What I DIDN'T do was shove my unfinished novel under the door one single-spaced page at a time.

What I did do was find the address of Janet Reid's office and wave hello.

Hi!

  JANETREID gave me one of my top 3 awesome rejections, which made me respect her even more, I'm not even kidding.

So I didn't technically stalk any literary agents, but I did seek out the workplace of one and No I do not think that's crazy.  

I conquered NYC and when I came home I saw the stars in the black sky and knew I was home again.

I couldn't see stars there.  It was that weird kind of dark where there's no sun shining, but everything's lit up so bright the sky is dull orange.

I liked it a whole lot more than I expected to, and felt a lot safer than I imagined I could.

TIMES SQUARE, MEET JOHN DEERE.

(dig smiling photo-bomb guy back there eh?)

I planned on blogging this whole adventure, but man, it is impossible to blog while walking around in SoHo.  Or, hurtling down 5th Avenue in a cab driven by a dude with no concept of potential death.

I couldn't blog while hearing about algorithm equalization filter loudness calibration nonlinear feedback loop transducer...amplifier...loudspeaker...

Hey those are all actual terms I picked randomly out of the schedule.  I can't make that stuff up.

Jethro achieved his goal of getting all these guys wound up about his ideas (his presentation was flawless! and his Q&A went overtime) and he made all kinds of nice little friends from Denmark, Switzerland, Germany, and other places with wonderful accents.

Then we proceeded to stomp all over Manhattan, as much as possible for a guy with incredibly sore feet from standing around for three days.  We tend to be hardcore about these things: I'm here, I'm going to pig out on this place and then get the heck back out again.  We try to do way too much in a day.

 I loved our little 200 square foot "cabin" at the Yotel.  Couldn't live like that, with all the slickness and modernity, but was it ever fun to have as a home base!

So because I wanted to blog the whole thing and didn't, I think I'll just say heck with it and write a little book about it.  Heck why not.  I'll get at it when I'm done catching up on laundry!

Seriously, laundry piles and manure piles and the whole mess... it was great to go away, but it's really good to be back.  I knew I was home when I stepped out of the car at midnight and looked up.
"Hey, stars!  I missed you when I was in the big city!"

Tired hick in big city....

New York has worn me out.

-Little Italy
-Empire State building
-I've got enough of Times Square to last me... well, forever, probably.
-closed down the conference real good an proper.  The party's over when we say it is. Seriously, by the time we left the session on pressing vinyl records, the whole place was getting packed up.  We're always the last ones out.



We both have sore feet and sore backs and I know I for sure have some mental overload/ overstimulation but ...

I think I get it now.

Believe it or not, I think I might actually get why this city is so famous.




If I ever figure out how to get the pictures off Jethro's iGadget, I will post them.

But now I am gonna hit the sack.  We still have a big chunk of land with no skyscrapers on it that needs to be checked out, and an art museum to absorb before we get on the plane and head back home.

(Home...)

LITTLE HICK IN THE BIG CITY: Day 2, Friday

Man, the stereotype that people in New York are in their own little worlds of aloof unfriendliness is entirely untrue!  Before leaving, some American friends of mine, assuring me that I’d be okay here, told me that it’s not like in the movies.  Well, I already was firmly of the belief that in general, American people are a warm, friendly bunch of individuals.  This experience confirms it.

Today a fella named Pedro came to my room to fix the phone.  He has such a strong accent I had to concentrate to catch what he was saying.  He told me there are 9 million people living in Manhattan.  Just in Manhattan… by comparison, there are 5 million in Metro Toronto, the biggest big city I know.  That includes the boroughs.  Canadian cities really aren’t very big.  Pedro told me he takes the train in to work from Queens.  I told him in Toronto most people spend two hours commuting.  (One of the reasons why after a decade-plus we had to get the heck outta there.)

I can’t comprehend how big this city is. Or the scale of things.  Everything is so tight.  Little blocks of streets.  

Last night, we had a late bite to eat.  We walked north on 10th Avenue.  There were so many people out taking their dogs for a last walk of the day.  We sat in a tiny restaurant and I said to Jethro, “I wasn’t expecting this… it’s like a little neighborhood here.  People live here.  I always thought of it like this big fabulous place where people go to… be fabulous.  But this is somebody’s home.”

Well obviously I knew people live in this city.  But it seemed so big and distant and maybe even cold.  There are just so many people here!  How can anybody live like this and not become so jaded that they can’t be bothered to look up at anybody else?   Wouldn’t your skin have to be so thick that you’d lose any connection to anybody else?

I’m somebody who tries to keep in mind that stereotypes are in place for a reason but are often exaggerated and probably a little inaccurate.  Like, I have this blog called Hick Chic, implying that I’m a country girl and I’m proud of it and I am totally working it and pulling it off.  I know why city people think of us hicks as naive and unsophisticated.  I myself am naive and unsophisticated.  But I’m not dumb.  (Okay I might come off that way in person, but really, I’m not!) I seriously have a hard time crossing a street on foot.  I’m not even kidding.  But I can drive down a gravel road at 100 kph with one hand on the steering wheel.  So we each have a different set of skills.  

It doesn’t do any of us any good to deal with each other with contempt, as tempting as it is when I get attitude from more urban folks who automatically assume that being from the country means I don’t matter.

As I’m finding out, those who treat me that way are the exception.

( maybe I really only get that attitude off people in Toronto?  Hmmmm….)

I’m writing this in the lobby of the incredibly chic stylin’ lobby of the Yotel.  A woman a big honkin’ camera and a Manfrotto tripod is taking pictures of the room.  The decor is amazing.  Everything is purple and white and grey with pale wood.  It’s so slick I’m just about sliding out of my crazy mid-century-modern chair.  I am totally digging this place - it’s fun to be here!  BUT.  I could not live like this. It’s too fabulous.  

I’m not fabulous.  

Fun, but not fab in a New York kind of way.

Today’s Hick-in-New York outfit:

Jeans (yep, Mavi from the Juno swag bag, good thing they fit)

running shoes

pink plaid flannel shirt

And because I’m totally doing the Big City Writer thing, I’m wearing my glasses.  

I am totally working this.  

I think I’ll head up to my room again.  Jethro’s at the conference down the road, talking with other engineers about soundwave displacement in an audiological resonance digital high fidelity aural 7.1 surround… thing…. while I do my thing here and somebody is up on the twelfth floor is cleaning my room and putting nice clean white towels in the glass walled-bathroom, and making the bed!  THAT right there, alone, is worth checking in here for!

