No offense to my urbanite readers-- it takes all kinds of people to fill a world, after all-- but I don't ever want to live in the city again. It's not that the city has nothing to offer. Not at all. I can eat sushi and Indian food with the best of them. I like theater, opera, and even ballet. And I do miss the smooth pavement under my Rollerblades. (Rollerblades + chip-n-seal road = stitches.) Yet even with all of those inducements, I wouldn't trade trees, creeks, flowers, insects, reptiles, birds, and most importantly, the freedom and the neighbors.
Freedom. It is what we are hopefully all contemplating this time of year. Before the blowing $#!% up and drinking Bud Lite, the 4th was about declaring our independence as a nation from tyranny and voicelessness. The freedom of the country is different. There are no neighborhood associations to tell me I can't grow a vegetable garden or make noise or sunbathe naked... Just kidding. I don't do that either. The freedom of the country is being able to swim in the creek and photograph bugs and all around be non-cosmopolitan, unfashionable, not politically correct, and also chubby. I'm just not cool enough for the city, and I'm okay with that.When I started writing this blog, I called myself a 'Tucky Misfit, but it is a misnomer. On this road, just a fairly average American country road, I've stumbled upon a place and people who are a perfect fit. These are people who take pride in their flower and vegetable gardens. They open their homes to their neighbors with doors thrown wide and enough food for fifty. They don't mock each other's idiosyncrasies. Anyone who knows me well knows that I'm awkward in a crowd and bad at making friends, but these people have swept me up and made me take part with such good will that I didn't even have a chance to feel strange and reclusive. These are people with whom you cannot help being friends.
I've talked about some of them in the past: the neighbor who babysits my kids with firm love and won't hear of taking a cent for it; the one whose porch is always open for beer and conversation; the one who will bush hog a hill or permanently loan a trailer. What do they ask in return? Nothing but friendship.
Last night, my "next door" neighbors decided on the fly to entertain all of us with fireworks and food. There aren't a lot of kids on this road. Mine are the youngest, and I guess I'm high strung. I'm always worried that they'll shred somebody's flower bed or break something in someone's house. Certainly they make messes, and noise, and skid marks on the driveway with their bikes. But this road is my village: the people care about each other like family. My neighbor did her best to make me comfortable while my kids terrorized her house. She made me sit and take a break while her teenage son chased the kids for a few minutes. Her husband talked mushroom hunting with me, and knowing my ridiculous love of all things antennaed took me to see the moths
that gather around their tree-surrounded barn lights at night. Hospitality has not been forgotten here, and I'm so grateful to be part of it. I'm grateful to be drawn out of my shell, welcomed as I am, and not allowed to feel awkward in my own skin for a while.
I'm getting choked up, and maybe my audience is getting a little nauseated. After my food rant, I should eschew such saccharine musings, but I couldn't help it. These people are inspiring in their openness, their faithfulness, and their acceptance. No praise is too great. Happy Independence Day.
Rob and Dawn's flowers
And bombs bursting in air...
And, of course, a random beetle.
I've talked about some of them in the past: the neighbor who babysits my kids with firm love and won't hear of taking a cent for it; the one whose porch is always open for beer and conversation; the one who will bush hog a hill or permanently loan a trailer. What do they ask in return? Nothing but friendship.
Last night, my "next door" neighbors decided on the fly to entertain all of us with fireworks and food. There aren't a lot of kids on this road. Mine are the youngest, and I guess I'm high strung. I'm always worried that they'll shred somebody's flower bed or break something in someone's house. Certainly they make messes, and noise, and skid marks on the driveway with their bikes. But this road is my village: the people care about each other like family. My neighbor did her best to make me comfortable while my kids terrorized her house. She made me sit and take a break while her teenage son chased the kids for a few minutes. Her husband talked mushroom hunting with me, and knowing my ridiculous love of all things antennaed took me to see the moths
that gather around their tree-surrounded barn lights at night. Hospitality has not been forgotten here, and I'm so grateful to be part of it. I'm grateful to be drawn out of my shell, welcomed as I am, and not allowed to feel awkward in my own skin for a while.
I'm getting choked up, and maybe my audience is getting a little nauseated. After my food rant, I should eschew such saccharine musings, but I couldn't help it. These people are inspiring in their openness, their faithfulness, and their acceptance. No praise is too great. Happy Independence Day.
Rob and Dawn's flowers
And bombs bursting in air...
And, of course, a random beetle.
No comments:
Post a Comment