Whimfield

En Route to a Meeting: A Mishap in the Woods

Posted on 09. Oct, 2008 by Laura-Jane - Whimfield in Outdoors

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My purse, portfolio, and crisp blazer were waiting neatly by the door.

My teeth were freshly brushed. My hair was clean, bouncy, and in perfect position. I had precisely twenty minutes before I had to leave the house for a meeting.

I was wearing my favourite high-heeled shoes. I had it all timed perfectly.

I passed a mirror and was pleased with my overall reflection.

Having recently transitioned from being a tight-skirt, sleek-haired-wearing city girl to a country bumpkin, I’ve become used to peering at my current reflection in the mirror and shaking my head. I’ve been wondering when exactly I made the slow transition from fashionista to mom-jean wearing hippy.

Sometimes, I miss the old glamorous me. So I was pleased to be well put together for once.

Wandering around the house, I began wondering when Cameron was going to come in from the woods. He was out cutting firewood on our property. He was due to come in any minute because I needed the car, which he was using to haul wood.

As the minutes began to tick by, I realized that perhaps I hadn’t exactly articulated my plans about when I needed to leave. (I have a bad habit of assuming that he knows what’s going on in my head, but, in reality, sometimes I neglect to actually speak the words out loud.)

As a few more minutes ticked by, I began to get a little nervous. Was he coming back? Had I even mentioned anything about my plans? I checked the clock. I had fifteen minutes before I had to leave. If he wasn’t back by now, I figured that he wasn’t coming at all.

I quickly assessed the options. Taxi? No, it would take eons for a taxi to even get here in the first place. Cancel? No, too late to cancel!

I took a look in the mirror and sighed a little sigh. I whipped my heels across the room and put on the closest gum-boots I could find: size-eleven, orange, steel-toed boots.

I started clomping my way through the back field in over-sized boots and a pin-striped skirt.

I wasn’t too worried. Cameron usually sticks close to home when cutting wood. I figured I’d find him at the end of the first field. I walked briskly, but I still thought I’d have time to find him, drive together back to the house, and get to the meeting on time.

After walking for about five minutes, I didn’t find him where I expected to. But I kept going.

After walking for another five minutes, I rounded a corner, expecting to find him there. Nope, no car, no sign of him.

This was not what I had expected. I’d expected a five minute walk. By now I’d been walking quickly for a good ten-plus minutes–with no sign of him.

By this time, I was half-way away from the house and half-way to the back of the property, so I figured I might as well just keep going.

So I started running in size eleven boots, a skirt, and once-perfect makeup.

Eventually, I came to a pile of freshly chopped wood. And then another pile. Still no car.

By now, my appearance was fading. I was running in giant boots through field and forest. The bugs were getting me, and I was all a-sweat.

I looked ahead of me. It was the swamp.

Tire tracks led straight through it.

I’d never known Cameron to cross the swamp in search of firewood, but, of course, he was bound to do it some time.

I frowned and began crossing the swamp. And by “crossing the swamp” I mean…walking directly through the swamp.

Eventually, at the very end of our property, I found him. He was cutting wood two kilometres away from our house. The poor soul was hard at work, and, when he turned toward me, he looked so happy to see me traipsing towards him–until he saw the look on my face.

We drove back to the house in silence. Disheveled and down-trodden, I looked out the window, catching my reflection in the glass.

The old glamorous me was gone again. The new me was back.

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