Of course we’ll be paying for this trip for the next six months.

Okay, going back up in the purple elevator.  Catch ya later.  

ps- I totally crossed a street by myself!  Well, me and ten other people. But otherwise by myself.

I'm getting overwhelmed by the sirens, and it sounds like the predominant form of communication in this town is honking.  Other than that, I'm dealing quite well!

Little Hick, Big City: day one

LITTLE HICK IN THE BIG CITY

Thursday October 20,

It’s a darn good thing Jethro brought me with him.  I’m doing such a good job of keeping him calm.  He’d be a nervous wreck without me here beside him.

Pffft.  I am useless in the city.  Useless!  I don’t even think I could cross a street without clinging to his hand.  I damn near left hand-shaped craters in his arm after that flight.  For the first time in six years of one flight per year whether I like it or not, I got on a plane without Lorazepam.  Yep. I flew straight. Might have been a bad idea.  It was so much easier when I had them little white pills.  But.  I’m feeling much better now.  

As for the Big Bad City, I have to say, so far, this isn’t so bad. Our hotel is on 10th Avenue.  The street below is wide and busy, but really not shockingly busy.  Just normal city busy.  I hate to say it, but to me, most cities are similar and kind of blend into each other in my memory.  Things like side streets and franchises all look the same.  

As soon as we got out of the cab, the wind gave us a nasty sandblasting with Manhattan dirt.  Man that is repulsive.  I’ve had a mouthful of grit before, plenty of times, but it was Punkeydoodles dirt and I knew pretty much where it’d been before it ended up blowing into my face.  This morning I was standing there in the lobby of this ultra-cool hotel being horrified by the grit between my molars and really wishing I could spit.  

It’s not wall to wall people here though, at least not on this street.  Traffic is constant though.  Jethro saw a sign on this intersection that there is a $350 fine for honking the horn.  Then he told me I probably shouldn’t spit because that’s likely illegal too.  Argh.  How do New Yorkers get the grit out of their mouths???

Most of that traffic is yellow cabs.  I’ve never seen that much yellow.  That, so far, is what I expected, from watching movies. You always see cabs in movies.  The rest of the vehicles are delivery trucks and big black SUVs.  Who are these people?  A Suburban is hard enough to park in Kitchener let alone NYC and then these guys get out wearing suits and I wonder what the heck they do for a living, then decide I might not want to know and probably don’t care.  

I’ve learned very quickly to pick out the audio engineers.  They’re often a combination of slightly nerdy, slightly pale, and just a little bit overweight.  Also they’re wearing badges around their necks and carrying little AES booklets.  So pretty easy to spot.  Last week it was Comicon in the convention centre.  Those guys must have been real easy to pick out of a crowd!

My Hick-in-NYC outfit for today is: 

running shoes

Mavi jeans

Soundgarden T shirt

Kermit THE frog green sweatshirt

pink John Deere hat.

I’ve decided to walk around with my hood up.  It helps keep the wind out of my ears but also helps keep the filth out of my hair.  

It’s kinda funny that out in the country the wind knocks me over because there’s nothing to stop it and here in the big city the wind knocks me over because it picks up speed between the buildings.  

Anyways, didn’t get to see Tony Bennett at the conference.  His producer, Phil Ramone, was there, and also his son Dae Bennett.  They did a little chit chat about making the album, live off the floor, no click track, the old fashioned way like Tony likes it, and of course, how he is Tony Bennett and is awesome.  He chose to stay home today because he’s a busy man, touring and performing, and he’s 85, and if he wants a rest he’s entitled.  

They showed a little video about The Making Of Duets II.  Of course it was all very slick and fawning.  John Mayer was adorably awkward and nervous and kid-like.  They ended the video with Amy Winehouse which was killer.  In every way.  Other than Amy, the real firecracker was Lady Gaga, or as I like to call her, (clench teeth first) Ssssstefanie!!!   She’s a hoot and really should sing with Tony more often.  She can do so much better than she sings on her big hits, which to me sound like she’s just doing as much as it takes and no more.  Also, she cannot ever get a nose job because otherwise I’ll never recognize her.  But that’s just my opinion, which nobody asked for cuz I don’t really know what I’m talking about.  

Back home on the farm, it’s still raining.  The kids are taking care of critters and life goes on.  

I think until Jethro comes back from the conference, I’ll pretend to be a famous author who’s holed herself up in a funky slick little hotel room in order to be away from everything which distracts her from finishing that much anticipated novel.  There’s a purple light on the wall.  It’s really cool. 

LITTLE HICK, BIG CITY: things I've been told to do and see in NYC

I don't know how big this place is, how long it takes to get anywhere, or even where we're staying.

Y'know, let's not get caught up in that.  I'm not ready to think about that yet; I'm still working on my suitcase.  Seriously, I'm not good at this.  For 18 years I lived in town and packed up about once a month to head out to the farm.  All those years of suitcase packing and I still run around fretting and spazzing out trying to figure out which socks to pack.

But I digress.  As usual. So here are some NYC Things:

THE METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART

I think I could spend a whole day there.  Which could come in handy... once my eyes glaze over listening to all those recording engineers talking about spdif files and wav files and kilohertz and megahertz and mabrainhertz.


THE OFFICE OF JANET REID, THE QUERY SHARK.

Can't think of anybody more "New York"than this literary agent... she's cool and tough and funny and sensitive and says what she means.  She isn't my agent.  I don't have an agent.  But I'd settle for just seeing the front door of the building she works in.  It's not creepy, right?


JOHN LENNON MEMORIAL

Annyong visited when she went to NYC with her school symphonic band. So she said I have to go too.


CENTRAL PARK 
Absolutely everybody tells me I need to do some hanging around in here.

I heard there are horses somewhere in the park.  Is that true?  Could it be?


EVERGREEN DINER

My friend-neighbour Leslie says we should have breakfast here.


OUR HOTEL ROOM

I will pretend to be a Struggling Author Trying to Finish My Much Anticipated Novel in my NYC hotel room. Also.  Four days with husband.  Not saying anything else.



Okay, that's all I got.  Anybody else?  I'm kind of at a loss here.  I want to blog the whole thing, as it happens!  Except for the plane ride. I intend to be oblivious in the plane.  It's the only way to fly.


I'm outta here.  We've got a few hours of nasty rainy cold weather to drive through to get to the airport.  Wish me luck.

HOLY CRAP I'M GOING TO FREAKIN' NYC.

