I posted earlier today about the somewhat noisy environment I'm living in. At the time I found myself looking forward to visiting my parents in New Hamburg, so I could experience some of that good old fashioned solitude I remember so well.
Instead of solitude, I found out that my parent's house -- the one I grew up in -- is surrounded by a ring of six barking beagles. The house next door sports exactly SEVEN children. An angry father kept yelling at his dog "SHUT UP! DON'T BACKTALK ME! YOU SHUT UP!!!"
And then, amidst the cacophony, somebody began driving their team of snowmobiles up and down the gravel road. You know what a snowmobile sounds like when it's skidding over a mountain of snow? Imagine it instead grinding its way through dirt and rocks at 5kph. It's like a dumptruck, a leafblower, and an oil drill all at once, complete with swearing.
I can't believe it. My house is quieter than such tranquility. I count my blessings, over and over and over again.
Ah, yes. Good ol' country living at its best! Sad how things can change so much in the place we once called home.
Yeah, like the man said: "You can't go home again."
Sure, you can go home. But it won't be the home that you knew. Much happens when one moves away, and one can get quite a culture shock when visiting.
Been there, done that - and still wonder "What happened here???" about the place I used to know!
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