I was going to tell you about the history of our national interstate system. I know, fascinating. But, I won't. I have to tell you, though, that it actually has more relevance to our local history than you might've imagined, but I'll save that for another time.
Then I was going to tell you about the beginnings of suburbia in America. But it was going to get tedious wading through demographics and all of that, so I won't.
Instead, I decided to tell you a story about myself. I'll tell it in its raw form. I am sure you will be able to pick out deficits in my behavior.
When I was in 4th grade, my parents decided to sell the house we were living in and build a new one. As it often happens, the two events didn't happen to coincide with one another time-wise, and our old house sold before my parents had secured a property to erect our new one. As a contingency plan, we moved to my grandmother's house for a couple months.
What you need to know about this is, we lived in "the country" and my grandmother lived in "the city". Nevermind that there are shades of differences in the terms "country" and "city"
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As I was leaving my old "country" school we were studying a particularly dull piece of literature. Yawn. I just never mustered up the love for Damon and Pythias. Their legend in Greek Mythology symbolizes trust and loyalty in a true friendship, I'm told. Anyhow. I was so glad when I finally got done with that particular story in our reader. So glad.
Then we moved. I remember walking into our new "city" school and meeting my teacher for the first time. As the teacher was looking me over and asking questions about where I was from, the thought occurred to me, "She thinks I'm a country bumpkin." I was offended. Like I was somehow duller of mind because I hadn't had the benefit of city living until then? I might've only been a ten year old from "the country", but I wasn't dumb.
The teacher ushered me to a seat and handed me a reader to join the rest of the class. Oh, same reader as in my old school, I thought. Then she had me turn to the page where everyone else was.
Damon and Pythias were staring at me from the open book. Again. I tried to politely explain to the teacher that I had *just* read this story in my last school and that I might legitimately be excused from studying it the second time. She said something to the effect that since I had been in a rural school previous to this, that a little review would be good for me. !!!!
That did it. For the rest of my time in that class and for the couple months into the next grade, I didn't give her much reason to improve on her opinion of country bumpkins.
We finally moved back to "the country" after, I'm sure, royally embarrassing my parents who raised us with considerably better manners than we probably exhibited.
Fast forward to today. I'm sitting here a farmer's wife. Farm life was definitely a crash course for me when I met my husband because I had grown up the daughter of a plumber who only ever had 5 acres and a couple horses. Guess what? I had some incorrect notions about farm life before my initiation!
We just got done hosting our annual farm picnic. Many of our customers are from the Akron and Cleveland areas, so yes, essentially suburban city dwellers. For many of them, we are the only farm family that they know personally. Our farm is the only farm they've ever been to. We figure the best way for them to get acquainted with farm life and what we do here on our farm is to invite them over and feed them some farm fresh food. They bring dishes to share with us and we always have a good time of it.
I was sitting there in the evening around the bonfire that we always have on the evening of our farm picnics talking to a guy who had been invited there by a friend. As it turns out, he had lived a couple streets over from where I did during my "city" experience and even went to the same school that I had. Small world. Thankfully, he appears to be years younger than I am so he probably hadn't heard about my family....
Generally, the misconceptions that city people have about country people (and vice versa) can be cleared up with a bit of diplomacy and politeness. I was talking to a "city" lady one time who was telling me about how she had spent several hours trying to capture a mouse on her front porch so she could relocate it. I did mention to her that when she relocated it, she was probably just shifting the very problem she didn't want to someone else to deal with. We had a good laugh over it. But because she was so sincere in her attempt to be humane, I was almost afraid to tell her that I would've simply killed the mouse and moved on.
Our butcher tells a story about a lady who stopped by one day who was wondering if there were any way she could get beef from a cow without the cow having to die. I'll be honest, I'm glad I didn't have to field that question with a straight face. Knowing them, they were kind in their explanation, but you know, people do ask those kinds of questions expecting a real answer. How will they know unless they are told?
Joel Salatin wrote a book called Holy Cows and Hog Heaven, subtitled The Food Buyer's Guide to Farm Friendly Food. Joel conveyed so well the perspective of a farmer to a consumer that we actually pass this book out to our customers to read. The title and cartoonish covers are quite out of character for the rest of his books, but it still remains a good book to read. I especially like the part where he implores the farm friendly food buyer to please understand how much farmers have had to learn to market their products directly to their consumers---everything from where a T-bone steak comes from to how to keep their products fresh on the way to the farmer's market to how to find their customers in the space age marvel that computers are. He also makes a point to educate people on the notion that local foods really are limited to season.
Some people will probably never be completely rid of their preconceived ideas about other groups of people, but stereotypes and perceptions often hinge on the manner in which the questions are posed and answered.
