Tuesday morning when the bride dropped me off on her way to work so I could run home, I decided to pass via Phillippy Road.
For me the two claims to fame are an old (ca. 1813 limestone farmhouse), here:
What detracted from the ambiance and nostalgia were the Pontiac Firebird and the Jeep parked outside...just didn't fit. I was thinking global thoughts of all the babies who had been born in that house, and of all the people who died in that house, in the 200 years it has sat there.
Had I turned right onto Phillippy instead of left past the old home above, I would have gone past a specially built home for a young farmer paralyzed in an accident. Their old farmhouse was not wheelchair-friendly, so a new, one story home was built, using donations and the proceeds of a series of fundraiser dinners. This was back in the early 80s, shortly after the bride and I first moved to southern Franklin County.
I thought how for the past 25 years I have been enjoying my running life. And I wondered how the young man--now in his 50s--has coped with the last quarter century of life in a wheelchair.
The point is that life can turn instantly into something quite different than what we have or what we imagine. Taking our lives and relationships for granted is not a good strategic move.