I grew up in a small town (Warrensburg) on the southern-most edge of the Adirondack Park in upstate NY. It amazes me how much smaller it seems to me now, than it did when I was a kid. We climbed the little mountain, Hackensack, yesterday and took a photo from the top. It was a beautiful day…we again climbed barefoot, at Jack’s suggestion. When we got back down and came out of the woods, we realized that we must have taken a wrong turn because we were about 1/2 mile from our car. Since Jack didn’t have his shoes, he had taken them off at the beginning of the hike (I had tied mine to the backpack), I volunteered to run back to the car. As I jogged along Main Street, and up the little road to our car, I felt a warm sense of nostalgia. I don’t know anyone there anymore, but I like visiting.
I ran past a couple of middle-aged guys working on a house, and one of them whistled. I could not believe it! In my twenties and thirties, this happened when I ran, and I found it annoying and invasive.
My reaction to the whistle yesterday was a little different. I thought, “You’ve got to be kidding me?!” I really wanted to go back and say, “I have to tell you guys that you just made my day!” That was probably the last time I will be whistled at, and that’s OK with me too….but what a nice little surprise it was!