Concrete.

I wrote this quite some time ago but it's hung around with me ever since. I hope you enjoy it.
　“Sometimes I miss the concrete.” he kept right on talking about the life he had held in the hustling city and the ever demanding countryside he now found himself surrounded by. To him the farm that never left his side was restricting in that he could not escape it. Yet I found myself thinking about the concrete that would so over whelm me if I were contained by San Antonio, one of the largest cities in the country.
I came to the realization that he was discontent with the fact that his chickens followed him across the yard rather then staying neatly nestled out of sight and out of mind. That he was wearied with the ever falling leaves that drifted onto his deck instead of staying a pleasant distance away. He felt trapped in a place that left him out of control.
I however took comfort in knowing that my animals and I both had an unrestricted freedom to roam as we pleased. That something much greater then I determined whether or not it was time for the leaves to turn gold and brown and thousands of shades in between and sweetly blanket the earth providing warmth for the Winter to come. I felt freed
By a paradise that left me in touch with this grand terrestrial ball.
I began to wonder how we both could both be given the same thing and come to such hugely different conclusions. We each had a beautiful farm in the hills of middle Tennessee. When we moved to this area, he from Texas and I from Florida, we each found our new home remarkable.
So what gives?
It dawned on me that the difference was no physical one. In fact he actually had a larger house, extra acreage, more out buildings, a nicer tractor, a John Deer gator, and sucstantually more money. Forget all that, just say he was pretty well set. Here is where the answer lies. It was perspective. Viewpoint. Glasses.
Mr. Glass Half Empty couldn’t see the value in our simple things. Out here in our backwoods town we had a sort of emotional currency.
I remember calling up another friend who had moved from the city and saying I was going to be alone in the house and thought maybe I could come down to the farm and help in the garden and hang out. She said later as we sat out on the front porch watching the sun set and eating ice cream she had been completely taken aback at this friendly suggestion because where she was from that kind of thing just didn’t happen. Nothing unexpected. Unplanned. She said she had so enjoyed leisurely strolling through her day working side by side, swimming in the creek, rocking in the rocking chairs. And in that statement rested so much peace of mind knowing she had stumbled across heaven on a dirt road.
Out there with the fireflies I knew that around here, in our little ma and pa society there was enough love to go around.
And with that knowledge I was willing to spend my life explaining to the doubters why I would live in a place where I had to drive and two hours to cross from the world of grass, love, peace, and quiet to the place bustling on concrete with all of their high processed civilization.