Ever since I can remember, I've hated living in the country. I hated living in a no-name town that barely hit the map. I hated having to drive 20 minutes to the nearest grocery store. I hated having to measure distance in minutes. I couldn't wait to get out of my small town and move on. And when my mothers told me that she always knew her daughter would grow up and move to the "big city," I couldn't have been more proud: that was me all right!
And I did, sort of. I went to college in Pittsburgh. For two years I lived in Mt. Washington on the backside near South Hills Junction. I took the incline (Monongahela, not the Dusquene incline where the fancy restaurants are) from Station Square to the lookout, then walked the 6 blocks past a little ice cream shop, a small hardware store, the CoGo's convenience store where I worked for 1 1/2 years, and down to the old South Hills High School that was closed down, where I lived opposite in a second story apartment made for college kids. I worked at a beer and hot dog place at Station Square for awhile; my first job in Pittsburgh(Jimbo's.) I remember the first day of college and being nervous about being separated from my best friend and roommate. But I made friends quickly and absolutely LOVED the classes.
I remember the first time we walked home with all of our materials and had to stop more times than we could count to catch our breath. This was before we knew we could stop at South Hills Junction and walk up the stairs. Also tiring, but less distance over all...only about 2 blocks walking, just all up hill. The incline way was uphill and then down hill. I remember not knowing what "T" to take home that first day. They all said South Hills or some other name I can't recall and none said "Mt. Washington." Luckily there were some guys from our high school a few years ahead of us who were attending the Art Institute (wish I had chosen that, instead) and knew to tell us all the "T"s went to our stop...the name on the front was just the final destination. (The only one that didn't go to our normal stops was the Allentown "T" and we discovered it stopped near our backyard, so we would take that if we didn't need to be home soon as it went around the mountain instead of through.
I remember driving up McArdle Dr. before my parents knew the back way up Mt. Washington, and seeing the lights of the city from the lookout. I remember the winter day when my Mom and sister came to visit and I brought pizza from downtown near my college and was waiting in the snow for her to pick me up at the lookout and drive home with the cold pizza.
I remember dragging two duffel bags of laundry and a tupperware container of detergent 6 blocks in the sleeting snow to wait over 2 hours while I did the laundry in the laundromat, my first. I remember the first night as we unpacked our dishes and our parents drove home in tears, us in jubilation.
I remember walking across the 9th street bridge for drawing classes. I remember sitting in the PPG plaza drawing people, or in the parks drawing fountains or the jailhouse or the buildings. I remember the way the sun came in the window in our apartment in the afternoon, and the tilt of my drawing desk with my 3rd can of Mountain Dew perched at the corner. The meals of mac-n-cheese, the two hour drives to my parents, the midnight walks home from work, Smithfield bridge, the Liberty Tunnel, the Wood St. "T" station, the parking garage next to the old school, the sounds of lawnmowers and barking dogs on Saturday mornings.
And I remember how alive I felt when I walked on the sidewalks, leaves swirling beneath my feet, or snow melting. I remember the smell of flowers as I walked up the stairs from the junction, and running in the rain to catch a bus. There weren't many things I didn't like.
The few I remember are the discarded pants or condoms at the stairs by the junction, or the strangers asking for my phone number. The man who was peeing on the wall by the river while fishing and I was showing my parents the scenic spot for the first time. And Sundays.
Sundays was always a mixed day for me. I went to a church that by car was 10 minutes away. By bus, about an hour or more. I had to take the "T" to downtown by the McDonalds (Gateway Center, I think, not Steel Plaza). Then I waited for 20 minutes for the "somethingC" bus. While I waited, a perverted old Greek man used to try to feel me up and then sit next to me on the bus. Then I rode 20 minutes to church. After church I waited for 5 to 30 minutes depending on when the sermon ended and the last bus went. Then back in town another 20 minutes for the "T." It was on the bus that I saw the homeless with their shopping carts and bare feet. Asleep on the benches without a blanket. Downtown was shut down on Sundays, and these people came out of the woodwork. And I always felt so down. I still have the idea of delivering blankets to these people.
But those are the only bad memories. The LAST memory of Pittsburgh comes the day we moved. I was sitting in Boom and I's apartment and it was empty. Everything we had was in the vans and trucks and cars, and we were leaving for his parents' house, one room to ourselves. Barely 3 months married, and I was leaving everything I loved behind for hope of a better future.
Now, before I paint the wrong picture, I will admit that after we graduated and moved into Greentree, things changed. I didn't get to see my friends. I had a car and didn't get to ride the buses or the "T"s anymore. I didn't even get to go downtown or buy monthly bus passes, either. I missed all of the above. I knew I didn't want to live downtown with a family, but I missed the business, the sheen of metal and glass, and sidewalks and shadows from tall buildings and nights where the city never turned off. I missed it all. So when we left, most of what I missed was already gone.
