Greener Grass

Last weekend I had a nail in one of my tires. Thanks to the tire pressure warning light I noticed this before the tire went flat, although it was down to 10 psi when I stopped at a Wawa to fill it up. It was the weekend and I was due to drive into the office the next day, which is a 50 mile trek down the Parkway. Not eager to spend the morning on the side of the highway waiting for Triple A to come save me, I opted to work from home and get my car into the mechanic as soon as possible.

As soon as possible ended up being Tuesday. I dropped the car off on Monday night and by the end of the day on Tuesday I picked it up again, receiving a mended tire in exchange for 48 dollars and two days of being without my vehicle. Not that bad and not really an inconvenience as I could work from home and had nowhere else to be. Even so, the whole experience made me nostalgic for my days living on the farm in Iowa.

It’s a long story, but to sum it up: I am from New Jersey, born and raised, but my stepdad is from Iowa. My mom and stepdad decided to retire in Iowa and build a house on the family land which they did going on twenty years ago now. When they left New Jersey, I stayed behind because this is where I live. It’s where I’m from. But I did start visiting Iowa twice a year and while it is very different from New Jersey, it’s different in a lot of good ways.

After college I spent about five years knocking around Pennsylvania and New Jersey, substitute teaching a little and working at Barnes and Noble a lot. I got tired of that and decided it was time for something different, so I decided grad school was the answer. New Jersey was losing it’s appeal: it was too expensive and as much as I love my home state, I wanted to try something different. From my weeklong vacations there, Iowa seemed like a good place to try: farm life looked good. So I took grad school as the opportunity to go out to Iowa, go to school in Des Moines, and live at Mom and Terry’s house on the farm for the low low price of cleaning the downstairs once a week.

Farm life is good. It’s quite often beautiful, the scenery changing with each season and every season striking in its own way. There is always a dog around and sometimes a litter of puppies, that’s a definite bonus. It’s quiet, yet doesn’t feel desolate because there are always people somewhere nearby: in the fields or across the road, or just in town for a bit but soon to be on their way back. Speaking of town, a mere 15 to 20 minutes away is Newton, a town big enough to have just about everything I need, including Starbucks which feeds both my soul and my caffeine addiction. School and work were in Des Moines, about forty-five minutes away, but not a big deal of a commute (unless it had snowed in which case it was always an adventure in my little hatchback).

A real life Iowa sunset, no filter.

The other benefit of farm life is there is always someone around who knows how to fix stuff. I’ve had zippers break on my pants only to have them returned to me in an hour or two with a new zipper in place, thanks to my aunt the expert seamstress. When I was coming down with a cold, my mother would stick oregano oil under my tongue which stung like a squadron of bees, but also loosened up all the congestion in my head. And when inevitably I picked up a nail on the gravel roads, Terry would find the hole in the tire using a spray bottle of soapy water, fill the hole using a little plug kit, and re-inflate the tire. For the low cost of exactly nothing, I would be back on four wheels in less than an hour. The convenience and kindness of it all is so refreshing to an East Coaster used to paying and waiting for everything.

I lived in Iowa for about two years and I did love it, but I missed home. As much as I thought the Midwest might be the place for me, I found that it just didn’t feel like where I belonged. After finishing my degree I packed up my little car and drove back east, back to the land of long lines and higher prices and longer wait times. Back to where getting a tire fixed means being hobbled until the mechanic can fit you in.

But even with all of that, New Jersey has its merits too. It is diverse, close to pretty much everything, and even though you have to wait, you can get pretty much anything done or delivered quite conveniently. Where I live now I can walk to just about all of the necessities: a pharmacy, a grocery store, several restaurants, a post office, and even the mechanic. The train station that goes into New York is just down the street and across a parking lot. There is a movie theater and multiple coffee shops, even a bakery. I want for nothing here, except for a local craft store, but it is honestly better for my budget that I cannot just walk somewhere every time I get the notion to start a new project. There is traffic and noise and people with thoroughly unpleasant attitudes, self-importance, and obnoxiously high rent, but there is a lot to love about this place too.

The problem about loving multiple places is that it is so easy to get into a pattern of romanticizing. Wherever you are at any given moment is okay, but if only you were in the other place, that would be truly great. And then once you get to that other place you’re like, yeah this is great, but wouldn’t it be wonderful to be back where I was before? On any given day I can hate where I live because of the traffic and constant noise and aggressive behavior around me and desperately wish that I were back in Iowa or on Maryland’s Eastern Shore with my dad. But then the next day the weather is nice enough to inspire a stroll into town for a cup of coffee and I’m so grateful that I can do that easily from my home. I love that in approximately one hour of driving I can get to both the beach and the mountains. I love that there are innumerable things to do for amusement, even though most often I choose to stay home or go to family or friend’s houses and stay there. It’s just nice to have the opportunity, but then again it’s nice to get away from it all on the farm or at Daddy’s house. The grass is always greener, as they say.

Gratitude, I think, is the answer here. Gratitude that I’ve had the opportunity to be in multiple places around the country, each in their own way feeling like home. Gratitude that I have a place to come back to that really is home. And gratitude for every time I’ve had a tire fixed that didn’t cost me 48 dollars.