Out on the dirt road
It is odd the things you remember as we get older. I recall the first time I saw my footprints on the road. A minor thing but it tells you a lot about the time and the place. Obviously it was not raining because I was walking in what we called sand. Silt. Crossing the road in front of my house. No need to look for cars because the roads had very few of them. Getting my feet dusty was also just a minor detail. Obviously I was with my mother because my father had a job to go to and she had the time to watch me walk on the road. It did not happen often. We had a pump in the yard and that was sufficient to wash my feet. No need to go home and run a tub which would have meant heating water on the stove and going through far too much effort to clean some dust from some tiny feet. I also realized that I was not wearing shoes. I think I only had to wear shoes to go to church. As I say, funny the things we remember. It would have been a warm day and I will bet that we had not yet passed through the first decade of my life. Probably not even the first couple of years. There was no dog of by my side. That came later. And I never walked on the railway because the trains killed people we learn that at a very young age. That small element almost cost my sister her life when she was rescued from a dangerous place sitting on the tracks. At least the trains moved very slowly and someone had time to run down the road and onto the roadbed and rescue her from what would have been something tragic. I doubt she remembers the incident which would be a good reason for me to remind her. Life was easy living not so much.
