Plus we have the joy of listening to the Courthouse clock tower chime in every hour along with church bells. We pick figs from the backyard tree and bike to the neighborhood farmers market to purchase fresh eggs, veggies, and honey. Supper is served on Grandma's china and many times using her recipes.
We can catch our own fish at the dam, and catch lightning bugs in the evening. Here we know our neighbors' names and which pet belongs to which family. The Sheriff encourages his deputies to watch the "Andy Griffith Show" in the evenings.
And for a little excitement there is a honky-tonk or two within walking distance down by the river. I've never been, but enjoy the house band's versions of "Freebird" and "Rocky Top" wafting through the neighborhood on Mule Day. Or walk the other direction to the neighborhood micro-brewery and enjoy an ale with friends by the bonfire.
At Windy Acre Cottage, Sunday morning is spent at church. Coffee is percolated. And women wear pearls. We read big books in the porch swing every afternoon, and old dogs nap at our feet.
Laundry is hung on the line to dry in the sun and the gentle breeze. And zinnias are clipped for a bouquet on the dining room table, the bedside table, the bathtub, the living room. The interior of Windy Acre Cottage pretty much resembles a funeral parlor in the spring and summer with all the bouquets of fresh flowers.
And most days I paint... RC Colas and Moon-pies, hydrangeas, old barns, cows, chickens, a historic home or church, maybe a tomato or two.
Is it idealistic? Not really. A snake lives in the hedgerow, but he's small and doesn't bother anyone. Last winter, a baby possum fell out of the attic in the middle of the night and scared us half to death, but he was just looking for warmth and was relocated to Walden's Puddle, his secret entrance-way patched. A wacky, eccentric neighbor likes to shoot his gun out his backdoor occasionally, but neighbors simply call the authorities or his Momma, and life gets pretty much back to normal.
If your breakfast consists of avocado toast, you're out of luck unless you make your own. You won't find it on any nearby menu. You're more likely to find country ham, biscuits, gravy.
And up the street on the square, between the American Flag and the Crepe Myrtle, there is a public monument honoring those who served in the Civil War from our county, listing them by name. I know that is considered backward and uncouth, but it does list everyone who served whether it be for the Union or the Confederacy, whether they were white, black, indian, or latino, native-born or immigrant. History is revered, because its our ancestors and our story.
You may call it a vacation, Mrs. Pauley. I simply call it home. And you are welcome to come visit any time. I've got a pitcher of sweet tea waiting for you and a bowl of October beans that need shelling.
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