The Scout

For a long time, I imagined that if, by some quirk of fate, I were to land in the Wild West days and if, by chance, be dropped on a wagon train headed west, I would be a scout.

No riding on that hard wooden wagon, that beat your brains out with its rattling and bumping over the rutted trail. I would ride my horse and scout ahead.

Would I have to disguise myself as a male?

Well, okay, Yentel did it so she could study the Talmud.

And if I had a horse like Boots, my childhood horse, he could take me across the country and land me on the other side—maybe to the coast.  That horse had strength, stamina, could out-walk most other horses, liked to run, and would come when I called. As we scouted, we would contribute to the tribe by searching for  the best route across the prairie, and the shallowest area to cross the river—actually, first, find a river where we can have water, for heaven's sake.  He and I would watch for signs of hostiles who wanted to thwart our journey. We would search for good grazing for our animals—those servants who are tied to a wagon while making milk for us, and the others who are hauling our gear or pulling our wagons across the prairies.

We have long been pioneers, either in search of a better life, whether it is a new territory, or new answers on how the world works.

And here I am, another searcher on this road we call life.

We no longer have to travel by wagon train--thank heavens, and my horseback riding days are over--sad-- but I will continue to scout every chance I get. I will scrounge through whatever shows up along our trail.

 I would be delighted to have you join me.

Are you with me?

Yep

Love,

Jo