The Good, The Bad, The Damp
I can tell it's been awhile since I was in the city. My brain itches and craves stimuli you can only get in an urban environment. I miss the food like crazy too. Every time I run into someone in town who previously lived in California, it always devolves into a listing of all the food we miss, usually capped off with recollections of 24 hour taco stands. There are days I would practically kill for a real California burrito or a chile rellano burrito. If you like crispy chile rellano... for the love of god never order it in the northwest-- it's almost always closer to scrambled eggs or an omelet.
Living in a small rural community I see largely the same people who have vaguely similar backgrounds. I have a dozen or so places to eat, many of which close by 8pm or on random days of the week. There is one movie theater with one movie and one showing per day (right now the one movie is Yogi Bear. Sigh). Two of the local mayors know me by name. The parking enforcement officer (there's only one) knows what car I drive and probably the days I work. I've been chewed out by people I didn't know very well for having an unlisted phone number, "if you're not in the phone book how is someone supposed to call you if they need to?"
Every friday my friend and I meet for lunch at the same restaurant. The staff know us. We have a table and they know to bring us two ice teas. I undoubtedly get preferential treatment sometimes because I've lived here long enough to be considered local.
Sometimes I hate the weather. Our 100 inches of annual rainfall kicks the ass of both Seattle and Portland. It rains a lot here. I love rain. In San Diego when it once went 162 days without measurable precipitation I really felt like a part of me had shriveled and was in danger of dying. Even so, it rains a lot here and some days I could live without the moss growing on the north side of my bones.
I love my 100 year old house and its hillbilly renovations. I love that I look out over the bay towards the Pacific Ocean. I love my yard. I love that the ecosystem of my yard includes feral barn cats, kestrels, songbirds, snakes, rodents, grasshoppers, moles, raccoons, deer, and elk. I'm pretty sure the coyotes, cougar, and bears wander through too... but I don't have hard proof and Aaron says I still have to take the dog out at night.
Tonight when I took the dog out, a nearly full moon lit the clouds and turned the world around me to silver and shadows. A rhythmic wet crunching scared a squeak out of my lungs and swung me around-- and the moon illuminated briefly silhouetted the antlers of a large buck that stopped and stared into my flashlight beam before bounding across the neighbors' fields.
It's not all bad living at the edge of the grid... but in much the way that city people come out here to "recharge" I have to do the reverse.
Living in a small rural community I see largely the same people who have vaguely similar backgrounds. I have a dozen or so places to eat, many of which close by 8pm or on random days of the week. There is one movie theater with one movie and one showing per day (right now the one movie is Yogi Bear. Sigh). Two of the local mayors know me by name. The parking enforcement officer (there's only one) knows what car I drive and probably the days I work. I've been chewed out by people I didn't know very well for having an unlisted phone number, "if you're not in the phone book how is someone supposed to call you if they need to?"
Every friday my friend and I meet for lunch at the same restaurant. The staff know us. We have a table and they know to bring us two ice teas. I undoubtedly get preferential treatment sometimes because I've lived here long enough to be considered local.
Sometimes I hate the weather. Our 100 inches of annual rainfall kicks the ass of both Seattle and Portland. It rains a lot here. I love rain. In San Diego when it once went 162 days without measurable precipitation I really felt like a part of me had shriveled and was in danger of dying. Even so, it rains a lot here and some days I could live without the moss growing on the north side of my bones.
I love my 100 year old house and its hillbilly renovations. I love that I look out over the bay towards the Pacific Ocean. I love my yard. I love that the ecosystem of my yard includes feral barn cats, kestrels, songbirds, snakes, rodents, grasshoppers, moles, raccoons, deer, and elk. I'm pretty sure the coyotes, cougar, and bears wander through too... but I don't have hard proof and Aaron says I still have to take the dog out at night.
Tonight when I took the dog out, a nearly full moon lit the clouds and turned the world around me to silver and shadows. A rhythmic wet crunching scared a squeak out of my lungs and swung me around-- and the moon illuminated briefly silhouetted the antlers of a large buck that stopped and stared into my flashlight beam before bounding across the neighbors' fields.
It's not all bad living at the edge of the grid... but in much the way that city people come out here to "recharge" I have to do the reverse.