On my way to an appointment today, I was mystified to find that I hit rush hour in my small town. At the bottom of my road, on the main (I use the term loosely) road, at the stop sign right by the cabinet shop (do you know those guys?) there was SIX – maybe it was SEVEN cars whizzing by. I waited AT LEAST two minutes for a clear space where I could peal away from the stop sign.
Progress. I just don’t know about this.
On our road there are a few chicken farms, beef ranch, an organic apple orchard, a riding stable, a couple of llama and/or alpaca farms (nobody really knows the difference anyway), a dog agility training club, several end-of-the-driveway farm stands, miniature horses and a couple of donkeys across the road.
I love it.
When you live on a road with all that happening, there are a few other things that go hand in glove. No sidewalks, no street lights, potholes. You’re the last road to get your power lines fixed after a heavy snow.
I love that stuff, too. Actually.
That’s the kind of road I live on.