People Who Live At The End Of Dirt Roads

I split time growing up between St. George, UT and the Arizona Strip. I claim both places as home. My family was not then, and we are not now affluent. But we got by just fine. Not once do I remember going to bed hungry as a child-unless it was because I chose to throw a fit over what we were being served for dinner! I lived in a lovely home my parents built, where I shared a room with siblings until enough of them moved out that I was able to have my own room. I had a car in high school. A 1977 Pontiac Bonneville! It wasn't new, nor was it fancy, but I had one. I have been on fantastic trips to places many can only imagine. I was very blessed in this regard.

But I often feel I was more deeply blessed by my time spent on the Arizona Strip. I had the wonderful opportunity as a child, to glimpse what it might have been like to live in the olden days. I learned the meaning of hard work, even if I didn't appreciate it at the time. I know what it is to cook over open flame (and I'm not talking about a gas stove, here), to sleep on the ground, to be so cold you think you will never be warm again and so hot you are willing to brave the muck around the edges of the water in the cow pond as you run in, full speed! I've consumed water from cow troughs and eaten cold beans from a can when we were just too tired to care about warming them up.

Don't get me wrong. I appreciate the comforts of my life. There is a balance to be found. Nothing is quite so soothing as a hot shower when you have been on the trail for days, when the dirt is etched into the lines on your face and cracks in your hands. But sometimes I think that life is much simpler in the dirt. Sometimes, I really miss living at the end of a dirt road! Which brings me to this...

Years ago, when I was still working at the Bar Ten Ranch in the summer, there was a great old cowboy who lived on the ranch full time. We all called him Uncle Verdon. He wasn't really my uncle, but I suppose he may as well have been. He'd known me for as long as I was alive. He was a very unique person and I loved hearing his stories about his youth. He was a fantastic storyteller! One day when we were talking he passed me a paper with a story printed on it. The words sunk into my soul and every so often I think back on the message contained therein:

People Who Live At The End of Dirt Roads: We had better values when the roads weren't paved. By Lee Pits

Do you really want to know what is wrong with American society today?
Too many of our roads have been paved.

There's not a problem in America today--crime, education, drugs, the divorce rate--that could not be improved with more dirt roads.

Dirt roads build character. People who live at the end of dirt roads know that life is much more enjoyable when taken at a slower pace. They know that life can be dirty, boring, and jar you right down to your teeth at times. They also have a greater appreciation for what's waiting at the end of the bumpy ride--their home, their kids, a frisky dog and a loving spouse.

We wouldn't have near the trouble with our educational system today if more kids still lived at the end of dirt roads and had to take the bus to school. In the old days, buses usually wouldn't go down dirt roads, so the kids had to walk to the bus stop. In doing so, they got a lot more exercise than they would sitting in front of television for hours on end. Kids often learned more on the bus then they did in the classroom, too. Bus riders seldom became social misfits. Kids learned how to get along, how to make conversation, and often did their homework on the bus. Usually, the last kid to get off the bus at the end of the route was the smartest kid in the class.

At the end of dirt roads youngsters soon learned that bad words tasted like Ivory Soap. An older brother or sister took real good care of a younger sibling because often they were the only ones to play with--or to blame things on. The children knew that play time couldn't come until the chores were done; but they would secretly tell you that when the chores were done, so was a lot of the real fun. Bottle feeding the calves, collecting eggs and feeding the horse wasn't really work, at least not to a country kid.

There was less crime in our streets when most of them were dirt. Criminals just didn't walk two miles of dirt road to rob or rape, because if they did, they were apt to be welcomed by five barking dogs and a double-barrel shotgun. People peddling vitamin supplements and religion stayed away in droves. There were no drive-by shootings either.

We had much better values when the roads were worse. Grown-ups didn't cherish their cars more than their kids. Country folks didn't drive $50,000 foreign cars down roads that were like corrugated iron. Instead, they drove pickup trucks that pleaded in the dust on the tailgate, "Please wash me!" but no one ever did. Why bother? It would just get dirty again.

People were much more courteous in the days of dirt. Drivers didn't tailgate, because if they did, they would choke on your dust or get a rock through their windshield. Dirt roads taught patience.

Fancy folks didn't use hair spray or mousse gel in their hair in the days of dirt roads. If they did, by the time they got to the end of a road, their thirty-five dollar haircut would be a sticky, gooey, filthy mess. Butch wax was bad enough.

Most paved roads led to a  dead end. Dirt roads, on the other hand, most likely ended at a fishing creek or a favorite swimming hole. At the end of a dirt road, there was no need to arm your alarm or lock your car, unless it was to keep the neighbor from filling it with zucchini.

Dirt roads were much more environmentally friendly, too. You just didn't hop in your car and deplete the ozone layer to run to town to get a quart of milk. Instead, you went outside and milked the cow. You walked down to the end of the driveway to get the mail--usually catalogs from which you ordered everything from china cups to calico. If it rained and the road was washed out, you just stayed home, maybe even had a family conversation. Remember those?
At the end of a dirt road, there has always been extra income when a city dude got his car stuck and you had to pull him out. Usually you received a dollar or two; always, you got a new friend.

Now many of our roads have been paved over and some call it progress. Where do these roads lead? Mostly to trouble, I'd say.

This country was a lot better off when most of our people lived at the end of dirt roads.**

Now, I'm certainly not saying I agree with every word spoken in this story, but the overall theme, the feel of the message has value for me. Isn't it time that we rediscovered what is really important in life? Family, friends, love, service!

With cell phones and the internet, everything has become so easily accessible that we seem to be constantly living in fear that we are going to miss out on a better offer... Are we so ill-content with what we are doing that we cannot simply take joy in the moment?

So, turn off your phone, and take a walk down a dirt road. I know I will.