Today I want to talk about 'the country', which is a term that Americans use to describe the areas remote from big towns. Country singer Travis Tritt is one of my favorites, because of that great sounding guitar he has and also because I love the words to his songs. One of his songs is called Country Ain't Country No More. It deals with the changes that overtake the areas where we live. All over America, and probably most of the world, people are moving into the rural areas, cutting down forests, building homes. In the song Travis bemoans the fact that the areas to hunt are being turned into strip malls and the old Sunday drive has turned into a chore. Wow, how long ago was that, when the family would go out and cruise around, for fun, just to look at stuff? Do you remember when deals were sealed with a handshake? It was just as solemn as a written contract and perhaps more so, since your name and reputation went along with it.
In the song Travis says, "Everyone's locking their door, country ain't country no more". I remember when almost nobody locked their doors. Mainly because most everybody was honest. If you lived along the railroad tracks you had to be careful of a small percentage of the hobos. Most of them were good guys.
Sure, the times are changing, and the changes are certainly not all bad. I remember when it was quite common, on Sunday evenings, to go visiting. This was where one family would visit another, kin or not, and just socialize. You'd eat a bite, sit on the porch and chat ( too hot indoors) or go for a walk. Sometimes you'd go out and hit a softball around. Seemed like there were always enough kids to make up a team. The old folks would yarn and sometimes there would be a little singing if a guitar picker was handy. This was before the day when TV had a million choices and became such a force.
Back to the Sunday drive thing. I used to drive state highway 20 from I-75 to the Northeast side of Atlanta. It was an old 2 lane road with small towns sprinkled here and there. We'd go to Buford and Sugar Hill. Now it's almost like one long town from I-75 to Buford. Oh, it's more houses than towns, but it's sure grown up. I remember stopping at a place where a guy carved statues out of big tree stumps. I don't know if he's still there or not.
House lots have sure shrunk in size, haven't they? I read a study once. This scientist had a big glass box built where he could study mice. Every few days he'd add another mouse and observe how things went, socially. He repeated this study over and over and found that there was always a spot where the mice just quit getting along. There were fights and spats and anti-social displays. Even murder. In their greed, developers have violated the too-many-mice threshold and the courts are full of the results.
People are not meant to be jammed up. I understand that the Japanese deal with overcrowding much better than Americans. The human race is certainly able to adapt to most anything. I'm more like the old John Denver song. "There was something in the city, he said he couldn't breath, there was something in the country, he said he couldn't leave".
When I was little, I liked to walk down a dusty country road, barefoot. I love the sound of a horse cropping grass from the ground with his teeth. I like to hear rain hit an old tin roof and the sound of chickens clucking. I miss the sound of preserves and veggies being canned. I'd give my last dollar to see my granny breaking beans and piling them up in the valley of her long dress.
On the flip side, going to the outhouse in the dead of winter was a drag. I watched a movie once where an alien said of the Earth, "Your produce alone was worth the trip." I would have to say in regards to the negatives of progress, "Indoor plumbing alone was worth the trip."
From the green retreat, I'm CE Wills.
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