LITTLE HICK IN BIG CITY: My New York City packing list

Pink John Deere hoodie 
This is so important because the hoodie is one of the most versatile and necessary article of clothing.  Also it's pink.  And has a big green and yellow logo on it.  It's my favourite.

John Deere hat
I'll have to pick between the pink one with "I heart JD" or the green one with the logo.

I'd bring this whole totally bitchin' outfit but I don't think it'll be warm enough in Manhattan in October.

I'll just bring the hat.

At Lollapalooza this summer, a guy in the hamburger line up started yelping, "John Deere!" so I turned around like I was answering to my name.  Of course.  Obviously.  

He looked all happy that there was one other sweaty unwashed rock festival attendee who knew what a tractor is.  Wouldn't it be cool if I find a tractor person in New York City!  

Hey it could happen.  I mean it's not impossible.

Check out Bucky and me.  We go to a massive rock concert in our hats: him with his National Wild Turkey Federation and me with my John Deere.  We dress up well for special occasions.

Yoga pants   

Yoga pants, yes.  Yoga, NO.

The Mavi jeans I got for free in a Juno event swag bag 

You think I'd actually buy Mavi jeans?  No thanks.  I'd like to send my kids to college some day. 

Peach Berskerk "I love Johnny Depp" hoodie

The one I ordered when we went to the Juno awards a couple years back.

long sleeve T shirt

Probably the one I got at the Juno awards a couple years back.

What? I get my clothes in four places: the feed mill, the thrift store, the Juno swag bag, and the merch booth at rock concerts.  

T shirts

Ozzy?  Soundgarden?  White Stripes?  Muse?  Ohhhh decisions!

something nice

In case we have enough cash to go somewhere nice.  I have no idea here.

ridiculous high heeled platform slingback black and white gingham shoes

The gingham qualifies them as country-girl-approved.

bandanna

Sometimes my ears get cold and need to be covered.  Or I have a bad hair thing. Either way.

favourite plaid flannel shirt

Dude, it's plaid, it's flannel, and it's got pink in it.  

I promise I won't walk around with a stick in my teeth.  Promise.  

belt

gotta have one.  My pants dun' stay up without one.  

(You can go ahead and read that line with a hillbilly accent.)

Posh spice shades

So I can pretend I'm somebody important in the lobby of whatever big building we're in.

arm warmers

Like leg warmers only smaller and with thumb holes.  A must have for a writer with cold hands.

Cute rubber boots with horses on them that I got at Canadian Tire

It's just wise to always be sure you can walk through anything.  I'm just saying.  

Running shoes

We'll be doing a lot of walking.  I might run the other way if there's a crowd.  Ready for anything.

flannel jammies

Hey hey, nice little getaway with the husband!  Flannel!  Whoo hoo!

Wellbutrin

I ain't leaving home without that stuff.  Let's keep the good mood going!

bag, toothbrush, comb

Got thirteen channels of shhhhh.... oh wait, that's a song.  Never mind.

workbook

In case a poem falls out of me.  I need to get it written down.

my specs

So I can see what I'm writing down.

Mac White

In case a novel falls out of me.  Also so Jethro can actually prepare his presentation on the plane on the way to the conference.  (It's how he operates.)

books to read

This could really be great.  While he is having long conversations with other recording engineers, I get READING TIME!  Yay!

cotton socks

as in, "rock my cotton socks" because I've had some time to think about it and decided I'm going to make the best of this trip.

Know what else I'm bringing?  The Funny.

Yep, you'll be hearing all about it! Right here!

Jethro plans to drag me KICKING AND SCREAMING to New York City!!!

He's really gonna do it.  He's gonna talk me into it.

When I tell people he's taking me to NYC with him in a couple weeks, I get reactions like "Oh wow you are so lucky!" and "Woo hoo glamorous jet set life" and the sarcastic kind of "Yeah poor you, being forced to go to the most fabulous/ glamorous/ famous city in the world."

Are you friggen kidding me?  Hello, that city is full of people.   Like, wall-to-wall people.  And I bet 89% of them are bigger than me!  It's all loud there and like, polluted probably, and loud, and you can't see the sky unless you look straight up, right?  And if you believe what you see on TV everybody gets mugged at least once a day.  I've never been mugged in my life.  I'm not even sure exactly what it involves but I'm pretty sure I don't want it happening to me!

But, I'm going to NYC because he wants to take me with him.  

Sigh.  I know, I know.  I'm lucky.  Being this guy's wife has meant going places I never expected to see.  I come from a long line of farm families for whom an overnight stay is next to impossible.  I can't say I didn't want to see different parts of the world.  It's just that as a kid, I never expected it.

Most of all, I'm just not a city person.

Jethro is going to the Audio Engineering Society Convention.  He's never been to one, ever, in over 20 years, because he's always been... you know, working. Doing that audio engineering thing that he does. He's going this year because he's presenting a speech.  If he's gonna go he's gonna go big.  That's just how he operates.

He'll be doing a talk on How He Plans To Revolutionize The Way Music Is Recorded.

Don't ask me, man, all I know is I had to go to Montreal with him so he could listen to two versions of a song on a machine that doesn't dither the sample rate conversion...digital file...non-pro-tools... um, thingie.

Bottom line, for me, is the chance to spend four days with my man.  I am, after all, the president of his fan club.  I gotta be there.

It means leaving the farm though.  And by that I mean, I have to leave the teenagers and grandparents here - man I hope the kids are going to be okay, taking care of the grandparents, haha.  The kids will be responsible for a dog, a house cat, two barn cats and three horses.  There will have to be some arranging to get everybody to the bus stop, and to an early morning band practice.  I'm lucky to have teenagers who actually have a clue about how to do stuff.

Can you imagine if this was an actual working farm?  Like with 100 dairy cows?  Yikes.  It's hard enough to leave here. I know it'll be okay because we've gone away before.  But it always worries me a little.

So.  Little Hick in NYC.

Can I get excited about this?  I hear there are some pretty big art museums in NYC.  I'd like to see that.

Jethro thinks I should set up some lunch dates with literary agents.  I clamped down a bitter laugh.  It don't work that way, folks.  I mean, it would be nice.  What would I do to meet JANETREID the Shark Herself?  That would be awesome!!  But that's not how it works.  Instead I think I'll just get my picture taken with the front door of the building her office is in.  Close enough?

My American writer friends tell me I won't get mugged.  Probably.

And in case you wondered... Yes I will most likely be wearing at least one article of clothing with a John Deere logo on it.  What else would I wear?

