| LIVING IN THE BOONIES |
When I moved to the boonies a several years ago, I never realized what a “culture” shock it would be.
After living in cities most of my life, I just wasn’t prepared for teeny, tiny, small town living – and using
the word “town” is being generous.
The hardest thing for me to adapt to was changing from the fast-driving mindset to the s-l-o-w-e-r one
of boonie-driving. In the city, you zoom everywhere you want to go on the interstate. Zip on this exit
and zip off another exit. Not so in the boonies. Here you follow a winding road until you eventually
come to where you are going.
Living in the boonies gives a whole new meaning to the word “defensive driving.” You just haven’t lived
until you zip around a corner and find a cow standing in the road that had gotten out of its pasture.
Yep, I believe I left some tread marks back then. Or avoiding someone’s litter of puppies that got out
of their fence. Or coming up behind a tractor being driving by an old farmer. Most will pull off the road
and let you go around. Not always.
Personalities abound in small towns. When I first visited this area, my parents had been living here
awhile. I needed work done on my car so dad sent me to his mechanic. He was a scruffy older man
with a couple of teeth missing who went by the name Blue. I don’t know why he was called Blue and
never did. I do know that I was wearing a dress and heeled sandals when I took my car in. Blue was
chewing tobacco and kept spitting on the floor around where I was standing.
I was raised that manners are important. I had NO idea why he was spitting on the floor where I was
standing but I stepped back or to the side, and continued chatting with him about what was wrong with
my car. I passed a test. He later told my dad that he’d spit near my shoes because he wanted to see
what sort of person I was. Based on the way I looked, he figured I was a rude city slicker and wanted
to test that theory.
I wasn’t rude; I was one freaked out "what-am-I-doing-in-this-Deliverance-movie-situation” city slicker.
But manners prevailed and I stayed polite and respectful. I guess he wouldn’t have fixed my car had I
been a snob!
I live near a “Andy Griffith-Mayberry” type store – old fashioned and carrying the bare necessities.
Things like hunting and fishing items, cold drinks, sandwiches, milk, bread, coolers, propane, gasoline –
and opinions.
You will get opinions at the little store on every topic imaginable. Consider when we bought my former
sports car years back. Hubby traded his truck in for it. When he took it to the little store to get
gasoline, the woman working behind the counter at that time was shocked, horrified, and just couldn’t
understand. What was it she couldn’t understand? Her statement was, “You traded your TRUCK in?
Your truck??” She could not understand someone trading a truck in for a car – no matter how
awesome that car was.
That says it all. Pickup Trucks, the be-all, end-all vehicle in small town boonies. Pickup trucks with
muffler problems (as in loud on purpose). Pickup trucks so high off the ground you need a ladder to
get into them. Pickup trucks covered in mud from 4-wheel driving. Pickup trucks with 10 kids in the
back, heading to the swimming hole. Pickup trucks with the ever-present dog hanging out the window
barking or standing guard in the truck bed.
The post office has 40 mail boxes. It is small and intimate so you know the workers behind the counter
fairly well. They know your name and go the extra mile for you. They all bent over backward to help my
elderly mom when she came in for her mail. They chated with her, helped her get the mail, and watched
to make sure she walks back home safely. Now they all miss her. They are all wonderful people!
Yep, boonie living. Sometimes they're all in your business... and it's OK! You gotta love it!
Article Copyright © 2007 Nan C Loyd
All rights reserved. Used by permission.
After living in cities most of my life, I just wasn’t prepared for teeny, tiny, small town living – and using
the word “town” is being generous.
The hardest thing for me to adapt to was changing from the fast-driving mindset to the s-l-o-w-e-r one
of boonie-driving. In the city, you zoom everywhere you want to go on the interstate. Zip on this exit
and zip off another exit. Not so in the boonies. Here you follow a winding road until you eventually
come to where you are going.
Living in the boonies gives a whole new meaning to the word “defensive driving.” You just haven’t lived
until you zip around a corner and find a cow standing in the road that had gotten out of its pasture.
Yep, I believe I left some tread marks back then. Or avoiding someone’s litter of puppies that got out
of their fence. Or coming up behind a tractor being driving by an old farmer. Most will pull off the road
and let you go around. Not always.
Personalities abound in small towns. When I first visited this area, my parents had been living here
awhile. I needed work done on my car so dad sent me to his mechanic. He was a scruffy older man
with a couple of teeth missing who went by the name Blue. I don’t know why he was called Blue and
never did. I do know that I was wearing a dress and heeled sandals when I took my car in. Blue was
chewing tobacco and kept spitting on the floor around where I was standing.
I was raised that manners are important. I had NO idea why he was spitting on the floor where I was
standing but I stepped back or to the side, and continued chatting with him about what was wrong with
my car. I passed a test. He later told my dad that he’d spit near my shoes because he wanted to see
what sort of person I was. Based on the way I looked, he figured I was a rude city slicker and wanted
to test that theory.
I wasn’t rude; I was one freaked out "what-am-I-doing-in-this-Deliverance-movie-situation” city slicker.
But manners prevailed and I stayed polite and respectful. I guess he wouldn’t have fixed my car had I
been a snob!
I live near a “Andy Griffith-Mayberry” type store – old fashioned and carrying the bare necessities.
Things like hunting and fishing items, cold drinks, sandwiches, milk, bread, coolers, propane, gasoline –
and opinions.
You will get opinions at the little store on every topic imaginable. Consider when we bought my former
sports car years back. Hubby traded his truck in for it. When he took it to the little store to get
gasoline, the woman working behind the counter at that time was shocked, horrified, and just couldn’t
understand. What was it she couldn’t understand? Her statement was, “You traded your TRUCK in?
Your truck??” She could not understand someone trading a truck in for a car – no matter how
awesome that car was.
That says it all. Pickup Trucks, the be-all, end-all vehicle in small town boonies. Pickup trucks with
muffler problems (as in loud on purpose). Pickup trucks so high off the ground you need a ladder to
get into them. Pickup trucks covered in mud from 4-wheel driving. Pickup trucks with 10 kids in the
back, heading to the swimming hole. Pickup trucks with the ever-present dog hanging out the window
barking or standing guard in the truck bed.
The post office has 40 mail boxes. It is small and intimate so you know the workers behind the counter
fairly well. They know your name and go the extra mile for you. They all bent over backward to help my
elderly mom when she came in for her mail. They chated with her, helped her get the mail, and watched
to make sure she walks back home safely. Now they all miss her. They are all wonderful people!
Yep, boonie living. Sometimes they're all in your business... and it's OK! You gotta love it!
Article Copyright © 2007 Nan C Loyd
All rights reserved. Used by permission.
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