They cut my front lawn yesterday:
Growing up I always was charmed by the idea of living in a small town, the kind where everyone really does know everyone. I married a man from such a town. We spent years in other towns, mostly suburbia, before circumstances brought us to his small town two years ago. It’s a small rural town. Farms are everywhere. We live on one (it belongs to my father-in-law).
After two years of living here, it’s official. I love living in a rural, farming small town. I don’t actually mind that I have to drive 15 minutes to the nearest grocery store and 45 minutes to anything better than Target (although, really, what is better than Target?). I love having a huge garden. I love not having a neighbor closer than 1/2 a mile away.
The only thing I would change right now is how long it takes to get to my family. My parents live 100 miles away. Which I know is relatively close for a lot of people. But for 7 years, we lived two miles away from them. My grandfather is not doing well at all and I wish I lived closer so I could, theoretically, at least, do something more for him and my grandmother. With four kids under 10, though, I know that that’s not realistic. And I also know that there’s not much I CAN do, even if circumstances were such that I could do something.
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