Three Bad Guys in the Valley of the Shadow

This true event happened when we lived on a gravel hill near Rutersville. We took a long walk every morning, down “Heartbreak Hill,” and into a dark valley that made me think of “the valley of the shadow” from the twenty-third Psalm. Trees on either side had interlocking branches that covered the road like a tent, making it eerie and strangely quiet. Even the whistle of the freight train was muffled. Sunshine was blocked by the tangled growth of trees and thick brush. Animals left tracks: deer, rabbits and coyotes. At times, it felt like eyes were watching from the thick underbrush. That is why I dubbed it “The Valley of the Shadow.”

Today, I carried a golf cluba nine iron. Big Red, our Golden Retriever, was with me. Cars seldom passed this way, but today, an elderly couple that I knew from VFW stopped to say hello as they took a load of hay to their cows down the road. Gus leaned his freckled arm and his silvery head out of the window and asked about my husband, who always walked with me. “Sure surprised to see you out here by yourself,” Gus said. A moment later, they were off to feed their cows. I walked all the way to Rocky Creek, then turned back toward home.

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