April 19th…

Was the first day at my first real tv job in a tiny town in the country, over 20 years ago.

My friend Sandy who lived in a nearby (but somewhat bigger) town suggested I apply for a job near her so we could see more of each other. This small town had one tv station and two radio stations in it. Population: 3000.

To get to the town you travel on progresssively smaller roads. The last stretch of highway is in Mennonite country. Kin of the Amish of Pennsylvania. Horse drawn buggies carry people in drab or black coloured pioneer clothing. Weather-beaten faces peer out from under bonnets or wide brimmed hats, but do not connect with the eyes of drivers passing by. I used to look at the houses as I drove along that stretch, old order mennonites do not use electrical power. In some more progressive farms, power lines only reach back to the barn or drive shed for income-earning endevours but the houses remain dark.

Today, on this my drive to the past, market gardens were being planted by women while children played in the dirt. The unseasonably warm winds blew their long skirts about them making the scene captured look like a long shot from Little House on the Prairie. After ten years of seeing these scenes, I didn’t understand why I was suddenly missing and romanticizing this lifestyle I took for granted back in the day,

I left a phone message for my ex who still lives in the area… feeling at once nostalgic and silly. He won’t understand, he remembers me saying our town looked particularly nice… from the rear view mirror.
But the weather, the date, the long drive made me think about what I had left behind.

From downtown city girl to downtown smalltown, I stood out all those years ago. I walked too fast, I talked too fast and I was loathe to say hello to strangers. When I registered at the post office (no home delivery) they already knew where I worked, where I lived and where I came from. Small town gossip central.

I learned about bull semen and how valuable it is, the difference between stocker and dairy cattle and the value of good drainage tile. You know, important stuff for farm living. I even bought my first pick up truck, a practical ride in farm country: A Chevy S10 extended cab Durango with jumper seats in the back and silver running boards on the sides. This shiny red vee-hickle with silver pin striping was my pride and joy and it also signfied my total immersion into small town culture.

I learned and eventually embraced this life then ten years later rejected and left the small town lifestyle.

With time as a healer I’ve sort of grown up and sort of accepted the things that drove me out of Dodge like the small-mindedness of small town people, their judgemental way of pegging you whether you deserve it or not.

This all came back to me progressively as each mile approached bringing me closer to what was once home.

To my surprise, each mile brought me closer to fine.