After coming around the curve and down the hill past Buster Simmons’ driveway a mile from our house in Todd County, Kentucky, the gravel road crossed the creek. Just past our old dark-fired tobacco barn, it turned slightly west and then ran straight north along the west end of our largest pasture. Maybe two hundred feet past the end of our driveway, the gravel road made a sharp turn west and up the hill toward Mister Raymond Stokes’ place. Just past his place, it made another sharp turn back north. From there, it ran in a fairly straight line for a while, passing by what we just called “the rental house,” eventually crossing a creek and connecting to another gravel road about three miles from our house. Our school bus came from the that direction.

Our driveway was nearly a tenth of a mile long and Mister Perkins, the bus driver, didn’t have much patience for kids that weren’t waiting and ready to get on the bus. So, my brother Paul and I had a pretty consistent habit of being there at the end of the drive before the bus came. Mister Perkins kept a fairly consistent schedule but sometimes we might have to wait for ten or fifteen minutes for him to show up. Not a big deal in decent weather but if it was raining or cold, that could seem like quite a while.

In the green months, we couldn’t see the bus coming until Mister Perkins rounded the curve right before the Stokes place. That didn’t give us enough time to run from the house to the end of the driveway before the bus got there. But Paul had figured out something.

During the months when the trees were bare of leaves, he’d discovered that if we stood at the left hand side of the big picture window in our living room, we could see the road between the rental house and the curve at Mister Stokes’ place. From that vantage point, you could see the bus pretty easily. In dry periods, you could see its cloud of dust rolling up above the treeline before you could see the bus. Since standing in our living room was a lot more comfortable than standing at the end of the driveway in a single digit windchill, we’d change from milk barn clothes to school clothes and wait there.

“Here he comes!” Paul would yell and we’d grab our books, tear out through the front door, jump off the porch and hit the ground running. By the time the bus had picked up the Stokes kids and made the curve at the bottom of the hill, we’d be standing at the end of the driveway. Provided, of course, that we hadn’t got distracted at the window and missed seeing the bus on the back side of the neighbor’s place.

There are some things we can see coming, if we stand in the right place and don’t get distracted. Old age drops a few hints on its way to the door, kids have a way of letting you know they’re growing up. Sometimes, even an old car will let you know it’s going to need some mechanical attention in the near future. Sometimes, you can see the cloud of dust from life’s next challenge rolling up the road from miles away. Other times… it’s already honking its horn while you’re still looking for your homework.

H. Arnett
11/21/24