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You may have gathered from my previous blogs that I am a native of the American South, a quickly disappearing culture being swallowed up by a chaotic and hurried world.  As I lived all my life there, among my familiar landscapes, assorted cousins and friends, life moved pretty slow.  As I grew up, the area I lived in grew, too. 

Development, technology and money came to town.  People from all over came to live there from many ethnic and economic backgrounds.  At first it was just a sprinkling, then became a flow, then a flood, and finally a tsunami!  Former sandlots and fields we played in became shopping centers, technology parks, and small town life became history. The roads changed their names to politically correct thoroughfares, historic markers were removed and the story of those small towns became buried under the asphalt of yet another highway.  

When I left the South for my Pennsylvania home, it was with little more than a few belongings and a heart broken in grief over the loss of my husband.  My southern home was far away and my new home was strange and foreign, and it was only a few months before a pandemic isolated me even more.  I started building a new life, despite everything.  I forced myself to meet people, got my shots and wore my mask, learned about my new home, and treasured the incredible, seasonal, rural beauty all around me.  The town where I now live has about 2500 residents, so truly a small town with three or four traffic lights and a Dunkin' Donuts.  The high school is down the hill, and I can listen to football games being played on fall Friday nights.  I've made friends, embraced my singleness, and continue to build what has become a pretty happy life on my own. 

With family still in the South, a recent trip to Atlanta was a surreal experience.  There were cars and trucks and tractor-trailers in the thousands, hurrying here and there. The highways were ten lanes and more, each direction filled to capacity. People crowded the stores and markets. So much frantic activity!  The business cathedrals in glass and metal towered at each intersection, and the landscaping, while beautiful, was so perfect it didn't look alive.  What had happened in my absence?  My home county was eagerly counting down to their 1,000,000th resident.  Chaos, controlled, but chaos.

When my visit ended, I eagerly traveled home, and upon arrival at my little house in the country, I reflected on where I had been and contrasted it with where I am now.  My southern homeland was transformed into a place I barely recognized, its pace of life so frenetic, it inspired anxiety.  For a Southern lady, it was a hard realization.  My beloved city was truly gone with the wind, and would not come again. So here I am in my new normal, a small town where life moves at a leisurely pace, and traffic means the line at the traffic light has more than a couple of cars.  Neighbors talk over the fences, and the farm stands are filled with fruits and vegetables grown in the fields.  At night, the stars shine, and the breeze brings an occasional train whistle from over on the mountain.  Incredible sunrises and sunsets are daily occurrences and peace reigns above the chaos of the big cities.  

Before I retired from my 9-5 job, I often joked that I just wanted to live quietly and create art.  I never foresaw the road that would bring me here, but I am grateful where I find myself.  Life is a long, strange ride, isn't it?