What’s it like to live in the Texas countryside?
Guess you’ve heard of the big skies. We’ve got ‘em. Open pastures. We’ve got ‘em. Cattle and horse ranches. We’ve got ‘em.
Living in the country means smelling skunk periodically and hoping you don’t run across the varmint unexpectedly. Living in the country means hearing coyotes at night when you’ve just opened your windows to the cooling autumn air. Living in the country means putting your neighbors’ chickens in for the night when they go on a trip.
When America celebrates the New Year or Independence Day, fireworks erupt all around us. Sometimes, we hear the squeals of children helping to set them off, but most often, we hear the distant booms and see the flashes beyond the tree lines. No charge for the display and no traffic to get to a good viewing place. Just sit on the porch and watch.
But what you may not know about is the people. When I finally come out of my introverted shell and talk with my neighbors, I find they love the same things I do. They love the birth of a calf, the neighing of a horse, the sight of the first hummingbird. In general, they love nature. They don’t mind sweating in the Texas heat or the cold winters where we have ice (actual ice) form on the water tanks. They enjoy bumping through the pasture on their tractor, shredding grass the way subdivision dwellers mow their front lawns.
We’ve never had closer relationships with neighbors than we have now. When your neighbor’s mower breaks down, you loan them yours. When you get locked out of your house and break a window to get in, your neighbor helps you change out the window for a new one. When your neighbor has a package at the gate and you see the delivery truck, you send them a text. Little things. But we’ve had much, much more contact with our neighbors since we moved out to the country. You depend on one another. You watch out for the neighbors’ animals, let them know if there is a potential problem at their place. And you are thrilled that they are watching out for you in the same way.
We were suburbanites not so very long ago. I remember lying in bed and hearing a chorus of leaf blowers and lawnmowers on a Saturday morning when I’d intended to sleep late. Now, I might hear a cow moo or birds chirp, or, lately, the crows that have discovered our fledgling pecan trees. They’re loud and raucous, and if we let them, they’d eat every one of the minuscule crop of pecans. I’ll take thieving crows over leaf blowers any day.
Right now, as I’m writing this, I see one of my horses, grazing contentedly in the pasture. She has a companion. A cattle egret who seems happy to stay near her, waiting for the horse’s movement to scare up dinner. Not a bad place to be, the country.