Thanks to some tough love advice from my truly loving mother: "there will always be some one better, smarter, and prettier than you-" I have never considered myself an expert on anything. This sentiment is truly ingrained in my personality. Opinionated, yes. Expert, no.
Until now.
Five years living here, countless filthy cars, dusty shelves, and days when windows should be opened, but are closed thanks to the fast traffic kicking up dust, I have begun to consider dust the bane of my obsessively clean existence.
Therefore, dust and its properties have become a case study for me. I'm going to become an expert in it and do what all slightly-OCD people do, become educated and obsessive (thus the "O" in OCD) about aforementioned issue.
So far, I can tell you how many minutes a car can remain clean after traveling only 15 MPH down our road on a typically dusty day. Answer: less than 1 minute. I can tell you that your shoes will turn from black to gray and your toes may look a little tan from the dust clinging to the grass as you walk to get the mail from the mailbox. I can also tell you how long to turn your head when running down this lovely, secluded and equally infuriating road, and a car passes you. Answer: at least 45 seconds, and hold your breath.
These are the simple things I have studied thus far. Yesterday, however, I went from a normal, dust hating woman to a crazy woman. As we were traveling down the gravel road to where Joe's grandparents' live, I found myself checking out the lovely white rock, spread so thick and lovely. I watched as we kicked up just a little bit of dust on my newly cleaned SUV, marveling at the possibilities that could occur if our township got their hands on some of these lovely white rocks. I began to envy this nice rock, wishing our road commissioner would come out and see how to spread these large pieces of gravel, thick and white, like a blanket over the dirt road underneath.
I then found myself horrified with what I was thinking! What in the world was with me? When did I become envious of gravel? When did my simple study of how to keep my tabletops clean turn into a crazy woman with gravel daydreams? Where was the girl who analyzed outfits, spotting designer brands as well as fake Coach purses at 20 paces? I realized that I have instead become the woman who now considers whether white pants would be a good decision based upon the grime on my car. Where's the girl who worried more about the rain situation for the sake of my shoes or hair? I'm now the girl who considers the state of the road, and if it's mucky and gross, I'll change my plans. Who is this person, and why do I have GRAVEL ENVY??
Yargh.
However, I refuse to be horrified with my "rural" self. Again, I have to pull myself up by my bootstraps and embrace my craziness. I will become a gravel expert. I will fight for the application of my dust deterrent (the substance spread in front of our house that does help with the dust...for about a milli-second.), and fight for it to be applied sooner, rather than later. I will study the way the road is after it is grated, and note with great certainty whether or not that was a wise practice by our road commissioner. I will continue to fight the battle by keeping my windows down and my Swiffer Duster handy, fighting the dust on my dark furniture and white woodwork.
I will prove my mom wrong on her point: no one will be smarter than this gravel expert!
Showing posts with label road. Show all posts
Showing posts with label road. Show all posts
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Friday, April 1, 2011
An Interesting Traffic Pattern
Where we live, we tend to be quite observant of the traffic that goes by. Our road is an unmarked gravel road, a road we tell friends and visitors where the turn is by the sign on the other side of the road or the distance from the taxidermist who is our "neighbor to the north."
Nice, huh?
Anyway, even though this lovely road is dusty, dirty and only has a handful of houses on either side (thus the gravel...no need for blokes like us to have blacktop...grrr), it's a thoroughfare to various places. In nearly five years, Joe and I have spent many an evening peering out the windows as well as waving at random people as we play outside with our girls. My findings have led to the beginning of a case study of sorts. I think I will entitle it, Who Goes There? or The Crazies Who Fly Down My Road and Their Destination.
I'm still working on the title.
Anyway, here are my findings:
Group #1: The High School Student
These glorious children are out for a good time, speeding down our road after curfew. We have watched their headlights cut through our fields, go down in our ditches, all the while on the way to a destination, hidden from their parents. I don't want to know what they're doing, but I have an idea (thanks to a good friend who used to frequent the lake by our house in high school himself). Joe has even chased out a few of these kids (man, we're old), following them to make sure their stupid driving tactics and trips through our fields wouldn't knock out the hot wire (aka, electric fence), thus letting the cows out to roam free with these speeding teenagers at 2 AM.
These drivers tend to come out in late night/early morning, generally in the 1 to 3 AM bracket, and keep their speed a steady 60-70 MPH.
