Country Life

A few people I noticed have been doing blogs about their towns or their culture, so I decided to do one. I think it's fitting for me to do one, because I've recently noticed how attached I've become to this piece of countryside. I swore I'd never become attached, and here I am.

I was born in the city, and grew up there until I was ten. Yeah, I know what you're thinking "but ten is so young! It shouldn't have been that big of an adjustment!" But it was. When we moved to the countryside, it caused an even bigger rift between my parents as my dad assimilated and became a wannabe redneck and a he-man who thinks men should dominate woman. Which don't get me wrong, my dad is an abusive asshole anyways, but he became worse when he moved here and made friends with guys that treat their old ladies like crap. And my mom, she had a time when she actually lived around here before my dad, but she was pretty much a city girl.

Now I've lived my life half here and half there. I never felt like I fit in much here and I was always desperate to move back to civilization--you know, where getting a gallon of milk isn't going to take a half hour of your day driving into town and back. But last week, my boyfriend and I had to make two trips to the city, one to pick up his car and another to get more camping supplies at a good camping supplies store (he's like a little kid with camping equipment, so taking him to a real supplies store a good two hours away was neat) and so I could window shop at a mall for things I didn't need.

This time going back to the city wasn't how I remembered it back when I was thirteen and we were still making visits to a family who had been trying to disown my father for years. While we stopped for fuel and he could use the bathroom for the upteenth time that day, I listened intently on all the noises around me. It stunned me how quiet the country life is without me realizing it. There was car sounds, sirens, people talking, noises, noises, noises! Everywhere! It was all so familiar as I remembered listening to all this as I went to sleep when I was younger, and it was all so foreign at the same time. People were walking this way and that, and before leaving the house I made sure I kept my wallet on my person rather than in my purse just in case someone ran off with it. I remember telling him what different gang signs were as we drove by and giving him directions when he got lost.

It was in all this, I realized I had become a foreigner in the city I used to love so much. The city where I have made plans on going to a university in this fall which I've now I'm second guessing. I yearned to be back home, and I began checking off a list of things I would miss around here once I did leave. I'd miss the long roads which were bumpy as crap and twisted at odd angles but were fun to drive at night when you have nothing better to do. I'd miss the star filled skies. I'd miss the nature hikes. I'd miss not having a lot of people around and knowing almost everyone around here. I'd miss bitching about getting behind farm equipment. I'd miss the beaches.

Right now, I live in a house just behind the town sign. For any other country person, you know what I mean by town; a clump of houses on one road and which if you blink you'll be out of town limits in no time. I have a field behind my house, a field in front of my house, and two neighbors on both sides. Beyond the field in front of my house you can see the still used railroad track, and you can hear trains coming by every once in a while. My boyfriend's family used to own most of the land one town over from mine in the late 1800s; my Dad works with his granddad for one of the only large contractors around here.

This place sometime ago became my definition of home without my consent or knowing. It's going to be rough if I ever have to say goodbye.