Tuesday, June 21, 2011

My Love for the Country


I have always had an attraction to the country. 

It was instilled in me from a very early age.  My grandpa, before I was born, scouted out a considerable amount of acreage up in the Yosemite area of California.  He bought it, pulled a trailer down into the part of it that bordered a quaint little creek, parked it, and the rest is history.  That was around 50 years ago, and the trailer still stands today.  The trailer is nothing of great significance when you see it, but for me it is full of memories etched within the very walls. 

We loved coming to this place, so much so that my dad soon decided it was time to have our own trailer.  So another large trailer was dangerously lowered down a tiny dirt road.  It was parked, and then it was filled with an excited family eager to make it their home away from home.  Over the years many of our family members moved here making it their permanent home, and building houses on the land.  Every time we visited, it was like a family reunion.

We all sat down for dinner together one night, sitting shoulder to shoulder feasting upon my uncle’s naughty chicken, which we spent all afternoon trying to catch. 




We normally didn’t eat my uncle’s chickens, but this one kept pecking at the other chickens, so his consequence?  Death and feeding upon him.  It made all of us children a bit more behaved.  

We kids played for hours upon hours on this land doing all sorts of outside activities. 

Swinging on a rope swing- a rope swing so long that it swung us kids so high it felt like you were touching the sky.  And on the way back down, your stomach felt like it was going to come up through your throat. 

Playing in the tree house, which was just a large piece of wood nailed to the top of four sturdy trees.  To the simple glance, it would have been thought of as a weak attempt at tree house building, but it was amazing to us. 

Riding our motorcycles.  Up the hill, down the hill, all day long. 

Every so often my mom’s voice would call out from the trailer, “We are going to town!” “Yessss!” I said delighted, as I and my brothers came running.  Going to town was a major ordeal because all that surrounded us was trees, forest, and, in the cleared parts, country land. 

As we drove into town, I gazed out the window of our van, soaking in the country side.  Cleared land covered in green grass, grazing horses slowly taking their time to enjoy each tasty pasture.  I took a deep breath, attempting to let in as much fresh air as possible.

We approached the only stoplight in town.  “I remember when this light wasn’t even here,” my mom would state, as if she was disappointed that she had to wait for one entire light in the whole town.  It wasn’t like she wasn’t familiar with stoplights.  They were at about every corner at home in the city.  But here they were unexpected, and it activated her road rage a little. 




Just kidding.  Her road rage isn't this extreme.  It is more like this:




Sadness and a little bit of anger overtook me every time we drove this very way through town, passing the market one last time before driving back to Los Angeles.  I didn’t want to leave.  I resented going back.  I wanted to see beautiful countryside and breath in fresh, nonpolluted air forever.  Why don’t we live here in a beautiful place like this, I thought to myself every time we left.

I will when I am older.  I promised myself.  When I am older.


5 comments:

  1. It sounds like heaven on earth. After living in a city most of my life, I'm really starting to appreciate the country so much more.

    ReplyDelete
  2. hey, janna....so very happy to meet you tonight...and now you have one more follower! ;) i will def be back to read more.

    ReplyDelete
  3. That's amazing. I would love to have a place like that to visit.

    ReplyDelete
  4. I love this. And I want to go stay in the trailer!

    ReplyDelete
  5. You would love it. My parent's ended up building a house, so when we go, we stay at their house. But I miss staying in the trailer. It feels more rustic.

    ReplyDelete