…and that was the problem. Not maintained, rutted, overgrown on either side, the mile long drive is the only way by vehicle in and out of this abandoned homestead we now spend half the year on.
And then we traveled it too much in wet springs, speeding through puddles and slick spots to keep traction, making ruts deeper, potholes wider. This spring — wetter than anyone can remember a spring being for some time — the road became so impossible we had to pull our car out by tractor through the rough spots. A 45 minute drive to town often took three hours.
In the worst of it, I parked my car a mile away on the county road. And that’s when I started thinking how a road less traveled by car makes such a pleasant country lane — all that greenery bending over it and growing up the middle. Aspens and pines shading it. Wildflowers carpeting the slopes.
Then one night as I drove back from town by myself in a heavy rain, the road didn’t look so inviting. I had to make a decision. Park on the county road and walk a mile where cougars might be hunting for dinner or drive to the yurt and risk careening off the road?
I drove and made it back to the yurt, shaken but okay and cursing country lanes.
The rains have stopped now, and we’ve called in some big equipment to smooth our road and rock it. The raw cuts ain’t pretty. As I walk along what’s left of our rutted lane, I feel a bit of nostalgia for that less traveled road. Then I thump my sentimental head to remind myself of that dark, stormy night.