You know those memories you have as a kid that aren't spectacular, but they are permanently a part of you? This hill is that to me.
Hey, at least I warned you that it wasn't spectacular.
But really. That hill has so many memories. There didn't used to be stairs. It used to be just a hill with a few rocks on it. As kids, it was like climbing Mt. Everest. It was really easy to lose your footing and slide.
Okay, maybe it wasn't, but we like to think that we were really sure-footed, so we rarely slipped even though it was oh-so dangerous.
But with everything on that mountain, there were huge rocks all over it.
Sure, I have small
I remember the men in my family busting rocks with sledgehammers anytime we needed to reconstruct something. Putting in a fence? Bust up the rock in the way. Making a garden? Voila! A new rock wall will be made-- we had to put the rock somewhere!
I think rocks grow on that mountain.
Maybe that's why I was never good at science.
Of course, the next mountain over is used for a rock quarry. That could have been a clue.
So, in true Pressley fashion, animal names are inscribed in the concrete that made up these steps.
Hmmm... where is Jigsaw's name? He, after all, has his very own guest house on this mountain.
I'd share that story with you, but I don't want to end up on the Jeff Foxworthy Show.
Oh, what the heck.
You might be a redneck if... your doghouse is a cooler.
Jeff? Are you out there? I used to go to church with you. You didn't know me... and ok... I never saw you... but I hear we were living in the same zip code. Maybe even delivered some pizza to your neighbors?
I digress as usual. I'll end with a pretty picture. The reason we climbed to the top of this hill (other than to paint turtles or visit the goats or say hello to the pig or play hide and seek).
It's a terrible picture, but it was getting dark. This is the view. I'll show you a better picture someday... if I remember.