Things to miss, living in the city
Coming home, I’m always struck by the things I’ve missed, the most obvious first: the salt air, the first flush of green in the pastures, the spring lambs, the exhalations of the damp woods. This time, as I knit quietly on the ferry, I realized something new that my city life lacks.
Behind me were a pair of old timers, heavy men who fill their flannel shirts, with rough, stubby fingers, one with a shining face reddened by a lifetime of sun and wind and probably drink, the other pale and jowly as a basset hound, bristling with whiskers. I listened passively for an hour as they jawed away about classic cars, catching snippets of their talk on the purl rows when I didn’t have to focus on my lace pattern. “I sold him that ‘49 Merc back in ‘86 for five grand. He drives it in the parade every year. But juice up the brakes and she could still make Seattle.” On and on they chatted, unhurried, steady and gruff as a couple of outboard motors. At some point I tuned in again and they’d made a seamless switch to rabbit hunting. “You gotta get the fur wet first or you’ll have a mess. You get two guys on it to pull from both ends and it’ll come right out of the skin like a salmon, but it’s real tacky under there and if you don’t get the fur wet first you’ll have a mess, all right.”
I don’t hear these conversations in Portland. True, the inhabitants don’t tend to be as concerned with vehicles and varmints (most don’t have garages big enough to rehabilitate fleets of jalopies anyway, and you’re more likely to hear discussions about retro-fitting for biodiesel than which chassis you might substitute to rebuild your truck if you weren’t a purist). But I think there’s something about the urban pace of life and diversity of acquaintance that gets in the way. These island men have known each other since they were schoolboys; who knows how many times they’ve had variations on this conversation. They aren’t under a press of sail to be off somewhere else. They don’t excuse themselves awkwardly from each other’s company when a topic has run its course, but work out variations on the theme like master musicians. It’s an art, this deliberate, hour-gobbling talk. Maybe it happens in Portland, too, but I don’t slow down enough to hear it.
I have also missed the ruckus of spring frogs. The combined voices of the peepers in the marsh at moonrise make a roar audible inside the house. Humans are notoriously noisy animals, but they have nothing on the average courting frog. If all Manhattan poured out into the streets at night and sang show tunes through bull horns, we might hope to equal the clamor of the swamp. We slept with the windows open.
Posted: March 27th, 2008 at 6:15 pm
A lovely post, Sarah. One of the things I loved about my kids growing up on our little island is their exposure to a completely different kind of character than they saw anywhere else. The adults they saw in their daily lives, either urban or suburban, tended to present a fairly uniform front to the world. On the island, by contrast, we have some unusual characters and I know my kids were better for seeing past the quirkiness (or downright oddness) to the shared humanity and learned to find these folks interesting (and to defend them vigorously should anyone “from away” cast aspersions).
And I agree about the frogs — ours are peeping as well and what a noise! That is, what a delightful spring noise!
Posted: March 27th, 2008 at 6:21 pm
This is beautifully written and rings so true to me. You know, maybe this is why I like going to a knitting group. It’s a different, slower pace. No matter how diverse you are in other aspects, you share at least this one thing in common, and that makes an instant connection. There are endless iterations and variations on the “I love that yarn” and the “your project turned out beautifully” conversations. It’s very comforting. Glad you are enjoying your time there.
Posted: March 27th, 2008 at 6:41 pm
it makes me long for a place that would allow the silence to bleed into me, the calm to resonate. we were on salt springs island during one trip and i recall feeling as if i could stay there forever. maybe someday we will.
Posted: March 28th, 2008 at 3:40 am
“The average courting frog”. I’ve dated [and kissed] a few of those myself.
Posted: March 28th, 2008 at 3:41 am
You are so right. I am a country girl. The one time that I went to a big city, and stayed somewhere that wasn’t a resort type place known for its seclusion and peace, I was miserable. I couldn’t sleep for one. I had never heard cars driving around and honking at all hours, neighbors yelling, music blaring, the smell of the exhaust from all of the vehicles, and the lights all night long. We were visiting my sister-in-law and her family and my husband and I almost got up and left in the middle of the night!! We just couldn’t stand it. Of course, if everyone wanted the peace and quiet of nature and country life, it wouldn’t be the same (too many people).
Posted: March 28th, 2008 at 3:42 am
You are so right. I am a country girl. The one time that I went to a big city, and stayed somewhere that wasn’t a resort type place known for its seclusion and peace, I was miserable. I couldn’t sleep for one. I had never heard cars driving around and honking at all hours, neighbors yelling, music blaring, the smell of the exhaust from all of the vehicles, and the lights all night long. We were visiting my sister-in-law and her family and my husband and I almost got up and left in the middle of the night!! We just couldn’t stand it. Of course, if everyone wanted the peace and quiet of nature and country life, it wouldn’t be the country anymore. So god bless those that love the city and leave us country folks to our peace.
Posted: March 28th, 2008 at 5:11 am
You captured the moment perfectly!
The conversations I overhear in the subway are somewhat different…
Posted: March 28th, 2008 at 6:31 am
The frogs have been going strong for a few weeks now, in the wetland across the street from our cottage…
I love to sit on the front porch at night, ignore the chill, and just listen to them. I’ve missed them so much, living in the city, it’s nice to be home.
Posted: March 28th, 2008 at 10:44 am
And then there are all the stars you can see when the city lights don’t block them out…it’s breathtaking.
Posted: March 28th, 2008 at 10:59 pm
This post really made me reflect on life in the country/small town. Having a small group of people comprising the community means that there is the ability to know everyone – and to know that you will know all their business and that they will know yours. The ugly side of this is when you find that you don’t fit in, it can be crippling. Always having to tread the middle ground to avoid the kinds of spats that will be remembered for 20 years makes for bland self expression. I guess I am a city girl at heart.
Listening to spring frogs,however, is a universally, irresistably, lovely experience.
Posted: March 31st, 2008 at 9:42 am
beautifully captured, sarah. sometimes one does catch conversations like this on the subway, okay, not like THIS precisely. the other day i sat near these three guys who sat across the car from each other on the subway on a half-empty train, gossiping about the union, guys they knew who were retiring, and other matters. they seemed so deeply grounded – rare in this city, but they were real new yorkers. it made me think that there was something to being and staying in the place you’re from, whether city or country, that gives you that grounding.