Group #2: The Sunday Afternoon Tool Around and Rubberneck Driver
This is a seasonal driver. As my girls and I play outside on a pretty Sunday afternoon in the fall or spring, these drivers, typically males in their upper years (aka old farmers), are just out for a drive. Especially when we were putting up our biggest grain bin (the one we also use as a landmark, as you can see it for miles), we had a lot of these gents. The track tractor my uncle purchased also led to four or five old man pickup trucks and/or Lincoln Continental/other boat like cars to drive by,creeping down our road, swerving as their necks craned to check out what was sitting in our driveway.
These drivers are late afternoon lookers whose speed never tops 20 MPH.
Group #3: The Spoon River Drive People Who Are Just Lost
These folks are very, very rare. Two weekends a year (right around harvest, thus making moving equipment and hauling grain super fun...thank you, crafters!), our area shuts down and gears up for the Spoon River Scenic Drive. If you want anything for your house from crafts to crap, this is the weekend to head to our area. We are between the "hot spots" of Farmington and London Mills, and middle aged women in painted and appliqued sweatshirts tend to think our road will get them to the next stop where they can buy goat's milk lotion and another painted Christmas nativity set faster. I have never seen so many unhappy people buying happy-faced, ruddy cheeked snowmen in my life.
We have had people stop for directions, but generally, these drivers are on a mission, from out of the area, even out of state, whose speed ranges from 30 MPH (to see if I'm selling my ruddy cheeked smiling children) to 50 MPH (to hurry to get to the next stop, the wreaths may be picked over! Hurry!).
Group #4: The Dude on the Lawnmower
Thanks to some field research and local interviews, Joe and I have discovered that our road is a cut through from the Middle Grove Tap (Middle Grove's population is about 14 with a bar count of two ...I think) to My Place in Yates City. Therefore, we have some older, over 21 road trippers who cruise by our house now and again. However, the most recent and most rare of these road trippers is a man on a riding LAWNMOWER. Seriously, this guy must have had some sort of issue with the law and his licensing, but for the past few weeks, he has been up and down our road, past dark, with no lights on. Sounds safe, doesn't it? Last night, as I peered out in wonder, I noticed he even had a small wagon attached to his lawnmower! How fascinating! He's going slow enough that I could probably ask him why the lawnmower, but I don't want to scare such a rare traveler.
His speed never tops 10 MPH (I don't think he can go any faster), and his presence is announced by the typical lawnmower buzz. He generally drives by between 7 PM and 10 PM.
My findings have yielded nothing but true entertainment and curiosity, but as you city folks watch your nine thousand cars pass by in a matter of minutes, think about who is driving. Consider where he or she is going and why. I guess life in the country is good because it's slow for many reasons, especially if your main mode of transportation is a lawn mower!
Nice, huh?
Anyway, even though this lovely road is dusty, dirty and only has a handful of houses on either side (thus the gravel...no need for blokes like us to have blacktop...grrr), it's a thoroughfare to various places. In nearly five years, Joe and I have spent many an evening peering out the windows as well as waving at random people as we play outside with our girls. My findings have led to the beginning of a case study of sorts. I think I will entitle it, Who Goes There? or The Crazies Who Fly Down My Road and Their Destination.
I'm still working on the title.
Anyway, here are my findings:
Group #1: The High School Student
These glorious children are out for a good time, speeding down our road after curfew. We have watched their headlights cut through our fields, go down in our ditches, all the while on the way to a destination, hidden from their parents. I don't want to know what they're doing, but I have an idea (thanks to a good friend who used to frequent the lake by our house in high school himself). Joe has even chased out a few of these kids (man, we're old), following them to make sure their stupid driving tactics and trips through our fields wouldn't knock out the hot wire (aka, electric fence), thus letting the cows out to roam free with these speeding teenagers at 2 AM.
These drivers tend to come out in late night/early morning, generally in the 1 to 3 AM bracket, and keep their speed a steady 60-70 MPH.
Group #2: The Sunday Afternoon Tool Around and Rubberneck Driver
This is a seasonal driver. As my girls and I play outside on a pretty Sunday afternoon in the fall or spring, these drivers, typically males in their upper years (aka old farmers), are just out for a drive. Especially when we were putting up our biggest grain bin (the one we also use as a landmark, as you can see it for miles), we had a lot of these gents. The track tractor my uncle purchased also led to four or five old man pickup trucks and/or Lincoln Continental/other boat like cars to drive by,creeping down our road, swerving as their necks craned to check out what was sitting in our driveway.
These drivers are late afternoon lookers whose speed never tops 20 MPH.
