“This is beautiful country,” my father-in-law said.
“Mmm,” I said.
“I guess I forget.”
But in the race from point A to point B, the green grasses and trees get lost in the shuffle.
I see the road ahead, the digital clock flipping over minute by minute.
Are we late to school?
Will I get home in time?
Will this moron try to attempt the speed limit?
Will the girls just get moving already?
The hills become a hassle in January in the 20th minute of an otherwise 5 minute drive. The deer in the road moves quickly from nature at its finest to a hazard that could cost us thousands of dollars.
We live in beautiful country, and we don’t just take it for granted, we sometimes find it downright annoying.
But this week is my last driving two little girls to nursery school.
Graduation this week will make my daughter a kindergartner.
I may drive that route over the hills and past the fields again, but I can’t tell you when.
I’m already missing a view I never really saw.
Perhaps it’s no coincidence that my in-laws came to visit for Jillian’s birthday, to remind me of the real life wonderland where we are raising our daughter. This “beautiful country” takes on special meaning when compared to the industrial towns where they were forced to raise my husband by nature of his dad’s line of work.
They left, and two days later I was provided a chance to watch Gasland, the documentary about gas drilling that has had Sullivan County abuzz for the past few months, that had the Sundance Film Festival talking, that will debut next week on HBO.
I can’t tell people what to think about the national, nay, international issue that’s hovering just on our borders, threatening to waltz in and take over.
I can tell them only that I have stopped forgetting.
We live in beautiful country.
If we don’t see it, will it disappear?
Image via Gasland/Facebook
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