Saturday, November 03, 2007

Dear Charlie:

Well, that was good fun. Went down to Dad's place in the boonies and rode horses and had a weenie roast with my beloved sister and the nieces and That Man. Heh.

Now, keep in mind that I hadn't enjoyed a weenie roast since I was a kid, and I hadn't been on a horse since 1995. But it was all sorts of good fun. Devilled eggs. Slightly charred hotdogs. Relish. Chips. Marshmallows. S'mores.

Plus, the two youngest monsters...er...nieces...hadn't done a bonfire before and spent quite a while tossing in more sticks and leaves and styrofoam plates and rocks and...well, you name it, they tossed it. That was pretty fun to watch.

But now I'm all wanting to ride some more. I guess it's worse than a bike, because not only do you remember how, but you want to do it all the time. Sheesh.

Good fun.

Unfortunately, every time I head for the country, I remember why I want so badly to be financially independent so I can move back. *sigh* It's quiet. Peaceful. Green and gold and red and brown and orange. Hills and valleys, meadows and forests. Hell, just the drive was a balm.

I like where I live. It's a small city, nothing like even Kansas City up north or Saint Louis to the west. But it is a city, and it has all the distasteful things I associate with cities -- too much traffic, too much noise, too many people, and too much hassle.

I was raised on a farm, and I miss it. Yeah, it was hard work, but that was the price of living on 100 acres. Of course, we were dirt poor most of the time and dad had to drive almost three hours one way every day to work to support us, but we could go outside and run around all day without irritating another single soul. We could climb trees without worrying if the "owner" would be mad. We could blow off firecrackers any time of the year, so long as they didn't scare the cows. We could have a bonfire any old time we had the brush to burn without having to get a burn permit and stand over the tiny blaze with a water hose, just in case. We could ride horses for hours without seeing the same tree twice. We could camp or not, wade in the stream or the pond or not, run around screaming our heads off without worrying about the police being called. Or not.

I like my small city, yes, because I've made it and my friends my home. But I love my country. And I want to move back to it.

*sigh*

One of these days. I keep telling myself.

2 Comments:

At 12:10 AM, Blogger pacatrue said...

Sounds wonderful. I think many people feel most comfortable in the sort of environment they grew up in. I grew up in a small town of 5,000 people in Louisiana. I was middle class with my family owning a hardware store, but I flew my kite in the soybean field across the street and boiled sassafras tea on my friend's farm and owned a pellet gun as a mighty hunter. Since I appear to be headed into an academic career, I will probably live in cities all my life, but I still feel most at home in small towns where you can drive past green fields for 20 minutes before you get to the next town.

 
At 9:23 AM, Blogger GutterBall said...

Amen, man. Amen.

It cracks me up how, even in such a small city as I live in now, people have no idea how people really live on farms. I get, "But...you really didn't even have a McDonald's??" all the time. Yes, we had a McDonald's...but it was a half hour away. *grin* Freaks 'em out every time.

 

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