The High Point and A Low Point

Last week it seemed was rainy everywhere, and Montana was no exception.    I blogged earlier about the rain and my field work last week.    As I was taking one last look over the photos I had taken before I packed up again to head out again this week.  I noticed that there were two photos that reminded me of the dramatic difference that a day, an hour or a minute can make.     Most of the week I was rained on in some form, from a light mist to pull off and stop because the rain is so hard you can’t see.    There were a few photos taken when the rain stopped and most of them still had grey clouds and threatening skies.    Yet I did have one photo where the sky was blue, the clouds were white, the grass was green and the road was calling for me.  Life was pretty amazing.

The road is calling my name.

The road is calling my name.

The other was a photo that grabbed me was the one I took sitting in the cab of my truck on my last day.   I had been driving down this road that was getting progressively worse while the rain continued to fall.    I stopped in the  middle of the road and mentally regrouped.   Though I could see for miles in all directions, I was alone,  I had been praying to not meet anyone on this road because to get off the proven tracks was soft mud. I would drive down this road for another few miles with it getting progressively worse and began to look for a place to turn around.  At eight miles from the paved road I would finally come to place to turn around without risking getting stuck and having to walk out.   I wrote off the last gypsy moth trap as impossible to safely set.    It was a low point to admit defeat, to be so close and not make it.  Yet maybe it wasn’t.   I did not get stuck.   I did not have to walk out in the rain and I got all but one of my traps set.   Maybe there are no high points or low points, just points of view.

Miles from anywhere or anybody.

Miles from anywhere or anybody.