coming for miles kicking up dust as it travelled across the flat land. I briefly turned on the television to check weather warnings.  Nothing indicated that a big change in our circumstances was headed our way.  As the low thunder cloud rolled over our home, I heard a loud bang.  It sounded as if someone was on the roof hitting it hard with a hammer.  A few seconds ticked by and there was another loud bang. And another. And another.  I ran from my bedroom to our kitchen where my sister was busy washing dishes and said that we should check the storm.  We grabbed our baby sister and headed towards a big picture window, but realized we should back away.  The cloud opened and spilled its contents.  Hail stones as big as grapefruits fell across our home and our land.  We retreated from the storm and huddled in a corner of the room too scared to move.  When the storm passed, all three of us cautiously walked to the window and looked.  It was complete devastation.  The storm had stripped the beautifully opened cotton boles off of the stocks.  Even the stocks were beaten to the ground.  Our neighbor had planted grain and those sturdy stocks were beaten to the ground.  I learned later that ironically these stalks were the cause of my brother’s strange symptoms a dermatologist confirmed.  We stepped outside to grab a few of the hail stones to show our parents when they returned home because we knew they would never believe how big they were.

The sun shone brightly on the barren fields and a rainbow appeared.  But I knew at that young age things would be bad for the farmers.  It was harvest time.  The entire year's work was destroyed in one moment. 

When our parents returned home, I could see the defeat in my father’s eyes.  He had boasted earlier that this crop was the best he had ever seen.  Maybe he was remembering the boast and feeling a fool, or he was sickened by the destruction and knew how difficult the recovery years would be.  I knew I would not travel this road as an adult.  Staying in such misery and working the next year and the next would have been the road less traveled.  I chose to leave.

I do not regret any choices I have made in my life.  I have been blessed with a great family, good friends and I live in a country where I get to choose what I do next.  I will admit that when I visit those flat, beautiful plains of Texas, I feel a tug to return.  Looking across the cotton fields and grass lands for miles and miles is breathtaking. The busy road I have traveled has brought me home again. I am on the long straight road, and soon I must turn right or left.  That decision my lead me to a road less travelled and that is the fun of life.