Knowing Where You Live

It’s true that some of us can be called explorers of our own lives and the places we live, but seriously, anyone can do this. You don’t necessarily need a hard hat, hiking boots, and climbing ropes to know where you live.

I have always been surprised when I have lived places and asked people if they knew for instance where the local museum was, or had they been down to the river to sit on the lovely benches, or what about the hike at the end of town that left you in a stupefied daze when you got to the top of the little hill and saw what looked like eternity.

In Florida, my last home, I could never understand why someone who lived there had not yet been to Weedon Island Preserve, a very lovely 3,000 acre natural area along the western shore ofTampa Bay, or the amazing Florida Holocaust Museum, or a mess of other places so close to everything.

I want to know things. I want to KNOW where I live, see it, feel it, walk and ride through it. I have always wanted to see what is over the next hill, usually a next hill by the way, and the reason my knees are shot to hell. I love maps, and trails, and have spent a great deal of time pulling over into ditches because I spotted something, most likely an old building or a ghost, that needed a closer look.

We just got back from a lovely two day off-the-grid adventure so we could experience a slice of this part of the world that is virtually unchanged from the gold mining days. It’s just a mountain over from where I am now but I consider that part of my neighborhood. When a few people asked me why I was going there I was at first dumbfounded but then just said, “Well, because it’s there.”

It’s okay with me if you stay home and watch television but I am here to tell you that you are missing out.

The morning we drove back out the ass end of the mountains, because we had driven in the front end and there was more to see,  a hawk swooped so close to my Jeep window I could feel the air from its wings and then it sat, right there ten feet away on a huge rock, eating its mouse breakfast.  Yes, it was a Holy Shit moment.

If that ain’t enough for you it’s best you throw a pizza in the oven, grab a beer, and catch a rerun.

I’m heading outside to feel the night wind in my dirty hair (Yes, we are low on water right now!) and to say goodnight to all the birds I have named who put on quite a show just before sunset.