Country Mile

There are plenty of reasons Cindy and I decided to move to the country last year.  Tranquility, peace and quiet and starry, starry nights are just the tips of the iceberg we now call home: Senoia, Georgia. 

It’s no secret that the beautiful and scenic country roads had quite the influence on me as well.  Words can’t express how much I love running on wide open, rolling asphalt roads weaving through the pastures, woods and lakes in the still of a quiet and lazy morning in the country. 

It’s also no secret (to most, anyway) that Senoia, Georgia is also home of the hit television show The Walking Dead.   I first started running in Senoia several years ago; it was the spring of 2012, to be exact.  I had always heard how beautiful the area was and I wanted to see for myself…with one goal in mind: If it was as beautiful as I was led to believe I wanted to establish a race—The Running Dead Ultra, it would be called—that meandered through Senoia and took in many of the sites used in the production of the show. 

The first Running Dead Ultra was held on the country roads of Senoia the very next year.  The year after that Cindy and I moved there.  

The third Running Dead Ultra will be held soon.  As a way of giving back to the community, I thought it might be appropriate to spend some time picking up trash along the sides of one of the roads on which the race would be held.  I selected one of my personal favorites, Dead Oak.  Fans of The Walking Dead might recognize Dead Oak as the road many of the ‘driving-in-the-car scenes’ are filmed.  I recognize it as my absolute favorite country road to run.

Last weekend I asked my grandson if he wanted to spend some time picking up trash with me when he visited the following weekend.  He didn’t hesitate: Yes!     I wouldn’t have expected anything less from a boy who loves being at Cindy’s store (he has a knack for charming his customers; yes, his customers) and spending time with me at my ‘workhouse’ (he has a knack for eating the sweets my admin gives him).

So this fine Saturday morning I asked Krischan if he remembered what we would be doing today.  He certainly did: ‘We’re picking up trash on the side of the road.  Can we go to McDonald’s when we’re finished?’   The question you can’t say ‘no’ to, right?

So I grabbed a couple of large black plastic trash bags, Krischan grabbed his plastic knife and gun to fight any zombies we might run into and we hopped in the truck and headed over to Dead Oak Road. 

We spent the next couple of hours picking up every piece of trash we could find along a one-mile stretch of country road.  Well, actually Krischan did the picking while I held the bag.  Krischan was a real trooper, making sure he got every single beer bottle, paper cup and potato chip bag he ran across into our large black plastic bag. 

And I use the word ‘ran’ in the literal sense: If I didn’t know better I would have sworn Krischan was on an Easter egg hunt.  In his mind every piece of trash was pure gold.  He was running up embankments to get his hands on a plastic cup lid, then sliding back down on his fanny after losing his footing on the slippery pine needles.  He was throwing caution to the wind reaching into sharp, prickly vegetation to get his hands on a candy bar wrapper.  He was—after looking both ways for oncoming traffic, of course (we only saw one car all afternoon; more on that in a moment)—darting back and forth across the road, as he didn’t want to miss inspecting everything and anything that wasn’t green.

Every time we ran across two or three beer bottles or soda cans in close proximity Krischan said it looked like ‘somebody had a party here.’  I asked him who would have a party on the side of the road.  Without hesitation he replied: ‘Party dudes.’   I looked at him and asked, ‘Seriously, party dudes?’  Doubting himself and replying with more of a question than a statement, he said ‘Party poopers?’ 

This led to my explanation of what constituted a ‘litter bug’ and Krischan, never at a loss for questions asked who would do such a bad thing to nature.  I asked him what he learned in kindergarten about nature.  He replied: ‘Nature is beautiful.’    I told him he was right, but every now and then nature needed a helping hand. 

Back to that one car we saw while we were picking up trash.  An elderly woman was driving by and stopped once she came upon us.  She asked if ‘the blue truck a ways back’ was ours.  I told her it was.  She told us how much she appreciated what Krischan and I were doing.  I told her I appreciated her saying that while Krischan was busy diving into a ditch to retrieve an empty plastic gallon milk jug.  I don’t think I could have been prouder of my grandson than I was at that very moment.  As I write these words the memory of that moment still warms my heart: The pride of being a grandparent, no doubt.

Once Krischan and I secured every single piece of garbage, trash and litter we could lay our eyes and Krischan could get his hands on, we threw it all in the back of our truck and headed east on Dead Oak for our much-deserved lunch.  About two miles down the road we saw an elderly woman picking up trash that had brushed up against a fence along the side of the road.  It was the same woman who had stopped to thank us earlier.  I believe the woman lives on the horse farm the fence surrounds and that maybe picking up trash was something she does on a regular basis. 

Then again, maybe she was simply inspired by a little boy three generations her junior.  

Postscript: My friend Valerie and I ran on Dead Oak Road the very next morning.  The one-mile stretch that Krischan and I spent our Saturday afternoon removing trash was noticeably more ‘natural’ than the rest of the road.   With Krischan by my side, I hope to keep it that way.