People sometimes romanticize rural life – because they don’t live it.
When someone says, “Oh, I just love the fresh air out here and the open fields,” I think, “Do you know how many rocks and cockleburs are in those fields? Do you realize you’re going to get sunburn ear blisters and hot spots in those rubber irrigating boots when you walk half a mile back to the yard on hot asphalt because the backhoe broke down?”
But town folks are oblivious to this. “The earth just feels so fresh; I love it,” they say, and I think, “Fresh is as fresh does – watch where you’re stepping.”
Yet, farmers and ranchers who really know the realities and clean rural “life” from under their fingernails aren’t lining up to trade in their shovels and spurs either, are they?
Here’s why.
During an afternoon rain shower, a local producer grinned broadly at me and said, “This rain makes me look like a really good farmer.” I agreed. Everything is green in a wet spring. All crops are up and thriving, the cows look fat and sleek – what I can see of them in belly-deep grass, that is. From gardeners to multi-thousand-acre operators, we all feel like agronomy kings and cattle barons. At least during spring rains.
We aren’t delusional. Spring rains make us all positive thinkers. Even those of us who aren’t the happy-go-lucky types, but more the luck-never-replaces-hard-work types are optimistic during spring showers.
In fact, no offense (when I’m probably about to offend you), but I usually don’t appreciate optimistic outlook spouters – you know the type, the “glass half full” kind. Mr. Sunshine. They’re nice people, but … the glass is also half empty. Can’t we just say, “It’s halfway” and call that good? You know – like, realistically speaking? I’d rather just know how much is available, not what could or could not be. It’s just my default worldview filter.
But I’m jealous of the positive outlook folks. They laugh more than I do. They get more endorphins released. It’s possible they have lower blood pressure, better pain tolerance and catch fewer colds. According to WebMD, these folks also think more clearly, are more creative and have better coping skills. They’re so happy you can cut their happiness with a knife – and sometimes I do, with a steak knife, from an animal who kicked dirt in my face, bruised my knee on the chute and blew snot all over me.
There are a ton of websites offering me and my filter-leaning colleagues tips on how to change. It involves smiling more, reframing the situation, keeping a gratitude journal, picturing your best possible future and focusing on strengths. I don’t doubt these all work with a lot of careful effort. A lot. Of. Careful. Effort. Which sounds suspiciously like work.
So, while I understand and appreciate positive thinking and optimistic attitudes, especially during spring rainstorms, I find the most attractive approach is to just keep praying for rain. Every. Single. Night.
I still live in a desert, you know.
.jpg?t=1687979285&width=640){kind=logo}
