This past weekend, my son, Matt, took my husband and I to eat out for his dad's birthday. We planned to go to an upscale seafood restaurant in a pretty ritzy outdoor shopping village; but along the way, we decided to go to a crab shack that had been suggested by Matt's best friend. As we were driving to the unfamiliar eatery, Matt entered the location into his IPhone GPS and began following directions for the quickest route...which usually means interstate.
However, this time, the "guiding voice" of the GPS led us on wild good chase or so it seemed. We exited the interstate, turned onto a newly-constructed overpass, and took a right side street. We took another left and drove through congested construction. We passed the most adorable inner-city trailer park with a whimsical row of mailboxes in front, a farmer's market outlined by rows of orange pumpkins, a street sign which read McLaurin Drive, and the town of Flowood's public library. Occasionally, I recognized a familiar landmark that gave me a sense of where we were. We passed Little Willie's Barbecue, a local eatery that has the absolute best hamburgers! I ate one every Thursday when I worked with Ms. Ann Marsh at the public library located near the Reservoir. Then, we drove across the Ross Barnett Reservoir Spillway at sunset. Be still my heart ~ the reflection of the setting sun against that huge mass of water was breathtaking...thank you "guiding voice" of the GPS. Finally, we took a left at a red light, another quick left, and Eureka! The "guiding voice" of the GPS had led us right to the front door of Crab's Seafood Place ~ thirty-two minutes exactly.
That off-the-beaten-path route reminded me of riding the pig trails when my children were young. At the time, we were living in Mrs. Beulah Thomas' hundred-year-old cabin, which had no air-conditioning. On hot Sunday afternoons, our family of five would pile up in the car, turn on the A/C, and ride the pig trails. We lived about twelve miles from the nearest town ~ a straight shot on a state highway. But...not if you are pig trailing! There are about thirty different ways to town if you follow the pig trails. We always ended up at Dairy Queen, where we ordered ice-cold treats before we returned home. By the time we got home, we were all so cold that we looked forward to the thawing-out process in our nice warm house! Haha! Tomorrow Trunk-worthy stuff, for sure!
My eighty-year-old Aunt Hilda is the person who gave us the name "riding the pig trails" for our Sunday afternoon excursions, which always continued into the fall. She said that farmers and their families used to walk their pigs to market, just like the nursery rhyme states. She told us that her father, my Grandpa Allen, would hitch up the wagon and tie up the livestock he planned to sell, then he and certain members of his family would carefully maneuver the herd of animals along a worn path to the livestock sale. Once they arrived, Grandpa would sell, barter, or trade the livestock for whatever the family needed for the upcoming year. After a full day, the family began the long ride ~ or walk ~ home, depending on whether he acquired young animals to raise for another season. Aunt Hilda said that "this little piggy cried wee, wee, wee all the way home" was actually an accurate description of the return trip. Everyone was exhausted after the day's events, and usually the weary travelers were accompanied on their long journey back by piglets or calves who had just been separated from their mothers. "All those dirt roads and back roads that you love to drive on Sunday afternoons are pig trails. At least, that's what we call 'em," she explained.
Most people might equate the idea of riding the pig trails to a wild goose chase ~ a futile search, a fruitless errand, a worthless hunt, a useless and often lengthy pursuit. All those phrases could describe a Sunday afternoon of riding the pig trails; however, I have never considered those precious hours with the most important people in my world as futile, fruitless, or useless ~ lengthy, maybe, but never worthless.
Even though most of our pig trail excursions took place over the summer, the fall of the year ~ especially October ~ is the perfect season to ride the pig trails. Fill up the car with gas, which is not always easy on a budget. Pack the bare necessities ~ some snacks, binoculars, a camera, a pair of scissors, an empty vase (roadside bouquets are the best!) and one cell phone for emergency. Roll down the windows and ride the pig trails!
One of my co-workers, Ms. Ella Mary, said that she and her dad used to play a travel game called Cow Poker which seems absolutely ideal for riding pig trails. She said that her dad counted the cows on the driver's side of the road, and she counted the cows on the passenger's side of the road; however, if a cemetery was located on one side of the road or the other, that person's cows died. Haha! Fruitless ~ probably; useless ~ maybe; priceless ~ most definitely!
One might call it sightseeing on a shoestring, or bird watching from the back seat, or leaf peeping your way through life. I call it riding the pig trails ~ not in pursuit of anything, but always expecting an unforgettable surprise at every bend in the road. That kind of journey never disappoints.
Dianne ; )
