There was a time when we lived on Allegre Road in Todd County, and to me, that little stretch of road held a whole world.
Back then, I had a horse, a little freedom, and all the time in the world, or so it seemed. One of my favorite things to do was climb up on that horse and ride to the Y, that little grocery store sitting at the crossroads of 181 and 171. He was a real good horse. He just did not like a saddle. If you put one on him, he would buck you off, so if you wanted to ride him, you rode bareback, and that was just the way it was.
I can still picture those rides like they were yesterday. I would climb up on his back and head down the road, the steady sound of hooves on the asphalt, the fields stretching out on both sides, and the warm country air all around me. It was only about a mile and a half from home, but to a boy like me, it felt like a real journey. For that little while, it felt like the whole world belonged to me.
When I got to the Y, I would tie my horse off and head inside. But before I walked through that door, just for fun, I would pretend I was Charles Bronson in Once Upon a Time in the West, squinting my eyes like some old gunfighter getting ready to make his move. Then, instead of reaching for a pistol, I would reach down in my pocket and rattle around my change to see how much money I had for candy. After that, I would glance down at my feet and have to laugh a little, because I was barefooted and sure did not have boots and spurs on either. I may have felt like I was riding into an Old West town, but I looked a whole lot more like a Todd County boy with dust on his feet and candy on his mind. In my mind, that little country store became something right out of a western, and for a few seconds I was not just a boy stopping for candy, I was somebody riding into town. Then I would go in with a little pocket change, look over the candy, and try to decide what I wanted that day. A candy bar, a pack of gum, maybe some other sweet treat. It did not take much back then to make a boy happy, and somehow it all tasted better when you had ridden a horse there to get it.
When I walked back out through those doors, I would pretend those fellows sitting out front were gunfighters, and I would squint my eyes at them like I was daring them to go for their guns. Those old fellers were sitting there talking about the weather, tobacco patches, and their gardens and never even looked my way, but in my mind it was a showdown on the frontier. That was part of what made a place like that special. It was more than a store. It was part of the life of the community.
After a minute or two, I would get bored because nobody wanted to have a gunfight, and then I would head back home, that candy tucked away and the road stretching out in front of me again. That mile and a half back down Allegre Road always felt peaceful. No hurry. Just me, my horse, and home waiting at the end of the road.
Looking back now, I realize it was never really just about the candy. It was about being a boy in a place where simple things still meant something. A good horse that only wanted to be ridden bareback. A country road ahead of you. A little store at the crossroads. Back then, that was enough to fill up a day and leave you with a memory that would last the rest of your life.