Sharon Kennedy: The season of long shadows
Twenty years ago it was my custom to arise early during the warm months. Tree shadows fell across the road providing shade as I pedaled away from home, coasted down the hill, crossed the bridge and walked my bike up the “big” hill. From there it was a straight stretch to Six Mile Road. I dreaded riding on that road due to the traffic. I was always relieved when I reached the safety of Birch Point Road because I rarely met a vehicle or another cyclist. As busy as Six Mile was, the solitude that greeted me once I was off the main road made my daily trek worth the effort.
But before I reached the bridge, I said good morning to the neighbors’ horses and mule as they looked my way. I answered the calls of robins and wrens. I watched mist lift from the river. I swatted mosquitoes from my arms. I was never in a hurry. I had time to survey my surroundings — time to feel the presence of companions hidden from view. I knew fish silently swam underneath the brown river water, worms were burrowing deep into the earth to avoid hungry robins and nestlings were anxious for their breakfast. Sometimes I saw the remains of a deer that had not survived the winter.
If so inclined, I stopped and inspected fiddlehead ferns or odd-shaped stones that caught my attention. I watched leaves unfold as warm weather coaxed them open. Sometimes I bicycled to the end of what had been designated as a nature preserve on Birch Point. I got off my bike and inhaled the clean, pure air as it wafted through the evergreens, and I thanked the Great Creator for the beauty around me. I asked whatever entity had deemed the sun and sky and woods and earth into existence to be kind to us mortals, for we tend to be a stupid lot.
When I reached Milligan Road, I pedaled to the end of it. I saw beautiful homes and wondered what emotions filled their rooms. Laughter? Anger? Contentment? Fear?
Anything could be hidden behind those lovely, expensive front doors. I rarely saw anyone in their yard. Perhaps the occupants were at work or enjoying their morning coffee on their back porch as I rode by. I never saw a cat or dog or any other sign of life around the houses. Everything was quiet except for the tinkle of the bear bell attached to the basket on my bicycle.
By the time I reached home, I had logged my daily 10 miles. I put my bike in the garage and thanked it for another good ride. At that time, it was at least 25 years old. I didn’t remove the little yellow seat my daughter had ridden in when she was two. It brought sweet memories to my mind and is still attached to the handlebars. A couple years ago, I stopped riding the bike. It was making strange noises, and I didn’t trust it to keep me safe.
Those mornings of the long shadows were pleasant, peaceful ones when my life was carefree and my worries were few. I may never again pedal my bicycle down the road, but one day soon I hope to take long walks. I’ll reach the river and watch the mist rise and disappear among the treetops. It will be like greeting an old and beloved friend who was patiently awaiting my return.
— To contact Sharon Kennedy, send her an email at authorsharonkennedy.com. Kennedy's new book, "View from the SideRoad: A Collection of Upper Peninsula Stories," is available from her or Amazon.
This article originally appeared on The Sault News: Sharon Kennedy: The season of long shadows