So if you live in NYC, and for some odd reason you are reading this, if you happen to see a smallish woman wearing clothes with pictures of green tractors, clinging to the arm of a large man, staring up at buildings in slack jawed amazement, yep, that'll be me.

AMERICA

Crossing the border into Michigan isn't a shock for an Ontario girl, in terms of geography.  Everything looks about the same as in my part of Canada.

But don't think for a second that Canada and the USA are the same.

We are similar -- obviously close relatives -- but we are different from each other.  We can relate to a lot of cultural things, and sometimes the landscape, but the tiny differences are there, right up at the surface.

Road signs are in green, like at home, but there are little blue and red Interstate symbols.  I like American road signs.  They make sense.  I don't like American billboards.  I don't want to visit a gentleman's club or that fancy new hospital.  I'm really not sure if I want to buy super cheap discount fireworks.  Please don't give my son any ideas... It's very handy that I'm being informed as to what restaurants are coming up at the next exit, but if I'm on a road trip, chances are I'm going to look for a grocery store and fill my cooler in the trunk instead, so... thanks but no thanks.

In Ontario, you might - might, if you're lucky - get a small logo on a blue sign with a few other fast food logos.  There will be a Tim Horton's and a Wendy's.  There will be a Tim's at every stop.  It's almost like a Canadian law.  I really hope you like coffee and donuts if you're travelling in Canada.  Better eat now cuz the next rest stop is in... a long time from now.  Good luck.  Always get the tank filled in Sarnia because you'll be on the 402 for a couple hours running on empty.  So yeah.  Good luck.

American highways, are, in a word, gorgeous.  If you can call a road gorgeous, that's what they are.  Smooth, wide, with well-marked signs and well-lit lanes.  Those little "cat eye" reflectors in the pavement?  Genius.  Driving the Interstates is so efficient.  America, you are the undisputed KING OF HIGHWAYS.  (Okay, technically Germany probably is, with the Autobahn and all that, but seriously, you gotta have the stones to drive like a race car driver there from what I hear, so yeah, gotta hand it to ya, USA.)

I wonder though, my American friends, do Ontarian drivers piss you off?  We must.  We go flying past like speed limits are just a guideline.  But I'll let you in on a little secret, okay?  Those of us from north of the border cannot figure out why y'all have signal lights.  Because few of you use them.  Maybe it's just an Illinois thing.  Wow.  Guys?  Please let us know when you're fixing to change lanes in front of us.  Please.  We are simple-minded Canadians.  We can't read your minds.  Apparently we just don't get it.  Also I'm personally teaching a 17 year old girl how to drive and have developed a reaction like "eiidjjjuffffisisis guh guh guh" every time a vehicle in front of us does anything.  I'm sorry.  It's just how it is with us.

You know what else America excels at?  FRIENDLINESS.  At the Veegee's in Flint (I think that's what it was called and where it was... I wasn't totally recovered from the border crossing yet even though it was hassle-free) the sweet woman who sold us sliced meat and cheese had the warmest brown eyes and incredible dimples.  I darn near invited her to come to Lollapalooza with us.  Okay that's not quite true but for a split second I could have believed she'd known us for years.

By contrast, people behind the counters in Canadian stores are definitely polite... but not friendly.  There is a difference.  Up here, you'll always be greeted with a "how are you today?" but nobody really cares or expects an answer.  The transaction is made, receipt handed over, and off you go.  Very polite, kind of arm's length.  In the States, you walk out feeling like that person I just paid for a tank of fuel really honestly wants me to have a good day!


However.  Don't piss off other drivers in Chicago.  Holy crap.  In our confusion - and keep in mind, Jethro is one of the best, if not THE best driver I know - we ended up in the middle of an intersection in a yellow light.  We got the crap honked out of us.  HONK!!!!  Like, angry, multiple horns, mob honking.  Then a van passed us with the driver hanging his arm out the window like he was symbolically slapping us upside the head.  Like, three times.  Slap.  WTF is wrong with you?  Slap.  Go back to Canada you %$^%$!  Slap.  Why I outta kick you in your stupid &&^% pansy Volkswagen *&^ and stick my foot up your *^&%&   &*^*^  while I'm at it.  And there's me in the passenger seat, cowering, yes cowering because some of these people have guns!  At least that's what I hear, up where I live.


People of Chicago, when you are in your cars you kind of aren't very nice.  Out of your cars, you're pretty cool.  In your cars, you're actually kind of scary.  Like, I worry that you will have some kind of stress related heart attack or something.  Maybe some of you should walk more?

I don't know if it was just the rock festival vibe in Grant Park last weekend, but I often felt like we were welcomed with open arms.  Getting chatting with somebody was easy, lining up for something to eat, or buying some merch (Been there, got the T shirt) and inevitably it would come up that I'M FROM CANADA.  I got a few big smiles, and "Hey, welcome to Chicago!)  I loved that.

A guy started calling, "John Deere!  Hey, John Deere!"  So I turned to look.  With a big excited grin, he pointed to my hat.  "You actually drive one?"

"Yeah!"

"Do you have one?"

"I'm inheriting one!"  I replied.

He had that broad mid-west accent.  Maybe it was just that mine was the only John Deere logo at an alternative rock festival, but hey buddy!  You got tractor, I got tractor, we are friends!!!

Packed in with a bunch of other Muse fans, I struck up a conversation with a girl from Chicago about the similarities between that city and Toronto.  Both up against a lake.  Airport on the far side of town.  Sprawling suburbs.  Boiling hot humid summers.  Brutal winters.  Oh wait - it's only Chicago that has the tough winters... Toronto thinks winters are haaaaard but Toronto in general is pretty wimpy. (Don't whine at me, Toronto people, if any of you are reading this, which I doubt, but you know it's true!  Talk to somebody from Manitoba and get back to me on it!)

Also, the two cities play each other in movies.

Thing is, I am just not a city person.

Most of the Canadian cities I've been to (thank you Canadian TV network for moving the Juno awards around the country each year) are kind of small and clean and new compared to the American cities I've been to (usually on the Interstate and as quickly as possible.  Not a city person.)

American cities have Bad Neighbourhoods.  And also, beautiful, exciting, interesting Downtown Cores with so much to look at, it's overwhelming.

