My wife and I have spent a good deal of our lives living between the city limit signs of one metropolis or another. As urban dwellers, we found the constant rumble of noises drifting in and out as life moves along quite comforting. But the older we got, the more we found ourselves longing for the quiet country life we remembered from our childhood days. So when we decided to retire, we wanted to move to a more peaceful setting. We searched the world over and chose this small house in the southern Missouri Ozarks and settled in for a quiet country way of life.
We were greeted on our first morning of blissful country life by the neighbor’s rooster telling us that 4 hours of sleep is enough. He was quickly joined by a chorus of dogs (at least one for every house within a five-mile radius) declaring their desire to have the rooster over for breakfast. Then it was time for every mufflerless vehicle in the county to rev up their engines in preparation for the parade down our country lane. ‘The Branson Belle’, a paddle boat on the lake ten miles away blared a horn to announce that it was time for another load of tourists. The whistle from a train crossing Hwy 248 mixed with a mooing of a hundred head of cattle, a couple dozen crows, and a few hundred other species of birds rounded out the orchestra.
But as I sit here in my rocking chair on the porch. I sip my coffee and watch the sun rise above the leafless oaks and maples. I raise my cup and give a smile. Because I know I’m home.