Hubby had a Wild Hair on Sunday. He proposed, since Baby Girl and her Baby Girl had departed from their Delightful Spontaneous Visit and we were once again Empty Nesters, with no commitments, no expectations and no responsibilities, that we should go Spoofin. 'Spoofin' is defined (by us) as random meanderings with no real goal or destination, just goin' where the wind blows us.
Hubby has a few out of the way places left to explore since our arrival in Southern Indiana twelve years ago. He keeps this little pretend list in his brain for occasions such as this. This time, our meanderings led us to Hindostan Falls. This little burg was established in 1818 and build to a booming 1200 residents before The Great Sickness overtook the whole town in 1828 and wiped the population off the map. All that is left is the falls and eager fishermen on Sunday afternoons.
This Spoofin Adventure was different because Hubby asks me as we walk out the door, 'Don't you want to take Dixie with?' What, I say? What? Was that a post BGBG hallucination?? It is not a secret that my dear Hubby only shares space with a dog because he kinda likes me; NOT dogs. Miss Dixie, in her infinite wisdom, has taken to The Boss with such unashamed affection, that even a hard nose Dog Disliker like Hubby had to melt his winter chill towards the little Jack Russelly imp. To the drastic point of asking her to accompany us on a Spoofin Adventure. Very rare. Very.
When I came across the tree in the above photo near the Falls, the word 'Adaptation' came to my mind and stuck like glue. I stared and stared and took countless photos of this crazy tree clinging so confidently to the very edge of the river bank. I wondered at the decision that this tree made to hang on instead of falling over into the rolling river below it. I wondered at the source of nutrition that kept it alive for a very large amount of years. It seemed impossible for it to be able to hang on given the positioning, but there it was. Content and green and very tall. It had adapted.
And then I looked at Hubby hanging on to Miss Dixie's leash. Well. What a very long way he had come to reach the point where he was content to bring along the formerly irritating noisy terrier and embrace her as a suitable companion with his sweetie on a Sunday Afternoon. He adapted.
Miss Dixie has done some adapting herself. Instead of protecting me like a Rottweiler, she is now content to give warning barks to those who step into a three feet radius around me and then, when you are approved, she will let you pet her. Her barking, which has been known to wake the dead, is not quite as urgent and intense. She is adapting.
Soon, ol' Hubby and I will be making many adjustments as we approach Retirement Day.
As we watch more vigilantly our budgets, our time, our health. We will save up for fuel to visit our Faraway Grandchildren and treat them well while we eat cereal for supper. And we could not be happier to do that. Seriously. We are adapting happily to the older state we are in and it is fine and dandy.
So stand strong you trees out there and make the best of where you are placed.
The standing, in spite of the odds, will make you unusual and admired and your heart will be content despite your location.