Our hostess is someone I admire even though we are very different. She's perfectly poised and a career climber who will surely shatter the glass ceiling. I could live in yoga pants and prefer to fly under the radar at work. I've got a sharp wit, which has endeared many to me, and she's got the wits to keep her thoughts to herself and to smile when she might feel saying something witty.
Perhaps it's her impeccable manners coupled with her warm hospitality and her slight Texas accent that make her so endearing. She grew up country, was homecoming queen (and sewed her own gowns, which I also admire because I've tried sewing), and went to Texas A&M. She married a country boy from Illinois who is a cattle and agriculture farmer. They're an interesting couple because she is liberal, and he is conservative. By day they live completely different lives, but somehow, somewhere, they find a middle, a common ground.
The party had an interesting cast. I'm not close friends with any of them, and at first I wondered if I would be the patient girlfriend-in-waiting, but I took the opportunity to observe the unusual cast of characters. There were scientists and sales people and their families, and there were farmers and migrant workers and their families. There were white people and Latino people, everyone sharing beer and food and enjoying the company and a fine summer evening in the country. Some people drove up in sports cars, some in SUVs, and most in trucks.
One middle-aged couple arrived on a tractor. He was wearing overalls with no shirt and driving with a Bud in one hand. When the tractor came to a stop, he jumped off, then held out his Bud-free hand to help his wife down. That little exchange made my heart jump a little bit. They didn't know anyone was watching them. They weren't trying to be romantic; they were just being themselves.
Now on this same night, there was another gathering happening, one that a year prior I would have been invited to, but for reasons that are becoming irrelevant in my life, I wasn't. I thought I would dwell on it a little bit, but it was impossible to dwell on where I wasn't, when I was somewhere quite nice. As I watched the children of white collars playing tag and catching fireflies with the children of no-collars, ate some delicious food specially prepared for guests, and talked with people I might not normally, a thought occurred to me.
Some of the "friends" I had been missing would snicker at these people. They would imitate them later, regaling fellow urbanites with cover-alls and tractor stories. In short, they would minimize them because they lead an agricultural as opposed to urban life. There's a strong chance they were Republican, thought Bud was good beer, and liked Kenny Chesney. Or maybe not. You just never really know about a person until you let them in.
I have country roots myself. My dad, who was an engineer, wanted nothing more in life than to be a farmer, and bought a small hobby farm when I was young, and I was often in the company of farmers and their families. I knew something else about these so-called bumpkins. These "bumpkins" might not have college degrees (although some do have agriculture degrees from universities, no small feat), might not espouse s liberal beliefs, but if you were ever stuck in a ditch in a snowstorm, it would be these guys who would help you out, no questions asked.And if some tragedy ever befell you, their wives would bring a huge meal to your door, no questions asked.
I'm always struck by how misinformed people who grew up solely urban or suburban are about country--and blue collar--people. They think they're dumb and ignorant, and have no idea how not only how intelligent but also resourceful a farmer must be. They have to know what to plant, how to plant it, how to keep their soil healthy, when to plant it, when to rotate it, when to pick it, how to store it, and how to sell it. They have to know how to buy high-tech equipment that costs several hundred thousand dollars (and have several hundred thousand dollars to pay for it). They have to know how to operate that high-tech equipment that costs several hundred thousand dollars. And they have to be able fix high-tech equipment that costs several hundred thousand dollars. If they have livestock, they have to know how to feed it, what to feed it, and how to care for it. They get up before dawn, work well into the night, and never have a day off.
While farmers were in close proximity when I was a child, I was steeply immersed in the opposite demo--daughters and sons of lawyers, pilots, doctors, and bankers, who lived in subdivisions with pools in the backyard, had no chores, and never knew a day of really hard, dirty, sweaty work, and who would grow up to join sororities and fraternities.
I couldn't wait to get out of the country--and away from girls who seemed to have everything handed to them, no matter how much envied their lot in life growing up.
And get out I did! I had no money and no prospects and no financial backing from my parents, and wasn't about to take a student loan that I would be paying off until my forties. I think deep down, I was afraid to go to college. So instead I joined the military, and got sent to war, which still seemed less scary than fraternity parties. (And still does.) I traveled the world. I got out, and traveled more.
I had urban dreams for a long time but they never really came true, and I wonder if I actually didn't want them to come true. I live in a city of about a million people. It's not really big, but in some ways it is. It's certainly bigger than where I came from. (And side note, all those girls I envied so much, did go to college and sorority, then came right back to their small town and have never lived anywhere else their whole lives and call high school the best days of their lives. I no longer envy them!) I love San Francisco and Chicago and New York, but when it comes to actually living there, I stall, and maybe there's a reason for that.
I've committed to staying where I am, growing where I am, taking a journey right here, and part of that journey is figuring myself out. Maybe I simply don't feel safe being too far away from people who would dig you out of a ditch or bring you fried chicken. Maybe they're the salt of the earth.
And this all leads me to a recent, in my opinion--shocking, turn of events:
I'm starting to like country music.
Because I promised honesty in this blog, I must be honest where this interest came from, even though part of my intellectual tendencies don't want me to admit it.
I happened to catch an episode of a famous show called "The Voice," one night and was drawn to the judge who is a country singer (Blake Shelton) and the country contestants. Even though I didn't necessarily like the music, I admired their talent and showmanship and moreover their ability to get people excited. There is really something there! And I want a piece of it...as a writer, an actress, a person.
Okay the other thing is also television. My sister, whose word is as good as gospel to me, told me I would like the show "Nashville," because the music is incredible. I caught the show online, and was hooked immediately, and I will tell you that I absolutely love that show. I think the characters are compelling and the stories engrossing, but most of all, it's the music. The soundtrack was just released, and I bought a copy for my sister for Christmas.
Country music reminds me a bit of the blues. The content is sad but the lyrics are often funny, in fact hilarious. That's more in line with how I'd like to live my life--laughing through the tears whenever possible.
So I'm taking a walk in the country. Physically, spiritually, and now musically. I can't move to the country like I talked about in an earlier blog, but my boots are good for walking.
I'm going to document my Walk in the Country here, as part of my Journey in Place. I hope I can find some good songs and moments to share.
For starters, here's one my friend likes. She says it's a testament to her dating life. I'm not sure this one is right up my alley, but I'm opening myself to it and others. It doesn't hurt that Trace Adkins is easy on the eyes.
I asked her to recommend a good woman country singer and she sent me this: Miranda Lambert "Over You." This is more approaching my style!
But a walk in the country could use a decent pair of boots.
How about these?
"Buy a good pair of cowboy boots" is on my list, after all!
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