the first holler

i think we've officially lived at the holler for a month now. let me explain that word," holler." being a northern hoosier by birth, i grew up thinking that "holler" was a verb, i.e. "to yell." "remus, go out and holler for the kids. it's suppertime." but as a new tucky misfit, i think i ought to adopt the southern drawl definition: "a space between two hills or mountains." but just for english major fun, i've made a double entendre out of it.

so we've been here a month now, and though i will never master the cadence of southern speech, or, apparently, which way to flip the switch for the cistern to fill, i can still think of no more idyllic place to live. let me start with the silence. moving from cincinnati, the silence is an entity itself to be loved. at night, i can actually hear tree frogs instead of drunken deadbeats yelling at their kids. when it rains, i go sit on the porch to revel in it. sometimes in my underwear. i love living in a place where maybe three cars pass per day.

i'm going to have to rethink the underwear thing, though. the neighbors, though they be relatively few, are extraordinarily friendly, and given to stopping by unannounced. i don't want to give them a bad impression of hoosier/buckeyes. they don't know i'm a misfit, after all.