Like others who live and blog around here, I often talk of the many idyllic reasons that brought us from the urban life to the tranquility of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
Mountain life offers many advantages and I’ve written long, passionate essays praising such advantages. But there are drawbacks that lead to complaints, led — of course — by Amy’s constant desire for a Chinese restaurant that delivers (or at least offers carry out). You have to realize that my wife is a city girl and, to her, the five basic food groups are: Eat in, take out, canned, frozen and microwavable.
But I also have to admit that when I’m stuck behind a 68 Olds Cutlass driven by a local at 35 miles per hour in a 55-mph zone, I grit my teeth and mutter things about “damn country bumpkins.” And I grew up here as one of those damn bumpkins.
Relocating from the hectic pace of urban madness to the more sedate, make that slow, pace of country living takes an adjustment in attitude and an incredible increase in tolerance.
Shutting your ears to the constant whine about how all us “newcomers” are ruining life here in the county;
Keeping your mouth shut when the locals circulate petitions to keep a state ABC store out of Floyd because God don’t want no drinkin’ around here. Don’t these people realize God gave them pickup trucks so they could drive to Christiansburg and Roanoke to buy booze?
Having the local news interrupted for 30 minutes each afternoon for reruns of The Andy Griffith show.
Understanding that the contract carrier who delivers the mail too often gets out of sequence so that you get your neighbor’s mail while he gets mail from the next mailbox down the road and so on.
Accepting the fact that DSL internet service runs at half the speed but costs three times more and that wireless phones work work where you least expect them to and don’t work where they should.
And so on…
No, life in the country ain’t perfect. But it beats the hell out of the alternative.
Or it will as soon as we get Chinese carryout.