Dad
was a country
boy at heart. My heart belongs in the city. We both persevered and
learned to live and prosper where we were transplanted.
My
Dad was raised on a farm in a rural part of upstate New York. As a
young man, he moved to the city and suburbs of Rochester, New York to
be near his place of employment. He liked having a shorter commute to
work, but he felt out of place in the crowded suburbs. He was a
country boy at heart. In 1960, he purchased several acres of rural
property to be used as a weekend retreat from the suburbs. My
parents, my brother, and I traveled out to the retreat almost every
weekend to mingle with nature. Dad hoped my brother and I would learn
to enjoy country life as much as he did.
The
country property was unique in that it had three distinct areas that
were separated by two short hills. There was a creek at the bottom
where we splashed around and cooled off. In winter, the frozen creek
was a good place to skate. Scrambling up a rocky hill from the creek
brought us to a flat area where Dad put up a basketball hoop and
built a horseshoe pit. Climbing up another slope led us to the top
where we spent most of our time. A small cabin was built there. We
had a vegetable garden filled with delicious peas and beans and
tomatoes. Dad built a tree house where I relaxed and read Nancy Drew
mysteries. There was a tire swing that sailed out over a hill. Trails
were cleared for exploring the property. Dad did his best to make
country living fun for me. Unfortunately, one of the things I learned
about nature is that snakes live there and they scared me half to
death. They were just harmless garter snakes, but they gave me the
creeps, and they put a damper on some of the fun I could have
experienced in the country. I never really learned to enjoy country
life as much as Dad hoped I would.
After
about ten years of owning the rural retreat, my parents arrived one
day to discover that burglars had broken in and stolen everything of
value. Not long after that, my parents sold the property to a family
who turned it into a permanent residence.
Last
year, 50 years after my parents sold the property, I was fortunate to
have an opportunity to return to the property and visit with a family
member. She showed me all the renovations they have done to transform
the land and the cabin into a permanent home. She had her own snake
stories to tell, like when they dismantled the chimney and a hoard of
snakes came cascading down on them. My visit to the property was a
bittersweet experience. The sweet part was the fun of seeing a part
of my childhood and remembering everything from a different
perspective. The bitter part was the regret that my Dad passed away
just a few weeks before my visit to the property. He would have loved
to see the place again, and reminisce about old times.
My
Dad, the country boy at heart, lived all of his adult life in the
city and suburbs. As for me, the girl from the suburbs who hates
snakes and never learned to embrace country life, where do I live
today? I wound up in the country. I found employment in the same
rural town where my Dad grew up. I have lived there for more than
forty years. My life mirrors the course of my Dad’s life; his
life started in the country and moved to the city to be near his
employment, my life started in the city and moved
to the
country to be near my employment. We both chose to
live in
places where we felt a little out of place, but we could harken back
to our roots whenever we paid each other a visit.
I
wrote about my struggles to adjust to country living in a story
entitled, Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,
which can be found in the story collection
of The
Preservation Foundation. I also wrote about my employment that
brought me from the city to the country in a book that was published
by The Preservation Foundation. The book is called, Substitute
Teacher Domain: Enter at Your Own Risk.
Contact
Patricia (Unless
you
type
the
author's name in
the subject
line
of the message we
won't know where to send it.)
