We technically live in the country. Not as in “the Republic of Ireland” but as in cows. If you look out the window of our back bedroom, you will see a number of large fields, one of which houses a previously mentioned horse whose owner seems to think it is a car. Living in the country here is very different from living in the country back home. In the States, country living involves fresh iced tea and fried chicken, porches and rednecks, football and cornbread. That’s what I think of when I think of country. The country is not what I’m used to, but it’s interesting.
There is something here called a “country smell.” Since moving here, I have discovered that this smell is really just the smell of manure. I’m guessing due to those darn cows and horses. Recently, Husband has walked out of the house and exclaimed, “Oh, there’s that country smell.” Now, to me, it has been smelling like burnt rubber and machinery. I can handle that smell having grown up spending a lot of time in gas stations and mechanics’ garages. Speaking of which, why don’t I know anything about cars??? Fail. Regardless, oddly enough, it reminds me of home. I’m not looking forward to when the smell goes back to smelling like poo.
There is a lot of empty land out here. It’s really pretty and provides for good scenery. It makes the area quieter than I’m used to since I moved here from the Hispanic ghetto and its loud and happy music. But back to the land. If you go to the main road and walk for about three minutes, you will see a number of extremely large houses on one side. There is one house in particular that I noticed today. It is large enough for at least ten people to live in, and is surrounded by all this land. It is extremely empty land, reminding me of little boys rolling down hills; of little girls running down these same hills, in bouncy spring dresses, with their arms spread wide in an attempt to take off in flight. Such sad, empty land. I wonder why the owners haven’t done anything to it. If I lived in that house, there would be cherry blossom trees and hyacinths and daffodils. Daffodils everywhere. And a bench for sitting and reading, surrounded by fragrant flowers. Passersby would not be able to take their eyes off of my garden. If only I lived in that house with its empty land.
Another aspect of country living is a lack of sidewalks, or footpaths, as they are called here. The roads are narrow with high foliage on either side and yet no sidewalks. You basically endanger your life anytime you leave the house to walk to the store for a loaf of bread. Thankfully, we are a gluten-less household, and so my death-defying moves are few. However, I do enjoy the walks. They give me a chance to get some much needed fresh air; to see other people; to practice my American Idol auditions as I walk past the children at the playground and their parents who are likely confused by the weird and wandering American girl. These walks make me feel less lethargic, as I have started my studying and now spend too much time in the house. I just wish there was a less car-infested path to take my walk on.
There are daffodils ALL OVER this country! It is FANTASTIC! They are so bright and happy and just pop up all over the place. They are in little clusters that were obviously planted by someone other than Mother Nature. They are random and sporadic in fields and along roadsides. They are in people’s front yards and on their kitchen tables. They are everywhere, ready to put a smile on my face at any given moment. Mission accomplished.
Some days I like country living, when I want to be somewhere quiet and don’t want to deal with the traffic and the noise and the vulgarities of city life. There is a calming sense of community in the country. On other days, I am not such a fan. Those are usually the days when I walk outside and it smells like poo. Go figure.