America has a vibe and an energy that amazes and confuses me.  Incredibly friendly people who may or may not have weapons in their homes in case the enemy attacks.  I'm sorry, it's what us Canadians think, I don't know, maybe it's Michael Moore's fault.  America is huge.  America is home to some of the best ideas and bizarre weirdness.  America is a breeding ground for stardom.  America has so much natural beauty and every now and then, a big pocket of industrial ugliness.  But mostly beauty.

America is defiantly proud.  Canada is self-deprecatingly proud.

America parodies their politicians on TV comedy shows.  Canada invites their politicians to play themselves on TV comedy shows.  Kind of the same, but different.

America has a gorgeous flag.  It is awesome, in the true sense of the word, and it's everywhere.  Canada has a cute flag and pastes little red leaves everywhere possible.

I don't think Canada totally understands America, but it's okay, because I don't think America understands Canada either.  We're kind of the same, but we're very different.

America, you are BEAUTIFUL.

And also, America, you are weird.

And being Canadian, I know a lot about weird and beautiful.

I hope, sincerely, that we can always be friends.

Love, Heidi the Hick

Sometimes I think I feel sorry for The Biebs.

You might wonder how I could feel sorry for a kid who's on top of the world.  Well, other than being unable to walk down a street without being attacked and feeling that nobody really knows him?  He's sort of missing out on a regular teenage life.  

I am alarmed and concerned that he does not have any concept of big and small towns. 

I didn't watch the American Music Awards on Sunday night because it was more important to me to attend a baby shower.  (Yep, I love my god-daughter more than I love rock stars!) I heard all about the awards the next morning on the radio.  I heard The Biebs tell the adoring audience something that sounded like this:

I come from the smallest town in the world, like 30,000 people...

I have so many problems with this statement.  So, so many problems!

First of all, in what universe is a population of 30,000 SMALL?  That is only small if it's a city.   And technically, Stratford Ontario is a city.  A small one.  

And seriously, smallest town in the world?  IN THE WORLD?  Really Biebs?  Really?

Honestly when I heard this I didn't know whether to smack my forehead... or his.

According to the Kitchener news, Stratford is #219 on the list of smallest populations in Canada. But that didn't sound right to me.  They must have meant small cities. Then of course if we take into consideration all the villages and hamlets, calling Stratford small is just ridiculous.  When your town is composed of three houses and a tiny church, then we can start talking about the smallest town in the world.   

To be fair, in the last couple years the kid has only been in cities large enough to support a giant arena to hold his hordes of screaming fans.  But at any time in the first decade of his life, did he not venture outside of Stratford?  Did he never drive through, like, Tavistock?  St Marys?  New Hamburg?  And those are just medium size towns; how about Shakespeare?  Harmony? Gads Hill? Amulree?  Geez, you want small, Biebs?  Shingletown!  Haysville!  Harmony!  

Man, has the kid been anywhere????

He's probably never heard of this writer guy called William Shakespeare either.  That "smallest town" happens to have a huge tourist trade thanks to a few little plays Will wrote.  

The kid would have to know this.  He used to play his guitar on the street corner so the tourists could fill his guitar case with cash.  As legend would have it.

I will say this: he's talented.  And he's driven.  He is not a superstar by accident.  He works for it.  He wants it and he's out to get it.

Next reason I feel sorry for him: he's a 16 year old boy.  He's surrounded by Kardashians and Katy Perry and Rhianna.  Up until about a week ago, he looked like a nine year old.  That's borderline tragic.

And of course the old radio station got hold of a clip of the boy's voice cracking during Sunday's performance.  Yeah.  There could be some rough years ahead.

Biggest reason I feel sorry for The Biebs?

THE COMBOVER.

The Farm That Got Away

It seemed perfect.

It was 10 acres, close enough to town to bring in potential riding students, but far enough away that I couldn't see any subdivisions.

The house was gorgeous.  I mean, seriously, it was a dream house.  Built in 1881 of red brick with yellow brick accents, it was the perfect farmhouse.  It wasn't just the classic "Ontario farmhouse" style with one peak in the front with a gothic-arched window.  The front of the house had three peaks.  The centre peak had two windows.  This gave the bedrooms at either side of the upstairs hall their own little arched window.  Bliss.  On top of that, the bedroom at the back of the house had two more peaks.  Triple Bliss.  There was a tiny staircase down to the living room.  Sneaky.

There was a porch.  The door was the original wooden door with the big iron lock.

The kitchen was huuuge.  It was yellow - the colour I'd chosen for my cute little bungalow years ago.  Coincidence?  Apparently the cabinets were "dated" but they were all hanging together.  There was a sliding door to a small deck.  Jethro didn't like the deck.  He was already planning a new one by the time he left his first viewing.  The kitchen had its own entrance and a staircase to the cellar.  I pictured my winter coveralls hanging at the bottom of the steps.

There were two bathrooms.  The big one upstairs had a clawfoot tub.  And a laundry chute.

Four bedrooms meant an office upstairs.  Plus there were two big rooms downstairs.

So much room.

There were overgrown flowerbeds begging for my green thumbs to rescue them.

There was a shed with a cement floor.  I was visualizing how best to soundproof it and where we'd put the control room, how big the iso-booths would be, and what Jethro would see if he looked out the window while mixing a record.

He could be looking at the large sand arena where somebody would be riding, and beyond that, the hayfield, from which the Dutch dairy farmer neighbours would be bringing over a cutting each year in exchange for keeping a cutting.

There was an ancient hay shed, which I loved.

The barn looked small from the outside but contained 5 large box stalls, plus a run in shed, a wide aisle, and a big open area where a lawn tractor and a wheelbarrow had way too much room.

There were paddocks.

There were trees.

Lots of trees.

There were little pockets of overgrown bushy wilderness.  Prime tree fort material.  I pictured little trails to take the Pug for walks, and ride the horses, and maybe even set up some trail obstacles to make our rides more fun.  I had plans.

There was a tiny little wellhouse.

There was room for one of those inflatable pools and still have room for a kitchen greenhouse.

I was deeply in love.

The kids were ready to move in.  They were planning where our friends from town could sleep when they came to stay over.

The price was pretty darn good, too.  We had meetings with the real estate agents, then the bank, and the accountant, because even a pretty darn good price was daunting to us.

We first went to tour the place in late June, at an open house showing absolutely swarming with people. I starting getting an offer ready but backed out when I heard another family had moved to offer as well.  I was sure theirs would be better and at that point we didn't feel confident enough that we could really pull this off.  There were three offers, and none stuck.

