Kansas!
Some say, "You're not in Kansas anymore!"
But Kansas, friends, is just outside my door!
There is a cornfield two scant blocks away,
and not much further, fields of fresh mowed hay.
Today I went to see a country fair -
and petted cows and sheep while I was there.
And such pastoral visions I have seen!
I'm more "in Kansas" than I've ever been!
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Sept.23, 2017
Fourteen months ago we threw caution to the wind and made a bold move. We left our home of thirteen years in Kitchener and moved to a very small town an hour away. We'd always enjoyed exploring the countryside on the outskirts of whatever place we lived, but when our sons were in high school a dream was born. We were getting tired of living where our taxes continued to rise as our services diminished. We hated trying to navigate a city that was perpetually under construction, but never seemed to significantly improve. My husband realized he could work from anywhere, so why not escape the city? Other than housing a son (who was attending the University of Waterloo), and having my mother in town, we had no real ties to Kitchener. We craved a change of scenery and a fresh start.
We began to relish what we dubbed our "Corn and Beans Tours"- those exploratory drives down country roads that we took whenever we had free time on our hands. I began monitoring real estate listings in small towns, trying to assess where suitable properties could be obtained for a reasonable price.
"After the boys have left, we'll do it," we told ourselves. "We'll move out of the city into some quaint little burg."
Autumn of 2015 signaled the right time to make a change. Our younger son had just married, and he and his new wife moved to Boston to attend graduate school. Our older son said he wasn't adverse to making a move with us. He'd help us settle in, and if he didn't enjoy the rural adventure he could always move back to Kitchener. An earnest search for the right property ensued. I scoured realtor.com on a daily basis. In January, we began doing drive-bys - checking out listings that looked promising. In February we found a realtor who was willing to show us properties all over a fifty or sixty mile radius.
We found our house in April, put an offer in on it in May, got our house on the market as soon as we could, sealed the deal at both ends in early July, and were moved in by the beginning of August. Our rural adventure had begun!
I love our new/old house, and the town is very friendly, but after a year of concentrating almost entirely on home improvements, I began to feel panic settling in. Most of "the big stuff" had been completed inside the house. Progress had been stop and start - which is what happens when a self-employed man is writing the cheques. Still, we'd finished most of the big projects (except for one major renovation that is about to begin). With the the house nearing a reasonable state of completion, what would I do with my time?
Our forays into rural pursuits made me acutely aware of just how inept I would be as a truly rural housewife. I don't can, preserve or make jam. (I'm not even much of a cook.) My sewing machine treats me worse than my treadmill, and I always end up swearing at it! Thus quilting and I don't seem like a very good match. I've never milked a cow. (I touched one for the first time yesterday!) I haven't driven farm machinery - or a motorcycle or ski-doo. I haven't even been a passenger on either of them in the last two in decades. I've never been terribly enamored of country music. (It's okay, but I'd rather listen to rock 'n roll - or church choirs - or soft rock...) Can I learn to fit in?
I've always enjoyed pretty solitary pursuits - I read, I write, I bake. I like to socialize, but over the past several years I found myself growing more closed off. I'd been surrounded by people who all expected me to think the way they thought - and when I began to realize I didn't, I began to withdraw. Socializing with the people I knew grew difficult and stressful. When I moved, I vowed I'd try harder to be sociable - especially around women - because frankly they are more intimidating to me than men. (I blame 29 years in a predominantly male household for that. I can speak politics, science fiction and goofball, but I'm not so great when it comes to talking female.)
Women's conversation is harder to jump into. It's more personal - and I never know how much to share. I'm out of practice when it comes to these interactions. I feel like an interloper when I try to ease myself into a group of chatting female acquaintances. Sometimes I really do feel like a fish out of water.
But - I like it here. When I go back into Kitchener-Waterloo it doesn't feel like home, just noisy and congested. Six weeks ago I visited Toronto, and one afternoon in the Eaton Center made me feel sweaty and irritated - almost claustrophobic. I wondered aloud how people could catch their breath in crowds like that all day. I missed my big old house and my little town. I longed to take a big gulp of countrified air - manure and all!
I may not be entering any home-made pickles in the county fair (yet!), but I've adapted to the pace. I love having neighbours who wave when they drive by - or call out hellos as I walk by. When we begin to pass farmers' fields on the way home, I feel air moving deep into my pinched lungs. I begin to feel relaxed. I appreciate every horse, cow and Mennonite buggy I see. These sights don't seem to be becoming mundane, so I know I'm in the right place.
Yesterday, as we drove to the spectacle of our first plowing match, my husband reached over and took my hand.
"We're not in Kansas, anymore, " he said.
I thought about all the ways our lives have changed. Our son found a full time job six weeks after we moved here. My husband became a member of the local Lion's club - which has helped us get to know some really great people. We're discovering that we each have a little country in our soul. We can groove on watching dancing tractors. I can bake a pie that could be a legitimate contender in any agricultural fair. I might still need to discover the other bakers, board game players, readers and writers in my town - but I'm betting they're out there - and I'm not going to stop looking.
I looked over at my husband and gave his hand a squeeze.
"I disagree," I answered, taking a deep breath and waving my other hand toward the towering corn stalks we drove past.
"We're more in Kansas than we've ever been."
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