...or a farm wife.
So today, I was stopping at my house in between visiting my grandma (who is 97, by the way...watch out, Farmer Joe...I am going to live FOREVER!) and picking up Josie from preschool. I had to do a quick laundry switch. I hopped out of my vehicle, sleeping little ones in the back and ran in to put towels in the dryer.
I know, I lead a very stressful life.
Deadlines, I tell ya.
Anyway, as I hopped out of my house, I noticed an unfamiliar white van down at our lake. "Our lake," is really my grandpa's, but it's supposedly a good place to fish, according to my outdoorsy cousins (I wouldn't know, and Anna would LOVE to find out!). We frequently see friends and my cousins riding the Gator down to this lake.
No big deal.
However, today is Friday. It was about 11:30 in the morning, and this was not a Gator. In fact, it was pulling into the entrance, kind of funny, and folks were getting out.
So, feeling gutsy (thanks to the fact that I was on the phone with my buddy Kath, and I knew that if I was taken down, she could call the authorities!!), I hopped back into my car and headed down to see what these dudes were doing.
This is the glory of country living...all this space, all this wonderful outdoorsy-ness, and a lot of unfamiliar folks who are mere steps from your sleeping babies.
The van was full of dudes, and when I stopped and asked if I could help, they countered that my dad had said they could fish here.
Now, if you know my dad...he doesn't necessarily enjoy the company of strangers, especially when it's someone, somewhere they shouldn't be.
So, I told them maybe a small fib ...that we had just bought the property and weren't allowing any folks to fish anymore.
So the rest of the conversation was something like this:
The dude: "No one?"
Me: "No one."
The dude: "Not anymore?"
Me: "Not anymore."
The dude: "No passes? No guests?"
Me: (thinking to my self...what the heck is this? a country club?) "No."
The dude: "No?"
Me: (in my firmest, I used to be a teacher voice) "No."
Thankfully, no more begging, pleading, etc., and the men were on their way, but as I left to pick up Josie from preschool, my heart was racing.
So this is what it's like to feel like a bad a$%!!! Don't mess with Texas, there, city slickers, there's a new sheriff in town.
Now, mind you, I am not a bad a$%, because I kept Kathleen on the phone, the car in drive, and promptly called my husband, mom, and dad to brag on myself. However, I have come to an interesting observation about this country living. Although I crave the proximity of neighbors at times, sidewalks always, and friends nearby, I am no longer used to not knowing who is near my house.
I crane my neck when someone is going by "too slowly."
I take note of a car that drives by "too fast."
I wave at my neighbors and gawk and unfamiliar drivers when they're on our road.
How welcoming is that?
Not really, I realize that, but my point is, because I know who's coming and going, I feel safe, and when I don't, I don't. My kids, my husband, my house, they are all in my care, and I am territorial of them, for sure. While my friends in the city have home alarms, I have a barky dog, and an eagle eye. I want to be gracious to guests, but just because it seems out in the open doesn't mean it's free for the taking.
Thus me becoming a bad a$%!!
So, if you want to come fish, fine, but please come up and ask me at the door, and don't try to beg me.
You don't want to mess with Texas!