

I am delighted to think of my neighborhood.  It is solitary.  It is isolated.  I much prefer the city.  My house is located in the middle of a three part field in which is rented out to the neighbors.  I had a happy childhood being raised in the country.  A brick house topped with a common roof.  A two level home encompassed by a wrap around porch.  Inside is bright.  Tall ivory walls and a natural wood ceiling.  I loved to dance in that home when I was a child.  40 acres to roam on, that’s what we had.  And we did. In the nearby woods, the pastures, the corn fields.  Our closest neighbors had a barn and we would play with their children when we were also young ourselves, my brother and I.  Across the county road is the small town Airport.  A rural place for small planes to land their tired wheels.  We knew the manager as children and would get free rides.  How fun!  My neighborhood is not like the city, not like a suburb, it is country.  Country at it’s very definition.  Corn fields surrounded my house almost every fall.  When it wasn’t corn it was hay.  And I loved seeing the neighborhood farmer rolling that hay into stacks that I could climb on.  A short drive into my small town and you reach my other home.  My father’s business.  Teaming with motorcycles and ATV’s.  A moderate place filled with friends and Uncle’s who I grew to love.  I would skate on that slate concrete floor.  Dye my hair in the auto parts sink.  Climb the wall of the latest tires in stock.  Invite friends over to play.  Across the street the most common store in America: Wal-Mart.  Down the road a Pizza Hut and Taco Bell.  A short walk out the back of the store and you reach the local park.  Just a bit further and I could take a swim in the local community pool on a hot summer day.  I would ride my bicycle across town to run errands to the post office for my mother.  On the way I passed the high school and would always be embarrassed to see friends.  A small mid-western town made up of grocery stores, local business, and fast food chain restaurants.  A town where most people at least know of most people.  The “downtown” consists of circa 1800s buildings now filled with craft shops and bars.  No separation between the two.  In high school I worked at the local grocery store in the restaurant section, serving old men their coffee early in the morning.  Those are fond memories of my neighborhood, my small town, my childhood.  And I will always freely remember them forever in my thoughts and life.  They shape me.  They mold me.  They have changed me.  I am forever thankful.

