In country

Younger Daughter and I drove deep into the country yesterday, before her parent-teacher conference, on an errand for Mom to fetch Granny up to Nashville for the weekend.

Younger Daughter’s become quite the country music fan. She’s pals with a schoolmate whose grampa is apparently a backstage legend, and recently made her first pilgrimage to Ryman Auditorium, the genre’s “Mother Church.”

She’s also been lobbying for a move to the country, and trolling the real estate listings for a place where she can keep horses including “Apple Butter,” the little mare Granny’s been boarding for her out in Lewis County. She wants to begin living the life of a Large Animal Veterinarian as soon as possible.

That’s your dream, Mom says, not mine.

My position: I’ll be happy to live in any walkable place that’ll have me, and that doesn’t lengthen my already too lengthy daily commute to and from the ‘boro.

Dad was a farm boy and a vet, he’d be proud of his granddaughter’s aspiration. He’d also tell her dogs and cats are easier on the lower back. But we all have to do our own thing, find our life’s meaning and mission on our own.

So there we were yesterday, enjoying our country drive across middle Tennessee’s lovely (even in winter) rolling hills and scenic vistas, cranking up the car stereo. A little Prine…

Blow up your T.V. throw away your paper
Go to the country, build you a home
Plant a little garden, eat a lot of peaches
Try an find Jesus on your own

And a little TomT…

Me and Jesus, got our own thing goin’.
Me and Jesus, got it all worked out.
Me and Jesus, got our own thing goin’.
We don’t need anybody to tell us what it’s all about.

(And check out this fine interpretation, by another upstanding guy who’s got it goin’ on his own.)

And then, just as I’m about to confess that maybe a move to the country wouldn’t be so bad, we round a corner in Hohenwald and are greeted with this friendly church-sponsored message:

Even Satan was not an atheist.”

So maybe the country won’t have me, after all. Ah, the idiocy of rural life. But it’s ok to visit.

We made it back, Granny in tow, just in time for the parent-teacher’s conference. Dr. McCoy (with her little picture of Dr. “Bones” above her desk still) reconfirmed the solid progress of Younger Daughter’s academic/existential pilgrimage. She’s further down the road to her dreams (though we really should blow up the TV to help her get there, even she admitted to her teacher and us).

Can’t wait to visit.

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