I had two funerals in three days this week. I found myself in my husband’s home town. There was no smog and I could see the stars. I awoke to the sound of birds, cows, and sheep. Cotton floated through the air. I wore shorts, low pigtails, and didn’t have a stitch of makeup on my face. I sat on the front porch and drank a Coke. I ran barefoot through the grass after my children.
I do well in the city. I swim through the streets like all of the other city fish. But that isn’t how I grew up. It isn’t who I really am. Inside of my core, I will always be a small town girl. I wave at strangers and never seem to eat a meal alone. Rural life shows up in my writing. It shows up in my attitude, and I’m utterly content with it. It wasn’t always this way, but I’ve grown.