Growing up outside of town with acres of stretched out countryside one can never quite get adjusted to the noise and chaos of urban life. It is a novelty to enjoy from time to time. The energy that comes from masses of people gathered together can be in itself energizing. A beautiful afternoon strolling down the sidewalk among others taking in the shops and beautiful buildings is great for a time. A short time for me. And I don't even realize it until I get back home ten miles from the nearest town and the noise of engines, horns, people talking, and tires screeching is replaced with birds chirping, squirrels barking, wind blowing through pines and oaks, and nothing else.
That is not to say that living out in the country goes without its invasive moments. Friends who were raised in a city have often expressed this issue. When you live out in the country there are no clear boundaries when interacting with Mother Nature. Not even a fence can call the shots. I recently purchased two of those window boxes that can be filled with bird seed from inside so that birds can perch on your window sill surrounded by clear plastic for people inside to enjoy. As my husband predicted it did not take long for the squirrels to discover this shared meal and even with my face pressed to the plastic they kept right on eating. They know that old lady who they see walking around their yard.
Not long ago the three-year-old was spending the night with me while Clay was out of town when the dog began barking crazy outside. I explained to Daniel that dogs just do that at night to keep critters away. I opened the front door to show him only to find an enormous possum eating out of the dog's bowl. He looked up at us as Brutus grabbed him by the neck and slung him toward my front step where my grandson on my hip was screaming almost as loudly as I was hollering.
I slammed the door and put Daniel on my bed. He was still screaming with his blanket over his head. I ran outside the back door and called Brutus around into the fenced in yard securing the gate. As this was happening the possum was lying on my front porch looking dead. With the dog enclosed in the back yard, I went to go back into the house only to realize I had locked myself out with a three-year-old screaming on my bed and the only door unlocked being the front one with the dead possum that was not dead after all. It was "playing possum." By the time I got back around to the front to move him with a shovel, he was back up continuing to eat out of the dog's bowl.
I knocked on the French doors of my bedroom in the hopes that a three-year-old might be able to let me in, only to frighten him more. Then I remembered my bedroom window was unlocked, so I commenced to crawl through the window as Daniel screamed from beneath the blanket, Brutus barked ferociously at the back gate, and the possum watched me over his shoulder --- unconcerned with a glob of spaghetti on his nose from the scraps.
Once I was securely inside and Daniel was demanding to go to his Daddy's house because this place was crazy, I took in a deep breath and locked up for the night. Brutus got a different bowl in the back. The possum finished his meal. We went to bed and only then could I begin to laugh. People say city life is eventful and loud. We country folks have our own set of encounters. Daniel still says he hates possums.
