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(Living in the Sticks) and the Single Girl

by Sheri Dixon (continued)

    L number One: Laughter.

    In the midst of your most frustrating day there is humor.

    Your semi-feral Billy goat pushed over the fence and is now devouring your tomato plants after stromping all over the cucumber vines? Look at his face- calm, serene pride of accomplishment. Think of what YOUR face looks like. Funny.

    Your car is stuck in what passes for the road because the rain you prayed for finally came? And you were on your way to have lunch with city friends in town and are now hiking back to the house wearing heels and stockings through the brambles and mud? Hilarious.

    You are cornered across the room from the broom AND the door by a big ol’ snake who happened to be napping under your kitchen sink? AND you have to go to the bathroom really bad?  STOP IT, YER KILLIN’ ME!!!

    These are not at all humorous when you are in the middle of them, but stopping to try to find humor in a situation gives you the chance to catch your breath, calm down enough to come up with a plan, and make for some most excellent story-telling that will beat the tar out of your co-worker’s harrowing tale of losing her car at the mall.

    For example- one dark and stormy night I was sleeping in my house, minding my own business, when I was awakened by a tremendous BANG! Seems the furnace that had been installed that day was not leveled and when it kicked on, something inside caused a noisy malfunction of some sort. Speeding to the back of the house to turn off the furnace I couldn’t help but notice out of the corner of my eye as I passed the kitchen door that the little copper tube that came up out of the floor where a fridge once sat and that carried water for the ice maker of said fridge had popped it’s protective cap and was spewing water prettily into the air at an amazing rate of speed and velocity. After finding the ‘water-turn-off key’ (oh yeah- add that to your list of tools), I trudged out to the front of my property with a flashlight clenched in my teeth in the dark and the rain to turn off the main water valve. I returned to my cold, waterless house very un-amused.

    And yet, in retrospect, it’s hysterical. And part of the rich history I’ve made with this place.

    L number Two: Leverage.

    Females are usually smaller and weaker than males. It’s a fact. I am at peace with the knowledge that no matter how many push ups I do, or Power-Ades I slurp down, I will never be as strong as a male of comparable size. This is not necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes it’s an extreme advantage to think through a problem without resorting to or depending on brute force to do something. Because NO ONE is strong enough to literally tackle EVERYTHING.

     Take working with livestock. There’s this cow, see. She’s eating happily but you need her to move to a different field. She likes THIS field.

    You ask her to move. No response.   

    You yell at her . No response.

    You yell at her while waving your arms. No response.

    You yell at her while smacking her soundly on the rump. No response.

    Placing a shoulder against the cow’s shoulder, you try to push the cow.

    The cow starts to giggle.

    Because Mr. Universe is STILL not a match for your average, nay, your wimpiest cow.

    You must apply leverage.

    A well-placed thumb into the cow’s ribcage is leverage.

    So is a bucket of sweet feed.

    Another personal anecdote: filling in at a Vet’s office one day as receptionist, I watched the two male Vets and the male owner of a mule trying to get the mule into the stocks for an exam. They pulled. And pulled. And shouted. And cussed some. Finally, I went out there, wrapped the lead rope around the mule’s butt so I was, in effect, pushing AND pulling the animal at the same time, and he quickly and quietly went into the stocks.

    Find the leverage.

    Embrace the leverage.

    Use the leverage.

    L number Three: Lashes.

    Now this one is a last resort, but sometimes in order to get something done, playing the Damsel in Distress card is the way to go. You actually have a better chance at getting help, even free help, by being female than by being male.

    If there’s another country gal within easy distance to learn from, just ask. Most of us love to share our knowledge with others, and are always learning new things ourselves from OTHER women in an endless spiral of knowledge acquisition.

    If all else fails, go on and ask a guy.

    In general, guys will help other guys do things for the promise of a good card game and copious amounts of fermented beverage for the helpers after the job is done. It is still a learning experience for the guy who did the asking, but there’s a price tag attached (gambling and beer).

    In assisting a ‘helpless female’, your average guy needs no further payment. He’s just “happy to be of assistance, m’aam. Holler if you need anything else”. You have gained the knowledge that you need to do for yourself next time, and no hops or malts had to lose their lives for it.

    Now, I’m not advocating donning petticoats and simpering (what IS simpering, anyway???), because if you have uprooted yourself and moved into the country you are already an independent, strong woman. But the really good men out there, whose mama’s raised them right, will be honored to help you and there’s not a thing wrong with that.  Plus, if you are right over their shoulder watching and handing them tools, or hip deep in muck along with them, you will also earn their respect.

    And in the country, that’s better than money.

    I’ve never been laughed at or looked down on by my neighbors for trying to do for myself- in fact they’ve always been there to help and more importantly TEACH when I’ve needed it.

    The biggest compliment I’ve ever gotten was from my 80-something-year-old neighbor. I was helping him move some hay and at one point he squinted over the top of the bale and said "You know, you’re pretty good help."

    Nothing anyone has ever said to me in almost 50 years has ever meant more.

 
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