Reflections on Americana

Holsteins doing what Holsteins do

I saw a green minivan pulled off a country road, its suntanned and sunglassed occupants spilling onto the grassy shoulder as they reached for the fence surrounding one of many dairy farms along that stretch. I knew what I would hear as I slowed and rolled down my window a notch...the unmistakable human bovine imitation.

"Moooo!" they all shouted, Mom, Dad, and children alike, while the disinterested Holsteins continued to do what they do best: tail-switch, blink, and chew their cud. I smiled as I passed by, remembering all the times that I or some member of my family had done the same.

When I was new to the Midwest (northern Michigan, to be exact), transplanted from southeastern Pennsylvania, I felt as if no one could ever admire the beautiful surroundings as I did. Surely the locals had become complacent and failed to appreciate what they had right in front of them! I'd write to friends about the abundance of dairy and beef farms, the slow-moving tractors, the idyllic rolling fields rich with earthy scents, scavenger birds, and roaming deer. Their attempts at infusing reality never worked: "How can anyone stand to live so far away from everything?" I would smile and think, how could you not live here?

I'd always stammer my defense, not having lived there long enough to build up my arsenal of defenses. Searching for proof, I would stop the car to help a box turtle reach the stream, and pulled off the side of the road to watch twelve deer silhouetted in the early evening sunset. I would shake my head in disbelief at the impatient tourist hauling dirt bikes who would hold down the car horn then whip around the hay bailer being pulled to a neighbor's field before the rains came. Over time, I realized that simply living there gave me all the reasons I needed to stay, to defend the beauty. We sank our roots deeply and unashamedly, content to be part of the fiber of the community.

BBQ chicken at the fair

I am glad my children were raised with a deeper understanding of life's rhythms and I don't think they missed anything important not growing up closer to a city. We took them to Broadway plays and concerts, museums and zoos, malls and hyper-stores 60 miles away. I am sure those trips were memorable, but over the years since we all moved from that place, the things we talk about, the things we remember fondly, are not connected to the city visits.

When we gather either in person or virtually and the talk turns to "remember when," we reflect on the ever-expanding Fourth of July parade with ear-splitting truck-ins and the four hour fireworks vigil at the local industrial park, akin to a block party. We recall the Christmas parades in sub-zero weather when band members had to guard against their instruments freezing on their lips. There were Little
League games with the local police chief wandering through the crowds like a modern day Pied Piper, children at his heels. It was the place where my sons beamed when they were tossed the "Most Valuable Player" can of pop at the end of a game then pleaded to go to the local Dairy Queen like everyone else. Once there, the community party would continue with dripping ice cream cones and laughter-filled conversations, even with people we only knew by face.

Blue ribbon homegrown vegetables

They remember the family picnics at local and state parks; the yearly elementary Turkey Trot where
every student followed the teaching staff through the town's main streets while business owners and parents cheered; the local art fair where we insisted the family stand in line for the wonderful barbecued chicken dinner when all the kids really wanted were the pizza and fries; and the high school students' National Honor Society highway clean-up for the two mile stretch in front of the school, complete with horn toots and "thumbs up" from passersby as twenty, thirty bags of refuse sat stacked along the road.

Throw in the high school football games where we warmed our hands on hot dogs as we waited for half time (yes, the game was important too, but we were band parents); and the competition, sounds, and smells (grin) of the local County Fair where they learned showmanship, cycles of life, the importance of doing record books "right," and the fun of showing their art (embroidery, educational displays, seed pictures every year). In a conversational lull, we smile and realize life had been good in that small Midwest town and we each were far richer for the years spent there.

So, if you are ever driving through a small town, and see someone along the side of the road trying to engage a disinterested Holstein in conversation, smile and realize that if you live in the country year round, you are that slice of Americana for which they yearn. Then go ahead, take a deep, country-fresh breath and let out a hearty moo.

Postscript
I don't live in that community anymore, but instead, I am just miles from malls, shopping centers, artistic venues, and a myriad of libraries, medical centers, and an emerging downtown revitalization. Two of my three children have transplanted to more metropolitan areas. One son has indeed set down roots in a rural community not very far from where he grew up and vows to never leave. As for me, I enjoy the close proximity of those things I need as I age, but when I want to feel centered and peaceful, I turn my car toward the country roads only miles outside of the city and without checking the GPS, and just drive. I've even mooed a time or two. It will always be like going home.