Loose Leaf Notes

I live in a one stoplight town. I get my honey from the woman who works the front desk at the Community Action Center and my fresh eggs from the Gralla-Shwartz family. Some of the egg shells are actually light green and the cartons have feathers and pieces of hay in them. I also grow a lot of my own food and my husband stocks the freezer with wild venison. Last year my potato crop was so prolific that I’m still eating them in now, in April. All the stores here take my checks without asking for identification and some will cash personal checks made out to me. It cost $5 to fix a flat tire (up from $3 just a few years back) and a haircut at the local barbershop is $7. Because I have no visible neighbors, I can weed my garden topless or sunbathe naked on a lounge chair (one of my top criteria for Paradise). My water is from a well. It’s pure and tastes good. I can’t hear any traffic.

 
If you’re thinking I’m out in the sticks, here’s the flip side of that:
I’m 6 miles from downtown, but because there’s no traffic (or speed limits on back roads) it only takes me 8 minutes to get there. I can sometimes ride to town without seeing another car but if I do see one, it’s customary to wave, even if you don’t know who it is. Once I’m in town, my anonymity is over. Everyone says hello or stops to talk. After a few hugs and conversations, I can get a meal with capers in it, or start a pick-up game of scrabble at the local café. I can visit any number of art studios, shop for clothes that I actually like, buy organic produce, or antiques. I love to dance so I’m thrilled that we have a monthly Contra Dance, an active Dance Free, and of course there’s always Friday night flat footing at the Country Store Jamboree, competing with Irish night at the local Cantina. I attend a weekly meditation satsang and a bi-monthly writers’ workshop. My husband goes to yoga and martial arts classes. This summer will mark the 4th anniversary the World Music Festival (Floyd Fest), held just a few miles up the road from my house. A few months ago the Leon Russell Band played here. Before that it was Maria Muldaur.

When I first moved to Floyd in 1985, friends and family worried that I might be isolated in the country. My answer to them is where the term “life in the rural fast lane” first came from. In truth, sometimes Floyd living is so overwhelming that I stay home for days on end, schlepping around in my sweatpants, not wearing shoes or brushing my hair, talking to the dog on the walk to the mailbox. More criteria for Paradise, as far as I’m concerned.

This is where I live. Later in the week I’ll talk about “Where I’m From.”