July ticked by.  We started stalking the place.  Every time we drove anywhere nearby we'd detour past the little farm on our way.  I looked it up on google earth.  I'm not proud of this, but I did it.  I was obsessed.  I laid awake at might picturing my furniture in that house and my two Appaloosas grazing in the paddocks.  I wondered how much snow we'd get, and what the Dutch farmer would charge for bringing over his tractor and snowblower.  I called the school to find out if they had room for two new kids.

August came along.

The realtors were just as shocked as we were that the place had not sold yet!

We were crunching numbers and scratching our heads.  Could we do it?  How much could we get for our house?  What would the monthly payments add up to on a more expensive property?  Could we put in a lower offer?

The price came down.

We got another offer ready.  And got cold feet again.

We loved that place and all four of us figured we could be very happy there, but the chances of not being able to continue there were too scary.

At the very end of August,  just before the labour day weekend, the real estate agents called to tell us an offer had been accepted.  The place was not ours.

Jethro was afraid I'd be devastated but I knew there were no guarantees that we could actually afford to buy that farm.  It's just that I felt so good about the place.  It felt like home even with somebody else's stuff in it.  I knew that feeling, because I got it so clearly the first time I walked into that little bungalow in town.  With all the interest in that small farm, and the way it spent the whole summer not selling, I could convince myself that it was just waiting for us to get our act together and move in already!

Well, it wasn't meant to be.

Sigh.

Yeah, we still did some light stalking.

Curiosity got us, and for awhile I felt really ripped off that the sand arena was growing in with weeds.  There were no horses!  Somebody bought a place with fenced paddocks and big box stalls - I mean sliding doors and everything - and they didn't even have horses!

One evening we drove past at night and realized that the lights from the city could be seen from there.  Maybe it wasn't so perfect after all...

A few months ago, I had to drive my kids to school in the morning.  Just for old time's sake, I went a little out of my way and took a drive down that tar and chip road.  I was following a school bus, and sure enough, it stopped in front of that farm I'd memorized almost two years before.  I counted four kids hop onto that bus.

I liked the idea of four kids growing up there.  I noticed the trampoline behind the house as I waited for the bus to go again.

Soon after that, we noticed sheep in the paddocks, and a young Holstein heifer.

Kids, sheep, and a cow.

You know, I have no business getting all possessive about a property I never lived on - I have no claim on the place whatsoever.  But I just really loved finding out that this home got a good home.

(Ours is out there.  The current owners aren't quite ready to move on yet, that's all.)

I've become accustomed to the pace of life in Smallburg.

I'm not kidding when I say the town shuts down at five o'clock. Okay, a few shops stay open til six, or maybe eight on Fridays, but the general idea is that you get your butt home for dinner.  Then you do stuff at home until it's time to go to bed.  None of this shopping until ten at night.  That's just crazy -- you're supposed to be tucking into bed at ten!

I can see that some people in this world would be appalled by the small town routine.  But overall I do think it's healthier.  Like it or not.

One afternoon just before suppertime the kids and I had to run into town for something.  I can't remember what.  We were at the big intersection where the main street crosses the big highway.  I was about to turn right for home, and at the red light I looked left, way down the hill and over the bridge and back up the hill again.  There was one car -- one car -- way off in the distance at the other set of lights.  That's it.

"Wow," I breathed.  "That never happened this time of day where we used to live."

The main drag in that town is like a four lane highway.  Pretty much from 8am until 9pm it's oozing with traffic.

It gets busy in Smallburg too, much more than it was decades ago.  There are two new subdivisions going in, and one of them I'm quite opposed to.  I think it eats into a really good chunk of land, it's cut off from the rest of the town by the highway, and it's totally sprawly in that we-moved-here-from-the-city-because-the-prices-are-just-unbelievable  kind of way.  Honestly, what the hell is an "adult lifestyle community" and if it's all adults with no kids how come they need such damn big houses???  But that's not the point really; the town's just gotten too big for me.  I still love it... I can shop there, because they've got my favourite thrift store in the world, the best bookstore in the world, a groovy used furniture shop, a hardware store, a really neat little cafe and a gas station that serves diesel for our little VW.  It's a great town.  I just feel like it's getting too big for me.  Too fast.

Then I drive into town in the early evening.  The main street from the highway is almost empty of parked cars.  This time of year people are starting to leave their houses and work on their flowerbeds.  In front of the shops, the street is wide open.  Sigh of relief.  Peace.  Don't shop - go home.  Relax, work, have a freakin' life.

Going back to the town I lived in for twelve years is like culture shock now.  It hasn't sped up that much in nine months, but I've slowed down, in a really good way.  Unfortunately, I've become even less tolerant of traffic and people and busy-ness.  It grates on me, it rubs my easily frayed nerves.  My chest tightens when I drive through town to run errands.  I worked so hard to dull myself to the noise and constant buzzing energy.

I will miss the way my little section of street was like its own little world.  In the summer, it would take me half an hour to walk past three houses because I had to stop to chat.  It was nice.  It sometimes kept me from getting stuff done, but I liked my neighbours and I liked to stop and chat with them.  Leaving that block was getting harder and harder though.  The stressed-out non-stop world outside was always lurking.

As I write this, I'm in my room in my parents' farmhouse.  Not far from the house is a road with giant tractor-trailers roaring past.  Why doesn't that bother me as much?  I grew up like that?  They go away?  They zoom by one at a time, one lane in each direction?  Is it the wide open field to the north that calms me, or the other field to the east?  Horses across the lane behind the barn?

In a matter of days, we officially won't live in the Big Town anymore.  I'll miss the friends, I'll always have a little room in my heart for the place I raised my babies, but I won't miss the town itself.  It will grow without me.

I'll be listening to the crickets and tractors and trucks, horses munching, wind blowing.  I'll have all my town stuff done in time for dinner.

Heidi the Hick will now suggest fixes for a few problems.

I'm irritated by a lot of stuff.

First of all.

GADGETS TO TELL YOU WHERE YOU'RE GOING.


Ever see that episode of the office where Michael and Dwight drove into a lake?

We're all getting dependent on our GPS units.  Even dudes, who genetically, apparently, cannot get lost because they're not lost, have to GPS everything.  Then it's cloudy and the satellite can't beam its poisonous rays down to us and then everybody's lost.

MEN are losing their sense of direction!!!  This is potentially an emergency situation.

the fix: it's called a "Road Map"  It needs no batteries, or satellite link, or any other kind of technology other than a light source.  Even if you can't fold it again, it'll still work!

Here, our lovely friend Johnny demonstrates how a map works:

Simply unfold it, and look at it.  Also, it is possible for men to read it!  I know, I'm as shocked as you are.  But it's true.


