corn fed

I'm sitting here at the kitchen table I grew up at, a lukewarm cup of half-drunk coffee (creamer please), a papermate pen, and a pad of paper. The beans are cooking on the stove and my dad is napping in the other room. The tea is brewing in a glass jar in the sun out back and the air conditioning is trying to keep up with this heat and humidity.

And this is surely what it means to be at peace.

Brent and I have been, as my mom would put it, little gad-abouts lately. We have been to a wedding and visited friends in Indiana, hung out for a wonderful few days in Nashville with Dan and Kali (and even got to spend time with Micah), and then hit the road for home for a bit.

I don't know about other people, but I tend to play "theme music" in my head from time to time (I'm pretty sure my dad does this as well). Driving home the other day I couldn't help but play the theme music "Corn Fed" (Shannon Brown) in my head as we made our way home.

" ... We don't flip the bird,
we don't cuss an' scream,
When the cars don't move
when the light turns green.
We don't lock our doors
when we leave the house,
There ain't nobody here
that we'd keep out.
That's the way we do it in our town, yeah.

You never hear me apologize,
For growin' up strong,
growin' up right.
Livin' life by the Golden Rule.
Say: "Yes, Ma'am," "Thank You."
Green fields for miles an' miles,
Ain't nothin' but country on the radio dial.
I thank the good Lord
I was born and bred,
Corn fed.
Rooster crows, six a.m.;
John Deere pulling that plow again.
Soot on your face,
hands in the dirt,
Ain't nothin' better on God's great earth.

...Well, I thank the good Lord I was born and bred, Corn fed. "

All this to say-- there really is something different about people who are "corn fed"-- something different about people raised in "these here parts."

Even though I've moved to a big city I still give directions by landmarks, still consider a population of 50 or more a town, still drive a little too fast on gravel roads, still know when harvest is and, more importantly, deer season. I still am not afraid to use the outdoor "facilities," still know what poison ivy looks like (because I still am not afraid to use the outdoor "facilities" this one is important), and I still don't mind smelling like a campfire.

And I thank the good Lord I was born and bred Corn fed!

It's good to be home.

1 comment:

Kali said...

Jealous. And yes, I do believe Dad has theme music in his head quite often. Probably sounds a lot like "Last of the Mohichans" I would guess.