Farms and Flip Flops

As a suburbanite, I have this love /hate relationship with rural America. Grassy Cove is a 3 square mile of God created beauty. Farmland and four wheelers, mountains , silos and combines. The mountains completely surround about 8 or 9 farms like a wall of protection from the world. I know this sounds like absolute paradise but the day I got here 11 years ago, I wasn’t so sure. My first night here, the scream of sirens and loud cars were replaced by the howling of coyotes and screech owls. Did you know screech owls sound like a child screaming in the woods? The first time I heard one, sheer terror ran up my spine and I skipped two front porch steps in my flip flops on a heroic mission to save whatever was calling for me. It was after that in which I was finally educated on all the strange things in these parts that I know for sure only belong in the zoo. There have been rattlesnakes in my driveway, packs of coyotes and wild hogs running rampant in the mountains behind me, and calf killers everywhere. What the heck were those created for? Those things look like giants ants, classified as hornets, can’t fly but can sting so bad you wish you were dead. Oh, and, nothing kills them except cutting them in half with an army knife. This is just the tip of the rural iceberg but as I descend down the mountain after dropping my son off at school, I look around and breathe a sigh of contentment. This is my place. My place to be safe and snug, warm and happy with history and friendship. Rural America...