Group #3: The Spoon River Drive People Who Are Just Lost
These folks are very, very rare. Two weekends a year (right around harvest, thus making moving equipment and hauling grain super fun...thank you, crafters!), our area shuts down and gears up for the Spoon River Scenic Drive. If you want anything for your house from crafts to crap, this is the weekend to head to our area. We are between the "hot spots" of Farmington and London Mills, and middle aged women in painted and appliqued sweatshirts tend to think our road will get them to the next stop where they can buy goat's milk lotion and another painted Christmas nativity set faster. I have never seen so many unhappy people buying happy-faced, ruddy cheeked snowmen in my life.
We have had people stop for directions, but generally, these drivers are on a mission, from out of the area, even out of state, whose speed ranges from 30 MPH (to see if I'm selling my ruddy cheeked smiling children) to 50 MPH (to hurry to get to the next stop, the wreaths may be picked over! Hurry!).
Group #4: The Dude on the Lawnmower
Thanks to some field research and local interviews, Joe and I have discovered that our road is a cut through from the Middle Grove Tap (Middle Grove's population is about 14 with a bar count of two ...I think) to My Place in Yates City. Therefore, we have some older, over 21 road trippers who cruise by our house now and again. However, the most recent and most rare of these road trippers is a man on a riding LAWNMOWER. Seriously, this guy must have had some sort of issue with the law and his licensing, but for the past few weeks, he has been up and down our road, past dark, with no lights on. Sounds safe, doesn't it? Last night, as I peered out in wonder, I noticed he even had a small wagon attached to his lawnmower! How fascinating! He's going slow enough that I could probably ask him why the lawnmower, but I don't want to scare such a rare traveler.
His speed never tops 10 MPH (I don't think he can go any faster), and his presence is announced by the typical lawnmower buzz. He generally drives by between 7 PM and 10 PM.
My findings have yielded nothing but true entertainment and curiosity, but as you city folks watch your nine thousand cars pass by in a matter of minutes, think about who is driving. Consider where he or she is going and why. I guess life in the country is good because it's slow for many reasons, especially if your main mode of transportation is a lawn mower!
Thursday, February 3, 2011
At the Mercy of the Commish
Okay, so I readily admit that as a kid and then later as a teacher, I loved snow days. I watched the weather and then did a small dance when our district was announced on the radio. So exciting.
This is when I lived in town as a kid, near great hills, and had a mom who would make cinnamon rolls for breakfast in celebration (she was a teacher, too). Later, during my time as a teacher, and while I lived in the "big city" (well, not a huge city, but still), I took advantage of really good city snow plows, and would spend my snow days going to the gym, running errands, and maybe even shopping. They were glorious.
However, I never truly experienced the affects of a snow day until I was at home in 2006, with our four day old baby and 20 month old toddler (read: another baby), completely stranded on our drifted-over road. We had received over 16 inches of snow the first day we had brought our second child home. Having only lived in our home for six months, I was new to a lot of the aspects of country living. Our road was impassable, and I didn't understand why no one was digging us out. Where were our snow plows? Thankfully, that particular snow was light and fluffy, and the morning after it had fallen, Joe, who was still new to farming, without any livestock, had fun plowing through our road on his way to my uncle's and grandpa's houses.
Fast forward to this year, add in another kid and another pregnancy, 100 head of cattle (most of them who are going to calve here relatively soon), and then factor in an icy, heavy, drifting snow, and you've got yourself a true snow day. After seeing all my city and town friends' pictures on Facebook: cute kids bundled up, sledding, and enjoying the day off of work, all set against the backdrop of plowed roads, thanks to the city's snow plows, I reported in frustration that Joe had to leave his tractor and walk the rest of the way to the calving barn, as our road and even the field were impassable. While my girls have enjoyed playing outside, Joe and I (well, Joe mainly) are completely stressed out when he is unable to get to his calves. We were completely at the mercy of our road commissioner, and he was no where in sight. All day. And into the evening. For two days.
By late in second day, we were starting to get nervous. Joe was nervous about his new calves and heifers who were ready to go (And, of course, to punctuate a really nasty snow day, there was a calf born in the night. One that spent most of the day in the truck, warming up as Joe ran errands!). I was nervous because what if there was a fire? What if we needed an ambulance? What if I needed contact with people other than my FAMILY?? There was no way anything, other than something with a large blade across it's front could pass through our road. We even debated contacting friends with snowmobiles to get Joe to the calving barn. I always thought I was the control freak, but after last night's pacing and cursing our (I'm sure very nice) road commissioner, I'm realizing he and I are soooo much a like in the control-freak aspect of our personalities!
However, at about 6:30 last night, it was like a scene in a movie. Back in the distance of our little gravel road, coming up over a hill, the bright lights atop a large road maintainer were spotted! They lit the way for what would be our sweet freedom, and an end to Joe's panic. HE HAD COME!! Our superhero for the day, the COMMISH!!
