Fieldstones and Chipmunks

A lot of time was spent in my childhood riding in the car, looking out the window. A slight bend or dip in the road would make my stomach feel sour with nausea. I hated car rides. Mom always told me to look to the farthest green I could see to help curb the sick feeling.

The view was a green blur driving in New Hampshire. Occasionally, the leaves would part enough for a glimpse of the thick stone walls outlining most properties in our area. These were old, old walls. I don't know who built them, but I was told they were stacked with the rocks plucked from the surrounding fields. The once jagged stones had been softened by the years and years of seasonal changes. Many were green with moss or spotted with lichens. 

I could always count on the chipmunks for a race. The sound of our old car would send them scurrying along the top of the walls until one would dart out of sight and another would appear. It was a relay race. Little striped twitchy competitors bolted into action. I have no doubt their noisy chattering was filled with boasts of victory.