Next!


TRAFFIC.

It's different here in farm country than it is in the Greater Toronto Area, but no matter what form, it bugs me.  When I lived in the subdivision, I was constantly aware of the danger my kids faced every day on the way to school.  We lived like, a block and a half away.  And yet regularly I feared for their lives, even in that supposedly quiet neighbourhood.  Wanna know why? Parents.  Parents on wheels, specifically.

It will always stun and disgust me the way a parent on wheels will some so close to running down someone else's child in order to get their own to school on time.

the fix: Start off earlier.  Or better yet, start off a lot earlier and walk your kids to school.  Oh, and also, open your damn eyes, and actually turn your head and look around.  When you look around, SEE CHILDREN and then WAIT FOR THEM TO CROSS THE STREET.  It's not that hard.  Smarten up.



Rural traffic is a different story.  I personally think there's too damn much here.  Oh check it out, I'm about to morph into a grumpy old woman.  These small towns around here are a lot bigger than they used to be.  People drive from home to work, and those distances have increased.  People are willing to drive much further.

What really bugs me is the drivers getting bent about the tractors using the roads.  Tractors are big, and often even with the right side wheels over on the shoulder, they're still hard to pass and get around.

the fix:  suck it up and follow the damn tractor.  Start off earlier.  (I say this like I'm good at it... I'm not...)  You cannot pass the tractor until the yellow line is broken instead of solid, so calm down and wait.  Don't complain about the farmer -- he's just trying to get to work, like you.

About that yellow line: it's there for a reason.  If both lines are solid, you can't pass.  If it's broken on your side, you can but oncoming traffic can't, and vice versa.  You better look on down the road too and look out for passers.



The big highway north of us has been a big problem for, oh, forty years or so.  There's been talk of expanding the highway or building a new one to go around the small town the highway runs through.  Each one has insurmountable problems.

If the highway gets expanded to five lanes, two in each direction plus a turn lane, all the historic buildings have to go.  The town will practically be decimated.  This town is well known as an antique mecca and business will suffer!

Not only that, but many farms along that corridor will have huge chunks of land sliced off.  Very few farmers are into that idea.  They'd be financially compensated, sure, but that land can't be replaced.

Now if a new highway is built, a lot of farmland will be taken completely.

the fix:  More of the dirt roads in this area will have to get paved, and traffic increased there in order to take the pressure off the highway.  I don't think this would be popular either; some people like living on a dirt road because of the low traffic.  Others are sick of the dust and ready for asphalt.

Our road was dirt a few decades back.  My dad says my grandma used to go out with a watering can on laundry day so the dust wouldn't end up on her clean stuff hanging on the line.


Okay that felt all serious.  I'm not in the mood for serious.

Now I would like to fix Chad's hair.

He's taken on this kind of straightened and bleached idea.  It's not a Nickelbob anymore, but I'm not sure what it is, exactly.

the fix:  Man, cut it all off.  Maybe not brush-cut like little Bro, not down to the wood, but just try it short.  Either that or grow it out long again.  One or the other.  Not halfway.  I mean, Chad doesn't do anything else halfway.

Like, belt buckles, for example.

See?  That belt buckle is so awesome, it doesn't need halfway hair!  

Well I'm all done fixing things for today, and that barn isn't self-cleaning. Enjoy your weekend.

A Reminder that Life Can Be Good...

Last week was our March Break, and none of us got up at 6:30 am because we didn't have to.  The horses spent the week sleeping outside, which they loved.  I made the kids take the dog out for several "walks" each day, and I use the term "walk" loosely because there isn't really much walking going on out here!

We tackled our ongoing yard cleanup project, what with the departure of a few scrappers over the last month.  There were little bits of automotive hose, and the odd paper coffee cup and a few bits of metal that rusted off an old truck.  Like a treasure hunt, only not treasure.

I'd think about my house and the old neighbourhood.  I hope my friends all get to like the new owners.  I know it won't be the same.  CuteStuff won't be able to fling himself out his front door and end up in our backyard anymore.  No more ridiculously large pickup truck in the driveway.  But who knows, maybe the impromptu summer chat time at the side of the road will continue, just with different accents.  

It won't be the same.  It can't be.  Life never stays exactly the same.  

Some of this is a total drag but it can mean happiness too...

And that right there is a whole lotta happy!

A House: the Long Story and the Short Story

Time it took to prepare the house for sale while he worked his usual 14 hour day and I was an hour and a half away on the farm: 7 months

How much bickering and disagreeing and fighting we did in that time: more than the previous 18 years of marriage put together

How many times I told my parents and kids this would be the last time I'd have to go back to the house for a week to get it ready: Twice

When we put the sign on the lawn and the listing hit the internet: Last Wednesday

First showing: Thursday

Number of showings in total: lost count at 22

Number of days on the market until we looked at offers: 4

Number of offers presented: 5

People who did not win our house: the family with the slick smarmy agent who tried to butter up ours to get in first; the couple with knee surgery who wanted a bungalow so she wouldn't have to navigate stairs, who were stupid because why would you buy a house with such a beautifully finished basement if you'd never go down there plus their agent pestered ours the whole afternoon and was a general pain; the agent who lowballed us; the guy whose offer would have been perfectly okay in any other circumstance but just wasn't good enough

The family who did win our house: A man and a woman with thick Eastern European accents; she has a pretty face and a shy smile, he has a big grin and is built strong like a truck; two teenage boys who tower over both their parents and upon seeing the house for the first time that day looked like they'd just won the lottery.




Someday I will try to put into words how I feel about all of this...

The sadness over leaving behind the home I raised my babies in and created so many memories.

The relief of having gotten this over with.

The excitement of starting the next phase of our lives.

The worry that I won't be able to see my ol' town friends as much.

The belief that this is another step in my master plan to get the kids, the horses and the husband all onto the same property.



But now, I just want to relax for a few days.

Disoriented

I should be hunting down boxes and putting things in them, but I have to write. I have to get this out. What better way than to share it with the world, I guess.

Yesterday, I walked into my house for the first time in about a month, but who's keeping track. It smelled like a house that hasn't been lived in enough lately; slightly stale and dusty. It looked barren in some places and crowded in others, where I'd pulled a bunch of stuff out from dark corners, intending to purge. The floorboards creaked like they always have and it sounded like my house, my own house, the house my husband and I don't quite own and are about to sell.