Joe and I despise being at the mercy of someone else, especially when our livelihood is at stake. It is not only sad, but costly for us to lose calves, therefore, it is necessary for Joe to do his checks often. Being at the mercy of our road commissioner was enough to make us both crazy, crazier than a "normal" snow day antsy feeling.
Until I moved out here onto a county side road, at the very southernmost part of a really loooooong county, 30 minutes away from the metropolis where most of the plowing takes place, did I truly understand why school days are canceled due to snow. Roads can be impassable, and there's not enough time and people to get to all roads so that buses can pass through, and until we have a specific snowblower attachment for our tractors, on days like yesterday, we will be stuck.
Now that I realize we are at the mercy of someone else for our safety and sanity, I'm prayerful that Snowmaggedon, Snowpocolypse, Snownado, or the Snowtorious B.I.G. will NEVER happen again.
Or, I'll be better prepared with a hotel room in the city and a snowmobile for my husband.
This is when I lived in town as a kid, near great hills, and had a mom who would make cinnamon rolls for breakfast in celebration (she was a teacher, too). Later, during my time as a teacher, and while I lived in the "big city" (well, not a huge city, but still), I took advantage of really good city snow plows, and would spend my snow days going to the gym, running errands, and maybe even shopping. They were glorious.
However, I never truly experienced the affects of a snow day until I was at home in 2006, with our four day old baby and 20 month old toddler (read: another baby), completely stranded on our drifted-over road. We had received over 16 inches of snow the first day we had brought our second child home. Having only lived in our home for six months, I was new to a lot of the aspects of country living. Our road was impassable, and I didn't understand why no one was digging us out. Where were our snow plows? Thankfully, that particular snow was light and fluffy, and the morning after it had fallen, Joe, who was still new to farming, without any livestock, had fun plowing through our road on his way to my uncle's and grandpa's houses.
Fast forward to this year, add in another kid and another pregnancy, 100 head of cattle (most of them who are going to calve here relatively soon), and then factor in an icy, heavy, drifting snow, and you've got yourself a true snow day. After seeing all my city and town friends' pictures on Facebook: cute kids bundled up, sledding, and enjoying the day off of work, all set against the backdrop of plowed roads, thanks to the city's snow plows, I reported in frustration that Joe had to leave his tractor and walk the rest of the way to the calving barn, as our road and even the field were impassable. While my girls have enjoyed playing outside, Joe and I (well, Joe mainly) are completely stressed out when he is unable to get to his calves. We were completely at the mercy of our road commissioner, and he was no where in sight. All day. And into the evening. For two days.
By late in second day, we were starting to get nervous. Joe was nervous about his new calves and heifers who were ready to go (And, of course, to punctuate a really nasty snow day, there was a calf born in the night. One that spent most of the day in the truck, warming up as Joe ran errands!). I was nervous because what if there was a fire? What if we needed an ambulance? What if I needed contact with people other than my FAMILY?? There was no way anything, other than something with a large blade across it's front could pass through our road. We even debated contacting friends with snowmobiles to get Joe to the calving barn. I always thought I was the control freak, but after last night's pacing and cursing our (I'm sure very nice) road commissioner, I'm realizing he and I are soooo much a like in the control-freak aspect of our personalities!
However, at about 6:30 last night, it was like a scene in a movie. Back in the distance of our little gravel road, coming up over a hill, the bright lights atop a large road maintainer were spotted! They lit the way for what would be our sweet freedom, and an end to Joe's panic. HE HAD COME!! Our superhero for the day, the COMMISH!!
Joe and I despise being at the mercy of someone else, especially when our livelihood is at stake. It is not only sad, but costly for us to lose calves, therefore, it is necessary for Joe to do his checks often. Being at the mercy of our road commissioner was enough to make us both crazy, crazier than a "normal" snow day antsy feeling.
Until I moved out here onto a county side road, at the very southernmost part of a really loooooong county, 30 minutes away from the metropolis where most of the plowing takes place, did I truly understand why school days are canceled due to snow. Roads can be impassable, and there's not enough time and people to get to all roads so that buses can pass through, and until we have a specific snowblower attachment for our tractors, on days like yesterday, we will be stuck.
Now that I realize we are at the mercy of someone else for our safety and sanity, I'm prayerful that Snowmaggedon, Snowpocolypse, Snownado, or the Snowtorious B.I.G. will NEVER happen again.
Or, I'll be better prepared with a hotel room in the city and a snowmobile for my husband.
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