Books have been written about why people move to the country. Many of course are humorous. And certainly we “people from away” need a dose of humor to deal with the various changes required upon arriving on the rural scene.
I think we did quite well with such things as locating workmen for barn repairs, testing the strength of our bridge for safe access, finding a trustworthy mechanic for our riding mower, even disposal of dead critters. Over time we learned to deal with the nearby gravel pits and became friends with the teachers and students at the Mennonite school across the road.
But then I have my weak moments, and yesterday was one of those. Perhaps it was related to the dismal weather… It began with the airplane noise overhead. At least I thought that was what I heard. But no, it lasted far too long for that. In fact it lasted for over an hour. That was one very irritating hour!
Turns out the sound came from bikers. Yes, it was Saturday and the aging hippies must have had an enormous convention which required them to travel past our laneway. In droves! There must have been well over a thousand of them revving their way toward town. I suppose we can expect this over the weekends to come. But I remain grouchy. I much prefer the sounds of birds and frogs, the ripple of water from our creek.
I myself have driven a (very small) motorcycle in the distant past. Heck, my dentist and neighbor rides a huge one! My husband has also owned a couple. But somehow hundreds and hundreds of them on a Saturday morning are not my dream for the country life. GRUMP.