City to farm
In 1980 I left the city for good, at least up till now and since the house here is paid for I don’t see myself leaving. I can tell you in retrospect I had watched too many westerns and for some reason I decided I would become a country girl.
Well, what can I say? It was the same brain that took a 3 year old to Iran in 1978.
I saw an advertisement in the paper for 15 acres and a house 70 miles southwest of the metroplex, which happened to be the Dallas/Fort Worth area. It didn’t even list the name of the town. I called the real estate person, and he gave me directions. Go here, go there, turn here, turn there, wind around and back and up and down and when you come to Glen Rose head straight south to Walnut, then turn back west, go 10 miles, then zig zag through the town and head out the other side, south again for 3.3 miles, then take the dirt road that veers off to the right for another mile and the house is the only house on the left side of the road. You will pass one other house before you get there.
I should have let it go at that, but no I headed out and got to the part about “…go to Walnut and turn back to the west”. Well, it seemed I had been heading to “Walnut” for what seemed like a long time. I finally decided that the walnut tree was not to be found and even if I had seen a walnut tree I wouldn’t have known it since I didn’t know what a walnut tree looked like. I saw a couple of old men parked in trucks on the side of the road. They appeared to be visiting, so I pulled up beside them and after explaining what my purpose was, asked them this question, “Where is the walnut tree that I am supposed to turn at just after I pass it?” You know the expression. I’ve explained it before, and I’ve seen it many times in my life. That means I’ve asked many stupid or at least bewildering questions. I am not afraid to ask questions. One of the men, pulled off his sweat stained cowboy hat and replied, “You think you’re looking for a tree?” Well, what else would a walnut be. “Walnut is a town, short for Walnut Springs.” And sure enough, just over the next hill (if I had just gone a bit further), there it was.
My first experience with the miscommunication that can exist between city and country. It was a bigger culteral shock than the Iranian thing. I’ll tell more. Do you know what a surcingle is? Neither did I.
By the way, for the loyal followers; today the Mr. and I did little or nothing until I decided to mow just a strip down the side of the house. He started the mower, and I mowed. Then I went in and what to my wondering ears did I hear, but the lawnmower running and him outside with a cane MOWING THE YARD!. He needs a good beating, but I’m not sure I can take him!!