Country Living and Plow Boys

When I moved here 16 years ago, I knew I was about to drop kick both of my children into a life like they had never known. We were city folk, we drove on concrete driveways, not dirt; and we had cul-de-sac’s at the end of our neighborhood roads instead of cow gates.

My youngest child who is now eighteen was three years old when we moved here. For him, it was inevitable that he would fall into the black hole of country speak and country living. But for my oldest son and me; well, we still had some learning to do.

Country living is:

Driving home from work only to see your neighbor herding his cows off the highway and back onto his property; as you sit in your vehicle and watch the show and your children's eyes are big as saucers.

Learning how to unclog a sink by using the water hose and dragging it in through your back door and into your kitchen, putting the hose down one side of the sink and closing up the other side until it gargles and gives way. You wanna talk about a victory dance! You would have thought I had won a million dollars.  In the city, you call a plumber, pay him $75 an hour and cry.  

Taking your boys to their first country fireworks at the local high school football field; you let the tailgate down, look up and watch.

Not needing to hire a man with a backhoe to yank up a bush. Instead your husband hooks one end of a chain to the root, the other to the back end of his truck, and proceeds to pull it up; inch by inch, until that mamma jamma is out of the ground.

When there are fruit and vegetable stands on most every block in town. 

Walking onto the back porch, opening the screen door and lizards fall off the top and ONTO YOUR HEAD! Your children come running to your screaming aid, only to find you swatting your own head and flinging around like a crazy woman; which they will re-enact for hours. 

However, my tales of new discoveries would not be complete without adding this to the list: country living for men is different, much more special if you will, than it is for us ladies. The greatest joy of every man’s life is to “relieve himself” outdoors. No need for gasping or acting offended; you know what I'm talking about.  Matter of fact, when we moved into the city limits in 2005, a whole re-training began. My son was nine by then and you’d have thought that he would have known better; however, I continued to catch him behind trees, sheds and bushes.  He still relapses every now and again, in secluded parts of the yard, taking care of business.  Ahhhh, country living at its best with wide open, country spaces full of seclusion, privacy and joy. How could they possibly resist all that full-frontal freedom?