By KELLEY CURRAN
newsroom@newsandtribune.com
>>SOUTHERN INDIANA — Blame it on the weather. It always seems to happen at least once this time of year.
It is time to buckle down and get a column turned in, but instead of hunkering down in front of the computer, I end up playing outside.
Today the sun was out, the wind was calm. It was cool, just cool enough to keep me from getting too hot while walking briskly to avoid being dragged by a dog or two.
It was beautiful, and since spring isn’t here for real, it begged to be taken advantage of.
My husband and I set out with the intention of walking our three dogs down to the river and back. When we got down near the boat docks below Riverside Drive in Jeffersonville, a few blocks from home, we kept going.
As we walked along the river past where the RiverStage sits in summer, I started trying to picture where the future canal would empty to the river after it ducks below the floodwall at the end of Mulberry Street.
I got on my tiptoes to look back up the bank and across the street to imagine where and how water will be pumped over the floodwall in the event of a major flood.
The Jeffersonville riverfront looks pretty good now with the fairly new concrete, rock and ramps. Does all that get torn up and refigured with the canal?
I saw a recent presentation on plans for the Greenway. I wondered whether that, too, will cause the area to be torn up and fenced off again for a while.
We walked down past the sunken wreck under the Kennedy Bridge. We’ve passed by there so many times in recent months, the fascination has worn off.
I barely noticed it. I was too busy dodging the duck and goose poo.
Which leads us to one of the several dilemmas that came up during this dog-walking trip: poo-scooping, which I understand is now or soon-to-be required.
My husband is against it on principle. I’m torn. It’s sort of like my stance on second-hand smoke. I’m pretty sure everyone is overreacting, but it offends my vanity to know people think I’m gross in some way.
Maybe because the river puts me in a philosophical mood, and maybe because the dogs had been drinking river water, I found a possible loophole. We aren’t expected try to clean up after our dogs go No. 1. That isn’t realistically possible.
Therefore, there must be a reasonable standard of scoopability to expect anyone to scoop No. 2. I’d attempt it in court. Surely no prosecutor would go to the lengths necessary to prove me wrong at trial.
Near Buckhead Mountain Grill, I joked to my husband that since it was early, we should just go ahead and walk to the new trail along the top of the floodwall in Ashland Park in Clarksville. As we got to the trail, I joked we should walk on to my dad’s house off the far end of Harrison Avenue in Old Clarksville.
When we neared the Falls of the Ohio Interpretive Center, we discussed whether it was time to turn around. My husband turned toward home, and something about his attitude gave me the impression he was fine to keep going, but we were turning back on my account. So I kept walking. Faster.
We wound our way around and behind the neighborhood we both spent much of our teens in and met in. My legs, muscles and even lungs were still going strong. The river ran alongside, just past the trees. The sun was still out, but not strong. We passed a handful of friendly people enjoying the day, but not so many we had to worry about the dogs or give up the peace and privacy of a contemplative walk.
By the time I reached Dad’s dead-end street, I was beginning to feel the effort and regret the several cups of coffee I’d drank just before setting out on what was supposed to be a short walk. I was very much looking forward to reaching his house and bumming a ride. He wasn’t home, and I didn’t have a key on me.
We headed home with a detour and a to-be-dashed hope of a restroom at George Rogers Clark Park. The dogs had to start helping me along. The little bit of pull they give on the leash takes away enough of the work to allow me to go further than I could otherwise.
We were saved as we returned to the Interpretive Center and my dad, whom I had called to ask where the heck he was when we got to his house, picked me and a dog up so I could come back and retrieve Todd and the other two dogs.
There is absolutely no moral to this story. Really. I’ve tried to find one, but it isn’t there.
The walk was awesome until it stopped being awesome, but even then, it was still cool in a way. I’m grateful for my dogs and dad.
I should probably learn not to take off walking like that, but it’s not really the first time. I didn’t learn before, and if I had, I’d have missed out on the cool parts.
— Jeffersonville resident Kelley Curran occasionally just has to ramble on. And on. And on. Write her at kelinawriterhat@aol.com
