My hometown is smack in the middle of some real goddamned untamed wilderness. The forest surrounding the town is just biding its time, and abandoned buildings are quickly overwhelmed with moss and seedlings. The distances between home and essentials like real medical care and McDonalds would amaze most city dwellers. Snow storms, while rare, sever all connection with the outside world, as the town is only accessible by one small, windy two-lane highway.
My childhood memories differ pretty radically from those of my city-dwelling friends, thanks to extreme isolation and the absolute drought of fun-for-teenager activities where I grew up. My friends and I mostly relied on hunting, 4-wheeling, and sitting around whining about how boring our town was for entertainment. Bored as I often was, though, my hometown is a beautiful place to live, a glimpse of nature as it was before our species started pillaging it.
My childhood memories differ pretty radically from those of my city-dwelling friends, thanks to extreme isolation and the absolute drought of fun-for-teenager activities where I grew up. My friends and I mostly relied on hunting, 4-wheeling, and sitting around whining about how boring our town was for entertainment. Bored as I often was, though, my hometown is a beautiful place to live, a glimpse of nature as it was before our species started pillaging it.
I've been thinking about the beauty of home this weekend, following a trip to the county with our two oldest boys. My friend, who lives half an hour from the city, took the boys overnight for a special outing. We were driving to her house and the boys had this conversation:
5 year old (with excitement usually reserved for sightings of Santa or chocolate): Look! Stars!
7 year old (whipping his neck around and using the same incredulous tone): Where???
5 year old: Right there! Look! They're white!
7 year old (in scathing voice): I know what color stars are.
How sad and funny is that? I was whooping with laughter in the car, but what kind of kids am I raising, that a star sighting is strange and rare? I remember driving the five miles to the ocean during breaks in the perpetual mist and rain of home and lying on the beach, staring at the sky. When the clouds pull back, you can see the Milky Way and feel how small you really are. It's strange to realize that my children are growing up without that.
Hey, this actually sort of segues into the post I'm planning that outlines my new life goals. I have a dream, baby, and it's about as diametrically opposed to what I thought I wanted a decade ago as it could possibly be. I'm an enigma, even to myself.
5 year old (with excitement usually reserved for sightings of Santa or chocolate): Look! Stars!
7 year old (whipping his neck around and using the same incredulous tone): Where???
5 year old: Right there! Look! They're white!
7 year old (in scathing voice): I know what color stars are.
How sad and funny is that? I was whooping with laughter in the car, but what kind of kids am I raising, that a star sighting is strange and rare? I remember driving the five miles to the ocean during breaks in the perpetual mist and rain of home and lying on the beach, staring at the sky. When the clouds pull back, you can see the Milky Way and feel how small you really are. It's strange to realize that my children are growing up without that.
Hey, this actually sort of segues into the post I'm planning that outlines my new life goals. I have a dream, baby, and it's about as diametrically opposed to what I thought I wanted a decade ago as it could possibly be. I'm an enigma, even to myself.
1 comments:
So post your new plan. I'm dying to hear what it is. It better not be that you're planning on moving to the middle of nowhere.
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