I spent a lot of time walking trails in the woods with my dad and that time is invaluable.
It was a small town and small world and I loved it.
I moved to a larger, but still quaint college town for college. (I remember well, the day I left for college, crying in my room with mom and telling her that I didn’t want my life to change, because I loved my life at home-there is a really funny picture of my tear streaked face loading up the car in the family photo album).
I moved to the city for law school. I stayed because I got a job here, passed the bar here, and finally, built a house here.
Now the house is in the suburbs, and a very lovely area, and an even lovelier house, but there are still days where I long for small town life and make secret plans in my head of selling this place and running off with Mr. Marvelous to somewhere with one local grocery store, a post office, a diner, to live in an old farmhouse where it is safe to sleep with the windows open, the doors unlocked, and to let your children run free in the countryside. Sometimes I wonder where our children will hide their buried treasure like we did as kids without any woods to make forts and hide treasures. Do places like this still exist in America?
This desire is stronger on some days than others. Like yesterday when I ran low on gas in a bad part of the city driving home and a strung out homeless man tried to strike up a conversation with me at the gas pump, or when I’m stuck in traffic during my 45 minute daily commute (each way), or when I read a Jan Karon novel, or anything by Rosamunde Pilcher or when I read a certain blog, or my parents come to visit like they did last weekend and I secretly hope they’ll stuff me and Mr. Marvelous in their suitcase to take us back to teeny-tiny-ville.
At times like that I think “why, hello soul, there you are.”
Until then, if you are a country dweller itching to break into urban life, maybe we could do a little home swap for a few months. I’m sure in that amount of time I will come to my senses and miss Starbucks and Crate and Barrel and the time I get to spend in prayer during traffic jams . . .