One of the first things we noticed about Council was the people and how friendly they are. My husband has a theory that the people are the friendliest in those geographical locations where Mother Nature is most determined to kill you. If that is the case, then one of his other favorite truisms must be extremely applicable here, namely that Mother Nature is a bitch who wants you dead.
In general terms, everyone speaks to everyone…in the grocery store, walking along the sidewalk, getting gas at the Cenex. I was so unaccustomed to this, the first time someone said hello to us as we passed them on the street, I didn’t realize they were speaking to us.
If you’ve ever lived or spent much time in a rural, agriculturally-oriented community of any kind, you know that the weather has a huge impact on daily life on so many levels, and it is no different here in Council. As a result, many of these casual conversations begin around the weather. They may go something like, “Looks like we’re gonna’ get a break in the heat this week,” or – one that is always safe ground for comment here – “Sure could use some rain.”
Often times, the comments are spoken as if they are a continuation of an ongoing conversation that was interrupted and you are just picking it back up again. More than half the time, I’ve noticed introductory phrases like “Hi,” or “How’s it goin’” are just skipped altogether.
Such conversations are warm and friendly, but not intrusive in the least, and when one embarks on such an endeavor, there is no expectation of privacy, and no privacy is offered. You may start off having such a conversation with one person, and before you know it, it is a group activity. More than once, we’ve been sitting in one of the local restaurants chatting with one of the owners or servers or the folks at the next table over and within very short order other folks – some friends, some casual acquaintances, some perfect strangers – have joined in. Such encounters are often marked by friendly banter, a tall tale or two, open friendliness, and more than a little laughter all across the room.
Sometimes, the casual conversations skip the weather and might include something that the person has done that day. One time, we were eating in the local Chinese restaurant, and a young family was just finishing up their meal and preparing to leave. Out of the blue, the young father smiles over and shares, “Had the family up at Lost Lake all day today…sure was beautiful up there.” I have to admit that my snotty, snarky self first thought, “And why should I give a flip where you and your family spent the day today,” but then I remembered that I wasn’t “there” anymore, but rather I was “here,” so I slapped my nasty self upside the head and cordially engaged. (A brief aside, the conversation did eventually get around to the weather along the lines of, “Won’t be long before spring is here full force.”)
Sometimes, particularly with more seasoned citizens, the conversation might kick off with a comment about something the speaker has done previously at the location at which the conversation is taking place. We recently visited the aforementioned Lost Lake and when we approached the water’s edge, we encountered an older gentleman sitting on a rock and smoking a cigarette who opened with, “Used to fish this lake every day when I was a kid.”
After a few false starts and a few self-inflicted attitude adjustments, I have gotten into the spirit of this local behavior, and after just six weeks or so as a full-time Councilite, I thoroughly enjoy this aspect of rural Idaho life.
Given how friendly everyone is to perfect strangers and casual acquaintances, it stands to reason that folks would be that much more so with folks they know a little better or see more often, and such is the case with our neighbors across the way. Though I have adjusted rather quickly to the public encounters, I have to confess that the private ones have presented a much greater challenge for me personally. In short, our neighbors absolutely insist on being…well…uhm…neighborly, and quite frankly, I am being forced to be more intentional with my choice to adapt.
I have oft been quoted as saying that good fences make good neighbors, and I have faithfully lived by that maxim over the years. Along those lines, Idaho is a fence out state – a term that means if you don’t want other people’s livestock on your property, you must fence them out, and apparently the same is true for neighbors as well.
In my past life, I was never fond of people “stopping by” the house unannounced. Okay, true confessions, I despised people stopping by the house unannounced and could think of few things I found more rude or annoying.
Well, we were barely here for a day during one of the first visits in our Council house when someone came knocking on the door. My first thought was, “Seriously? What do they want?” As my husband opened the door to find our “cross the road” neighbor Miss Ruth, I thought, “What is she here to complain about? Dogs barking? Trailer parked in the driveway? Grass needs mowing?”
Well, didn’t I just feel like a total shit as we all proceeded to sit down at the kitchen table and – as my father used to call it – “set a spell.” She asked us where we were from, when we would be here full-time, what we did for a living, and – the never-missed inquiry – “What brings you to Council?” She stayed for about 30 minutes, and then headed back across the road to her own home, but not before presenting us with a housewarming gift of the most beautiful pair of hand-knitted socks (which, of course, I claimed as mine, since they are way too small to fit my husband’s feet…that is my story and I’m stickin’ to it!) No complaints…nothing but neighborly inquiry and genuine warmth.
Miss Ruth is 88 years old and lives in a manufactured home on a property that adjoins the property of her daughter and son-in-law. Despite her advanced age, she is in pretty good physical shape and superb mental shape. I can only hope I am as sharp as she is when I am her age. (Hell, if I could only be as sharp as she is at the age I am now!)
Since our final permanent arrival in early July, my husband has made multiple trips back to Washington for his job and to haul more of our crap eastward leaving me here alone. Each time he was gone, Miss Ruth has come over to visit, sharing something in the process. One time she brought water melon cut up in a repurposed cottage cheese container, another time it was a couple of slices of the pizza she had for dinner that night wrapped In foil and still warm from the oven, and yet another time Salisbury steak from another evening meal.
I am making progress on the adjustment to such local customs. I confess I still tense up when someone knocks at the door unexpectedly; however, I am learning to tamp down my split-second initial annoyance at someone stopping by unannounced. Once I overcome this conditioned response, I am thrilled to find Miss Ruth on my doorstep, and I have come to look forward to, and thoroughly enjoy, her periodic visits. I am a work in progress, but there is hope.