I am quite comfortable out at the farm, if not totally. It was my home, and we visit often, so it hasn't been hard to settle in there. It is not home though, despite my parents making us feel at home and welcome. It's "the Farm." It's their home, it's the haven and refuge we escape to. Things change slowly there, but I've showed up and moved things, changed things, gotten rid of things. I had to do it and I'm not sure how I feel about it.

It took years to feel at home in this little house of mine. It took years to scrape off the layers of somebody else's wallpaper until the house felt like a place I could call home. Now I'm preparing it to be somebody else's again. It saddens me, but at the same time I have a nagging awareness that I never truly belonged here. I made friends, the kind I'll keep, and I established networks and familiarity. I can look out my window and see the neighbourhood so much of my life revolved around, but I feel that old claustrophobia again. Too many houses. Too much pavement.

The farmhouse is too close to a highway and at night the big trucks rattle their engine brakes to slow down for the curve. The sky is darker than in town, but close enough to several small towns to see a slight orange haze in the distance.

I walk into the house in the evening after leaving the barn, and I have to look up. There are stars out there, all shapes and sizes. I never get tired of them. The other night, a falling star the size of a firework sizzled through the sky like it was getting ready to land in the neighbour's hay field. I made a wish.

I know there's a place for me to move my little family. I pray that when we can afford it, we'll find it. I pray for a lot of things. I don't know if I'm praying for the right things. All I know is that when I'm under that big sky, surrounded by the crickets that sing all day and all night, I feel like myself. I feel like things aren't quite right but I'll survive.

But right now, between two houses and two worlds, I feel like I somehow belong and yet not belong to both.

I could almost get dizzy.

A Foot in Each World

As you know if you've been reading this thing for any time, I sort of live a double life. My home is a cute bungalow in a subdivision, in a not-so-small town north of the big city of Toronto. I have a big yard with a brand new barn-shaped shed, some pretty flower gardens, and the best neighbours anybody could hope to have. A few years ago, when looking for a riding coach, I found the Little Valley, where I got my instructor training, as well as making a new and valued friend. But I have a strong attachment to the place I grew up. My parents still live on the old family homestead, as do my two horses. My husband's parents live in town, less than five minutes away. My sister lives in that same smallish town. And my sister-in-law and her family live in the next city, about fifteen minutes from there.

I have dear friends out there and I don't see enough of them. I go to church near there, but I'm not there often enough.

We are the only ones up here in the shadow of the Big City, thanks to the music biz. While I love my neighbourhood, I crave the country, I miss my mom and dad (Yes I know I'm 38 but they're really cool people and you'd want to see them too if they were yours) and I need to get out there regularly.

It's hard to explain to people who don't have that need for the wideness of the sky.

It's hard to explain to people who don't have that strong family connection.

It can be hard to explain that roots run deep.

Honestly, my little patch of suburbia is heavenly. I'm sitting on my deck right now, listening to birds singing away and bugs and my crazy pug barking at shadows. I always said if I had to live in town, it's gotta be here.

But I really love being in the country. I just love it. I feel right when I'm out there. I feel like I can breathe.

The barn at the family farm has names and dates written in the cement. Most of them are relatives of mine.

I have a goal. My husband and I share that goal. We want a farm of our own. We want room for the horses to graze, places to train and trail ride, and drive a 4 wheeler. We want a John Deere tractor to do work type stuff. I want a couple of chickens and a big vegetable garden. Room for friends to stay the weekend.

We want a recording studio in a barn, man!

We know what we want and that getting it won't be an instant step, but a continuation of the steps already taken. We also know that the next year will be really different from the last twelve. This is not going like we expected it would. I always pictured breaking the news of our departure to our friends in town by showing them pictures of our new farm and telling them we're getting what we've always wanted. That'll have to wait just a little longer.

We moved into this house almost exactly twelve years ago, and now more than ever, we've got a foot in each world.

I'm not gone yet... but I'm leaving.

Jethro knows how to make his woman happy

LOOK EVERYBODY! IT'S MY NEW TINY BARN! IN MY SUBURBAN BACKYARD!!!

Isn't it adorable? It's the cutest little tiny barn ever! It's like a perfect little one stall horse barn, and there'd even be room for a very small load of hay up top. Not that I could keep a horse here. A miniature horse, maybe. Oh, I know- a goat! This is where my little weedeating goat can live!

This is all that's left of the old stupid tin shed. The rest of it is in my truck. Sure, this shed did its job, barely, and kept the rain off our stuff, mostly.

I should have known this shed was a bad idea as soon as we uncrated it. Like, you have just seen photographic evidence of what Jethro can build, without instructions, without blueprints, without any pre-cut pieces. This thing had him cussing and sweating just to get all the pieces together. He continued to grumble about the ineptitude of the designers of the Stupid Tin Shed the entire two days that it took to put it together.

But now- oh but now! - we have this good sturdy Little Barn which has actual wooden studs, good for hanging things off of! Oh yes, you can stick a screw in the wall to hang up your shovel without the entire thing falling down on your head.

We got this window for FREE from the Little Valley. It was the bathroom window from the old Creepy Shack. It works and everything.

I'm going to leave it when we paint the barn. I like that weathered look. And yes, we'll be painting the barn red, of course.

Look at all this storage room. The shed is ridiculously high... we'd planned on putting in an upstairs, but decided to spend the lumber money on groceries instead. I know, priorities, eh?

One of our neighbour friends used to drive a school bus. She gave Bucky the stop sign a few years ago and it's been all over our back yard since. It really came in handy when our backyard was a bike obstacle course!

I'll be scrounging for a couple more free windows for up top here. And yeah, it's really not done yet; we need to put shingles on the roof and put the door on.

It really was fun demolishing the old dented beat up stupid shed. Honestly I hated it. I banged my head on the doorway three times while moving stuff into the new shed- and people, I'm just not very tall. Bad design.

We all took a swing at it with a big claw hammer. I'm serious - our kids, our neighbours, our neighbours' kids... then Jethro grabbed a tin panel and yanked it free with his bare hands. I swooned. All that smashing and ripping was so loud I thought for sure this'll be the thing that finally gets us run outta town. The fire pit (smoke signals) and the weed jungle a few years back, the dump truck taking up the whole front yard when we had to dig up our basement, horse trailer in the driveway, heck, the rusty hatchback that spent a year in the driveway... none of that got us shunned! We just have really cool neighbours, man, either that or this subdivision is just a little tiny bit more hick than I would have suspected.

They'd have to think a goat would look cute in my Little Barn, right?