It’s fifteen miles from the grocery store to Tiny Town– fifteen miles of smooth highway that ribbons up and down hills and around corners. The wind turbines wave their hellos across fields of tall corn, and a farmer getting his mail at the end of his driveway waves his hello to me. The window is down and the music is up and I keep catching myself with this smile on my face that feels almost foolish.
I think I love it here.
Five days ago we drove from the suburbs with our van and a big U-Haul, and we were an hour late getting out and we had to eat gas station food for breakfast and the wind and the traffic made the driving so hard and Squeezy had an accident somewhere between rest areas and all the extra clothes were in the truck. And I cried as I drove away from my home and my life and my friends. I cried in rush hour in Des Moines as I inched along, watching my rear view constantly to make sure my husband in the big truck was okay.
But we got here, and the people were here to help us unload and they had filled our fridge and our cupboards and no one seemed to mind when I had to use a gravy ladle to serve the sloppy joes at lunch because it was all I could find. And on Thursday we visited the post office and got cell phones and library cards and on Thursday night Art and I went outside on our beautiful front porch and sat on our cheap camp chairs and watched the fireflies come out and there was that dorky smile on my face.
And tonight I went to the grocery store all by myself and didn’t get lost, and I went to Walmart and bought Miracle Gro, and I drove home with the window down and the music up and pulled onto the cobbled main street of Tiny Town, with its antique stores and old-fashioned buildings, and it was good.
In the yard, the fireflies dance their dance of summer.