Blocked

I had joy yesterday.

I was balls deep in a creek with boots full of water, two dogs and two horses, and ripping bushes and tiny sticker trees out of the riverbank to make a path around a fallen log. It was blocking our way through the creek. It was the size and weight of Texas if Texas was stretched and put into a massive  tubey sausage grinder. It was sausage Texas.

So when we sloshed up to the log in the creek, the dogs oblivious because they can hop under and around, but the horses and I looked at it like game over. The horses actually didn't look at all, they only looked immediately at which river plants to eat first as soon as I called WHOA.

I looked carefully at the tree. Maggie the shorter pony could duck under if I broke off one huge limb. But we can't leave a Dewey behind.

But I am not wearing the boots for creek, part of me thinks, as I throw a  leg over and parachute down into the drink anyway, feet instantly soaked. Adventure me always wins. The horses offer to no problem start clearing the creek of all edible plants in the way, it is their Souplantation. They're casual, and the price is right. I grab the log and pull. It is funny how you think I can do this, it's only a tree branch. I can do anything. Nike told me I can.

This branch is bigger than Zeus's lightning warehouse right before Black Friday. The tree is laughing at me, stoically. The tree is happily lapping up water and trailing it's beautiful yellow drapey leaves in the swirly current. And now humorously watching me, ant person, who thinks I am huge.

I'm 53. I haven't learned anything. I'm 9. The world is my jungle.

I look to one side where the hefty log is still connected to the tree. There's no way to get through on that side. I look at the bank to the right. Hmmm.

Horses and dogs happy, so I slosh to the right, and my feet don't sink too badly and the river bank isn't too steep so a horse can get up. The dogs follow me as I slash through the weeds taller than my head to see if just a person can get through and over to the other side. There are burnt bamboo stalks from the fire 2 years ago. They shatter when you kick them. I get through the sticker bushes and realize long sleeves mighta been good today. Oh also gloves.  Hey, the dogs and I can make it into the creek on the other side, not too steep. So if a person can do it....

I push up my non sleeves and start tearing out weeds. Karate-ing bamboo. Rip. Snap. Bend. Break. Sweat. Clear. Push. Shove. Wrapped in the world, the earth's underbrush. There's no thought, only make it smooth. Not perfect. Just enough. Make it passable. Jagged riverbank is my PlayDoh.

Happiness leaks in from some sunlight and the obstacle and the breaking down of the obstacle because I can see, there is a foreseeable success, it's only right over there. Where the horses are standing in a gentle creek, eating like cows at the world's most leisurely garden party.

The human mind talks too much. We could learn a lot from a horse standing in a creek eating.

It takes me awhile and I am happy to crack and shred every last piece of tall scratchy weed to bulldoze a path for the barge of horses to get through. My hands feel like claws. I wish I could drink lotion, they are so dry. I think I'm done, and then hey. I stand up, almost cracked in half like a scarecrow. I am done.

I sit down on a side log and take off my helmet which I forgot to take off and let my sweaty hair dry out in the sun. I watch the horses, who outweigh me by 2000 pounds and have done nothing. At least the dogs kept bouncing through, making sure I was doing a good job.

I think about my ride so far, when I started in the morning after half an hour on the street I finally got to trail and then two huge bulldozers were following me to wreck my peace and stillness. Then my dumb horse Maggie (who's on a rope following behind me and Dewey) kept stopping because she's young and thinks it's hilarious to randomly stop and not move. So when she stopped and almost yanked my arm off, I was literally at the end of my rope, and then I was crying remembering fighting with my littler daughter the night before about taking her phone away and the anger was still in me, I yelled I HATE MY DAUGHTER at the bulldozers as they passed.

So I switched my trail to get away from them and with the noise gone, the puppy was dashing through the wide creek in the fog after ducks and it looked just like a land envisioned by LL Bean. Suddenly all good again, the bulldozers washed away, the world a wide Maine wilderness and replaced by romping.

Then we go under a secret tree and riding through deep water and there you forget everything because your shoes are floating on the surface, your horse is that deep, and you're fleetingly realizing you have little power here and hoping you don't die. But the horse trudges on like she's braving the snow to gramma's house.

And then there it was. The massive leafy treefallen log. Cascaded across the most beautiful creek. Cutting us off from the rest, the farther pretty.

Of course you would get off too, and try to lift Texas.

So now here we are.

The little side path cleared, I sat in my soggy boots and dreamed of ordering waterproof boots on ebay later.

I watched the horses and the dogs, doing nothing. I never sit and do nothing, unless my hair is sweating and I just cleared a huge path. It is so nice sitting. That's when I realized I was happy, like childhood happy, like deep ice cream filled sleeping bag happy.  Because we had nothing to do, so we did this. I sat there liking myself for a goddamn minute. Then took a bunch of sun dappled photos through leaves that were glowing like Midas had drifted through on his way to citibank. I saw it all, I wanted to tell the world. It didn't go unnoticed. I see you. Quiet creek, who asks for nothing.

Enough resting. Throw my soggy leg over my fat pony and hitch up my courage. Let's try out the trail I chopped out of wilderness. I held my breath over the bank the first time hoping no legs snapped off or sunk on the way up, over and down. And then we were just walking in the creek again, like no big deal, on the glorious other side. The side previously known as Blocked.

We had a parade of joy, huge sloshing horse feet through golden leaves, jaunty wet dogs, soggy feet, and relaxed, sighing horses. It was maybe the happiest watery footsteps of my life.

After awhile, at a turn in the creek, of course. An even bigger fallen branch, with all kinds of splintering off limbs. Damn you, winds. Sleeping Beauty's Castle, blocked by thorns. Always, with the obstacles, world.

It was pretty here too.
I jumped off into the creek, and scoped out the new situation. One side no way. Only elves with explosives could get through. On the other side, a mass of bushes made by Satan himself. A cloak of impossible. An anger of stickers and burrs.

Well, tomorrow I guess.

The horses and I walked back and forth up and down the new section of creek, trying out my little path a bunch of times. Maggie liked to leap up it and jump around at the top like she just won the Olympics. Which I don't appreciate when I'm on top of her and firmly let her know.

On our way out, through the deep water and under the hidden tree entrance, a lady rider and her daughter rider are on the path as we emerge.

Hey is that a trail, the lady asks.

Part of me wants to never tell anyone my trail. IT'S MY SECRET TRAIL, I'm busting inside. My water.
But then I say

I just made a new path
Want me to show you?