But I never wanted to move back to the country. Before Boom, I was planning on moving to Chicago. I didn't want the fields and barns and cows and dirt roads. I admit that the country is beautiful. As I drove to the doctor's office today, I noticed the hills covered with red, yellow, and orange. But I also noticed the rows of corn, hay, alfalfa, rye, and mostly, weeds. I noticed the dilapidated barns, silos and farmhouses. The muddy tractors and barn boots. The rusty trucks and dirt roads with dust all summer and mud the rest of the time.
I know many people find these things comforting, much like they like antiques. But I've never liked antiques. I like the sturdiness and the durability, but not the architectural design or the chipped paint. And my only experience first hand with farming set me dead against the idea of ever doing it for a living.
We rented a house from a small dairy farmer (30 cows.) This guy had chickens, pigeons, guinea hens, peacocks, and tons of other birds. One sheep dog and several barn cats also lived there, besides the rats in the grain bin. That first winter he took a vacation leaving Boom and I to do the milking and such. Now Boom grew up farming and used to love it and the idea of it, so he knew what to do and expect, though the farm wasn't kept up to the standards he was used to. So when a calf was born early and the mom didn't want to nurse it, and there was no pen for the little thing, we had some trouble. Soon it was apparent the calf was sick and Boom gave him an antibiotic shot, while I put a warm blanket over his shivering body. But the net morning when I brought the wanted bottle for him, Boom wouldn't let me near him since he could tell he was dead. I wanted to scream when later I noticed the dog trying to chew on him. It got to the point I couldn't help anymore because around every corner I saw his face and thought his body was there in the hay or manure...but it wasn't. Then add to it the next winter the water froze and I tried giving the cows water one by one all night on New Year's Eve, and then the kitten that got crushed by a cow, and on and on. I just couldn't take it.
So country life doesn't appeal to me. Many people find solace in planting. I hate digging in the dirt, and I can't get anything to grow, anyway. I kill any plant within a ten foot radius of my being. I even tried the first summer at the trailer. None of my herbs came up, and the weeds did better than my garden and we didn't even bother getting most of the produce in that year. This year at the new house Boom tried and a deer ate it before we could get it. Why bother? *sigh*
So country life doesn't appeal to me. I know that the kids have open air. They can explore the woods, and the creeks and the fields. They have space. But I want the museums, the shops (just to look, just for something different), the busses, the "T"s or "L"s or sidewalks. I prefer concrete to dirt, steel to field. And though the sunset in the mountains here is breathtaking, I find the city lights that never go off at night to be just as mesmerizing.
But I find that God has called us here. Or more specifically, Boom, here. And since I didn't feel and strong call in another direction, we are here. And I know God has worked in Boom with his football kids and his classroom kids. The letters, the phone calls, the attitudes (Boom even has his own cheering section as a girl painted his name and high school number on a t-shirt and was shouting his name at games.) I know he loves those guys like his own sons. And he is sad to think the school might close and he's loose them.
But I'm not completely sad. There's a part of me that feels like a gypsy. Always wanting to move on, try something new. See if the next town is better, make new friends. There's a part of me that hopes that somehow God will bring us back to sidewalks and steel.
And yet I feel like somehow I'm betraying those parts of me that believe natural is best...that God's creations is best. That man's inventions only bring pain and suffering with their ease and ability of speed. On one hand I try to raise my kids that way I think Eve must have...birthing at home and nursing when they want to. Sleeping next to them and holding them often. I want them to know what nature is and how God made the earth. But part of me wants the musicals at theaters, the quaint little shop that sells trinkets you can't find anywhere else. The people that are always there.
And I used to be much worse. I used to want the most updated technology there was. I wanted the latest software for my computer, the newest system, etc. If I could, I'd have Tivo, cell phones with cameras, digital cameras, a digital video camera, a DVD burner/recorder.
But at the same time, I have this crazy notion that it wouldn't be that bad to live off the land and be self-sufficient. Make your own flour, milk, butter, chicken, beef, vegetables, fruit, cheese, jams and pickles, smoked meat, etc. I like the IDEA of building your own house or repairing a place up, but the shear work involved makes me light-headed and tired just thinking about it.
So I have in my head two dueling worlds...the all natural one and the technology-driven civilized one. I like SOME of both, but where we are we don't have hardly either of what I REALLY want. The biggest draw to the trailer was the free gas (would've come in real handy this winter) and that I could walk around naked. Since I can't do that as the kids get older, anyways, then the country only offered a break from the rest of civilization...a break I don't really want all that much.
But unless thinks take a drastic turn around, I am stuck here in a town I honestly drove through over a hundred times thinking about the people who live here, "Suckers!" And now I'm one of them. Except unlike most, I don't think this is THE place to be. That this town is okay as is. That I want to live here forever and ever. And yet I might, if that's what God wants.
I just wish I knew why sometimes I have things ingrained in me that have been there since I can remember, but go against what God wants for me. They aren't sinful things, either, just things that don't mesh with where we are in life, that's all. And so I will always wonder if perhaps someday they will be used...these desires for things not so natural.
By the way. I was on my way to Chicago before we started dating. Boom was on his way to Australia, for one reason; it was opposite on the globe from the one place he didn't want to be - here.
And HERE is where we are.
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