The Joy of Talking to a Ram at Dusk

"I don't use my free will enough." 

So said my daughter, as our car sped through the golden hour light of a wintry wine country evening. The bright green fields, the gnarled vines stretching in rows both wild and rigid, the cows and mustard mingling quietly...the scene was mesmerizing. We alternated between silence, awe in response to the surroundings, and chatter, exclamations of "look!" and "wow" and "I can't believe we live here!"

She asked if we could pull over to say hello to some animals. She's 19, but has never lost her childhood glee over seeing animals on the side of the road. Horses, cows, sheep, heron, dogs, goats, red-tailed hawks, red-winged blackbirds...salamanders. I think the creatures speak to her, actually. 

So when we passed two sheep in a field bordered by a white fence, she wanted to stop and talk. I found a place to turn around, drove back, and let her out. Giddy, she said "Do you think they'll come to me?" She did not wait for a response. Thanks to the recent and dramatic rains, climbing up to the fence line was a muddy affair. Undeterred, she scrambled up, and was rewarded at the top by one of the sheep ambling over to meet her.

The sky was growing purply and dark, slivers of light still on the western horizon. I stayed in the car, because it was cold outside and because I don't share her spunk. She—of course—conversed with the sheep for way longer than I had expected. Really, I should have been ready for that; I've known her for 19 years and she is not me. 

We were there for so long that we captured the attention of the farmer and her daughter. In the growing darkness, we saw them walking down their long driveway to investigate this car parked in their driveway and this girl talking to their animals. 

Instinctively, I got nervous. Was the farmer suspicious of us? Would she be mad? Tell us to get the hell off her property? I wanted to drive away before they reached the gate. But then, I figured that would be embarrassingly immature, so I stayed where I was and rolled down the window. 

In the half darkness, the farmer called out: "Is everyone OK?" She wasn't suspicious, she was care-taking. 

What followed was the loveliest interaction between us and the mom and daughter who owned the farm and the sheep, who turned out to not be sheep at all. They were rams. The mom told us that more than a few people had crashed into her fence, or ended up in some kind of pickle there at the end of her driveway. She has gotten used to checking on cars and seeing if anyone needed assistance. Tallulah asked if the rams had names. And of course they did: Rammy Davis Junior and Little Guy. Perfect names! Her daughter, all of 5 years or so, piped up: "I named them!" We told her she had done an excellent job. 

It was the kind of conversation — the pleasant kind — that is all too rare these days, so rare that my first impulse had been to turn and run away from it. It felt downright old-fashioned to be out on a country road making conversation with strangers, smiling and laughing. I wished we were neighbors, or that we could be friends. I imagined their warm and inviting kitchen and almost wanted to arrange a playdate for...our two daughters? Alas, those days are behind me. But these two did remind me of us, of me and my daughter, from 15 years ago. Me, taking care and her, naming things and loving animals. 

As we drove away, my daughter expressed her great satisfaction that we had taken the time to stop. That's what prompted her to say "I don't use my free will enough," by which she meant she doesn't always pursue the thing that interests her, doesn't always take the time to step outside of routine or expectation.

I think she does, though. Because of her, I have stopped the car in the middle of the night on a country road, so we could listen to the frogs and owls and crickets, and look at the stars. Because of her, I have met more salamanders than one woman deserves. Because of her, we met Rammy Davis Junior. 

She is a good reminder, in this new year, to use our free will to do the things we want to do. To seize the moment and follow those impulses that lead us towards animals, stars, mud, farms, and whatever else calls to us from beyond our screens and limits.

There is joy in talking to a ram at dusk.