I do. Every day.
I wonder what you wonder about.
What do people want to know about living in the country? And not just “Living in the Country” a la Country Living magazine. I mean real country living.
You know…where real men don’t eat Quiche? And you actually LIVE in the country as opposed to visiting it on the weekends.
Where kids really do play in mud. And eat dirt. And think “town”, population 200, is a resort.
Where mud rooms are just that…rooms that collect mud. Also odd-numbered socks, gloves, muck boots and assorted dead varmints.
I wonder if city people think we typically take long walks in the sunlit country air and pick wildflowers alongside a quaint country lane edged with green grass and clover. With a blue pond located smack dab in the middle of this scenic picture. And swans.
Not in Kansas. The air will most likely smell like feedlot, filled with dust. And the wildflowers would be sunflowers, which are considered weeds here. The quaint country lane is a dirt road full of rocks that can either go through a windshield or cause a blowout on a tire so fast your head would spin. But there are ponds, though they are mostly brown right now. Drought does a number on ponds. No swans in this neck of the woods but you might, if you’re lucky, find a duck or two.
Yep, that’s the reality. Country living has its merits but you have to be ready to take lumps and bumps that go with it!
It was grand to have the entire farm as a playground for our sons. But…it wasn’t grand to have that playground if you didn’t know where they were exactly. They could have been either 15 feet away playing with trucks or 1.5 miles away hunting. Thus the famous horn honk.
This was before cell phones and the like. I would go to the pickup in the driveway and honk once. That meant, “Be thinking about getting home in the next 5 minutes.” Two honks meant, “Get home.” Three suggested that you’d best hurry and pronto. Four meant you were in deep do-do so don’t even bother with lame excuses.
Although, living in the country did keep me out of jail. Where else could you holler for kids to come in loud enough that the next county’s kids showed up at your doorstep for supper? I would’ve been turned in for that most certainly.
Where else could you honk your kids in? Or garden in your jammies? Or run outside at 9 pm on a windy to night to dry your hair while in your jammies? Or drink coffee on your back porch. In. Your. Jammies.
You’re right. I would have never made it in the city. I mean, how annoying would it be for the neighbor to yell at her kids to come in? Please.
Then there is the “scheduling”. Or lack thereof.
Mom: When are y’all going on vacation?
Me: When the silage is cut.
Mom: When will that be?
Me: When we’re done.
Mom: Won’t you get it done this week?
Me: Nope. The field that they thought was ready is too wet.
Mom: What about the other fields?
Me: Well, most of them have corn that’s too dry.
Mom: So what do you do with that?
Me: Cut it for grain corn.
Me: If it’s not too wet.
See where this is going? Me either. And that meant we went no where. Until the corn was cut.
It always makes me laugh when I remember a visit my mother made one year during silage cutting. It had been a particularly chaotic morning. Big Boss had been in and out a half a dozen times, followed by assorted sons. I was still in my jammies and at one point she looked at me and said, “HOW DO YOU DO THIS?!!!!!”
*chuckling to self*
My answer was…I have NO idea. I just do it.
What brought on her question in the first place?
OK..typical day here. Notice I said day…not week or month. If I was totally honest, it would be a typical HOUR.
To be continued. 🙂