We’ve been rural folk now for two and a half years, now.
Actually, that’s not totally true as simply having a country address doesn’t make you a yokel. No, initially we were stuck in that no-mans-land of living a long way away from our life, if you know what I mean.
But we might just be getting there now, with two of our number working in the community we live in, the whole line dancing at the local church hall thing and, just the other day at the garden centre, I ran into someone I knew well enough to invite home for coffee … or she invited herself…whatever and however, a quick visit to pick up an apple tree turning into coffee and laughs around the kitchen table – that is indisputably the country folk way. We have arrived.
The other tried and true test for the rural stamp in your personality passport is the “town day”. That is, a dedicated week day on which you load up the cart and trundle into the big smoke to undertake all your town chores.
Tuesday is my town day and here I sit, car seat pushed back, window cracked, pecking out this missive on my phone while Farm Girl gets her sporty fix. Only a couple things remain on my list and then I’ll head the horses back up SH 73.
I’ll be back next Tuesday; next Tuesday Town Day.