In the morning we (me and my best friend ever) wondered how we would spend our day. Every possibility of entertainment flashed before us and crashed into the “Welcome to Cedaredge, population 3000″ sign on the side of the highway, falling to its death from the impact. So instead of seeing a movie, going swimming, bowling, or shopping, we walked out the door. We walked behind my friend Jessica’s house into the acres of property her family owned, down steps we’ve played on our whole lives and scurried through the brush. Our destination was another friends house 4 miles away as the crow flies, and that’s how we intended to go. Without wings we soon found our chosen route to be quite difficult, so we proceeded on foot. We walked through backyards, sneaked around quiet houses, slithered under barbed wire fences, waded across creeks and climbed into orchards.
This land crossing activity was not new to us. Living in a small town forces a person to either exist creatively or perish by the slothful hand of boredom. So it was with skill that we avoided sight, our ears were trained to hear the rustle of animals in the bushes, voices through screen doors and cars along the driveways. The only time we were seen, it was a dog that gave us away. Luckily the dog was contained on a porch and the owner who investigated his racket waved congenially at us. Slightly shaken, we soldiered on, determined to become more like the trees and rocks, still and natural. Eventually we came to a large field with probably 30 scattered and lazy cows. They barely noticed as we walked about them talking loudly and speculating on how far we’d come. Our destination was nearly in sight by this time, all we needed to do was climb a very large hill and we’d practically be there. Our success made us giddy and that’s when things made a turn for the worse. I’d like to blame the events that follow on my friend Jessica, she’s indisputably responsible for the unexpected and frightening events that follow, but I also find myself at fault. Mocking cows is appealing in some strange way “You stupid cows! You’re so dumb! MOOOOOOO, MOOOO!! Do I scare you stupid cows?”, we shouted to them, mooo-ing threateningly.
Then, everything. went. dark.
No not really. The “stupid cows” ran away. Amused at their stupidity we continued on through the field. The cows all ran to a corral at one end of the field. We watched them for a second before we realized, they weren’t running away, they were organizing. They ran out of the corral in a line and trotted toward us, curving into a half circle and facing us with disgruntled and deliberate stares. It was a terrifying experience, almost as if they were trained to ward off trespassers, as they prepared for attack, we fled. We sprinted away across the field and hopped (I ungracefully) over the fence. I tore my pants on the barbs and we ran away into the hills. As we caught our breath we photographed the line and marveled at what we had just seen. The rest of our journey was pretty uneventful, we climbed to the top of a mesa/hill. Soon we arrived at our destination and surprised our friend who was only slightly alarmed to find us on her doorstep scratched, frazzled, sunburned, and happily exhausted.
Not long after this adventure, Jessica and I were forbidden to go on trespassing adventures. I guess our parents were afraid of us getting shot at or stumbling upon a secret field of weed. But we learned a lot of lessons from the adventures we did have: walk out the door, try to avoid angry dogs, creeks are not scary, keep your butt down when you shimmy under a fence, look for adventures (they’re everywhere), your legs can go farther than you think they can, in cedar forests wear light brown for camouflage, water is the elixir of life, and DON’T MOCK COWS.
The End
What follows is a true photograph of the incident.
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