Privatopia sits bucolically nestled between farms, farms and more farms. There is the nearby 3,000+ acre hog farm, due east, a family-farm, whose website states "each year we raise 65,000 hogs." I'm hoping that numerical figure is a misprint, but to date it has not been corrected.
Then there is the 800-head dairy farm, due north, which features a cutting-edge anaerobic digester that enables this family to sell back energy to the power grid and produce a solid byproduct which they reuse for cow bedding.
I'm not certain how I feel about all of this occurring so close to the aquifer that supplies our well water, and I'm fairly sure the farmers are skeptical about the runoff of chemicals from Privatopia's "championship" golf course upkeep, but so you have it.
Between and beyond are more family-owned farms that raise sheep, goats, chickens, alpaca, llamas, horses, and even more cows and hogs. And there are the ag-farms, mostly growing corn, corn as far as the eye can see, but it's not for human consumption, it's mostly for the government subsidized production of ethanol. All of these farms, a fledgling winery and small private airstrip, abut our private enclave. If you go out a few miles beyond Privatopia, the farms, winery and airstrip, you'll find a handful of small towns, all with populations less than 1,400. Basically, I live in an area where the livestock outnumber the humans.
One day my urban-reared grandson visits, and the prevailing winds happen to reverse and blow in our direction, he turns to me and asks, "Is there a zoo around here?"
Yet in three short years, I've come to love the colorful flavor of the region. (And, well, I'm working on the odoriferous part...)
Here are some incidents and quotes that I've gleaned in the last 3 years from the local humans- I'll write some other time about what the animals have to say :)
***
She and I stand side-by-side as I help her sort and pack her belongings. “I’m moving out west, over 1,600 miles. For good, I hope… When? Well, just as soon as I can.” She leans in a bit closer and says, in a conspiratorial-type whisper, “Well, I'm going to try it out for a month, anyway.” She draws a breath and adds, "You know, I've never driven more than 100 miles by myself before."
***
"This fall, I'll start school at UW (out-of-state), majoring in music. Oh, and I can't wait," he stated. There was a pause as he looked wistfully out the window and continued even more emphatically, "Anywhere but Carroll County. Anywhere!"
***
"People here drink a lot."
When I don't respond, she arches one eyebrow, looks me in the eye and adds, "Even way more than other places, I mean."
***
"Rye-cheer (right here) we got some excellent deer and turkey huntin'."
***
"You never see much in the way of mobility scooters out here. You know, maybe the golf actually helps."
**
"I always swore that I wasn’t going to ever marry a farmer. But guess what? I met a farmer that I loved. I married that farmer, and as he followed his heart, well I followed right behind. You know, you either are born into the farm or you marry into it- well, I'm a double-down."
***
"Are you kidding me?! The farmers out here ought to be f*^%-ing grateful that we're here," he belches, cracks open another beer retrieved from his refrigerated golf cart cooler, takes a long draught, wipes his mouth on his sleeve, nestles the can in it's holder and carefully selects one of his custom crafted golf clubs.
***
"I don’t think I could handle living in a big city or nothing like that," and as I wondered if that was a slight shudder I'd detected, she continued, "Nah, just give me my little old house in my little old town at the end of my little old gravel road."
***
"I've got a story for you," says a friend who resides in a beautiful waterfront home. "We found these deep hoof impressions in the yard and surmised that whitetail deer had passed through, and that the depth of the tracks was due to the excess of rain lately. But, it didn't seem right. So we replayed the nightcam and guess what it was? Three cows straying through our property. Where could they have come from?"
***
She's attractive, affable, efficient and intelligent, all evident to me from the first time that she rang up my purchases. I hear the customer in front of me ask her why she's now working at Casey's General Store and no longer teaching at the local school. She tilts her head, shrugs her shoulders and replies, "Ehh?"
***
"Back in the 60s I applied for my first loan for a new combine, $15,000. My dad said, 'Agh, they'll never give you that much money!' But, I got the loan. Ten years after that a new combine was $30,000. Now it costs me $30,000 just to replace a head on my combine. Today a new Deere will cost you upwards of near a half million dollars."
***
"Hey, M, what're you digging the hole for? Planting in a tree?"
"I'm burying-," he begins, hesitates, sighs, then blubbers, "I'm burying my dog." His grief is obvious, his pain at the loss of a beloved pet, palpable.
"Oh, I'm, I'm so sorry, so sorry," I stammer. "How, how long did you have him?"
"Sixteen years," he sniffs. "I'm burying him here because he always loved the golf course."
"My heartfelt condolences, M. Take care."
"Aww, poor M," I think as I walk away, "that's rough," followed quickly by the thought, "I wonder if he had to get a permit from the Privatopia Board to bury his dog on his own property?"
***
As I exit the building, she is entering. She carefully snuffs out the tip of her half-smoked cigarette on the brick entrance and tucks it into her purse as I hold the door for her. I smile and tell her a story of a high school friend, eons back, who used to do the same, until her straw purse caught fire, from a lingering ember during history class. "Really!?" She pauses a moment, shakes her head and adds, "Well, they're so darn expensive these days, I can't afford to lose even one drag."
***
"Do all of you know how lucky we are to live here??"
("Yes," I think to myself. "Yes, I certainly do.")
***
Happy Independence Day!
sincerely,
Bea Yonder
