|Most houses around here are heated with kerosene. These tanks are filled by big gas trucks that beep up the driveway.|
So my friend, we'll call her Curly, was originally from Virginia. A larger city in Virginia but still south of the Mason-Dixon line. Curly moved to New York City fresh out of college and struggled to lose her Southern gentility and circular way of getting to what she needed. In New York, she found her voice and learned how to go straight for something and let her needs be known. Fast forward to her move to Appalachia.
Curly got settled into her new home and realized she needed fuel and fast because a cold snap was coming. She called the fuel company to find out when they could deliver.
"It'll be a day or two afore we can get out there."
"A day or two?" Curly asked.
"I need that fuel today," Curly said, practicing her newly found New York assertiveness. "Any later is just not good enough."
Two weeks later her fuel showed up.
The pace of life in Appalachia is way different than cities. I remember going to get my oil changed shortly after I'd moved here from Atlanta. It was close to noon and I walked in, the bell ringing. A voice called down from the loft. "Hello there. We're up here eating our dinner. Could you come back in an hour?" I was amazed. Unheard of in Atlanta, because of the competition. You took your customers when they came not when it suited you.
Over time, I've learned to love the pace of the mountains. I think I'd find myself hard-pressed to move back to the hustle and madness of a big city. Waiting in lines? I don't think so. Traffic? No way.
What about you? City mouse or country mouse?