RIDING SHOTGUN

Today I discovered something amazing. For years I've done all the driving, whether it be journeying the 25 miles to town or on a long trip. My hubby would indulge in road rage and I enjoy driving so it makes sense, this arrangement. We always take the back roads to avoid the hustle and frenetic traffic of Interstates and to allow both of us to enjoy the scenery at a slower pace.

But this morning, because our mechanic right down the road met with a dreadful accident that took his life, we had to take the car 25 miles into town to have it serviced prior to a road trip. This meant my husband would pick me up after he ran some errands and bring me back home in his small Ford pickup. That meant, horror of horrors, I would not be driving. I would instead be installed in the passenger's seat. Riding Shotgun, if you please.

I'm the first one to admit that I have control issues and make a terrible passenger. That's the reason I drive. But this morning I decided that would change. I wanted the day to begin peacefully and enjoyably, so I climbed in, leaned back and began to take in the scenery out my window. I saw things I didn't know were there. We live in the Ozarks and the drive consists of a two-lane curving highway with bluffs on one side and the river on the other.

Now I've always enjoyed the drive and the view as a driver. But now I was able to gaze long and hard at the mountains and trees, at the rocky river bed, at ranches with lush pastures and cattle and horses grazing. I saw a pair of darling mules lined up at a board fence, their heads looped over the top rail, long ears pricked at some sound they both must have heard at the same moment. I saw the camels a horse rancher has bought and turned in with his thoroughbreds. What an odd, humorous sight they made against the green grass. Camels belong in deserts, I mused, yet they seemed to fit right in.

A tiny squirrel darted across the highway in front of us and I was able to watch it scamper through the dried leaves on the forest floor and climb the shaggy white bark of a sycamore tree. I peered up long driveways that climbed into the thick woods and wondered who lived up there and what their house might look like.

The ride home passed quickly and I vowed from now on, on the rare occasions when I'm a passenger and not a rider, I'll take my foot off the brake, my fist off the door handle and my eyes off the dangers lurking on the road ahead and lean back to enjoy the ride home.