When my wife and I married, we opted to live in a smaller, less-expensive, more inland community. At the time, this town had only a few stoplights, and possessed a peaceful, backwoods ambiance. As time went by, new housing was added, Wal-Mart arrived, and a nearby military base changed its flight paths as well as the types of aircraft it serviced. But as more cars filled the roads, as the night sky was rent with the churning of helicopters blades, and as family-run businesses gave way to franchises, the horse paths remained. If one drove along the town’s back-roads, one could still find cows grazing in backyards.
Country life gave way to country pursuits, and this spurred an interest in decorative painting. The first project my instructor gave me was to paint three cows on a milk jug-shaped piece of wood. As the years went by, the number of projects included more folksy depictions of cows, and friends and families saw this trend and contributed with other cow-shaped items, until every room in our house exhibited a strong bovine presence.
For a time, we cradled a romantic dream of retirement in which we would live in a backwoods area and own a few farm animals, including a cow. This was not an idle fancy: we investigated communities, read real-life stories of those who owned a few farm animals, even read up a little on the practicalities of such an existence. After awhile, we found reruns of “All Creatures Great and Small” on TV, and started watching the show. These adaptations of James Herriot’s novels were based on his own, real-life experiences as a country vet. These stories did not sugarcoat the difficulties that farmers faced as they operated their farms and cared for their animals. Over time, they burst our notions of how idyllic, peaceful, and easy-going our envisioned retirement would be.
We had originally opted to live in this backcountry area because we could not afford a home in the coastal community in which we desired to live. When our economic situation allowed, we swapped our more out-of-the-way country town for a smaller house in this urban setting. In subsequent years, our house gradually lost much of its once cow-intensive flavor, and I eventually abandoned tole painting for other pursuits.
It is interesting how folk art filled us with unrealistic notions, and even the nonfiction it inspired us to read did not dispel them. On the other hand, watching as Siegfried, James, and Tristan fight to save ailing farm animals, and seeing farmers struggle to care for their cows, horses, sheep and pigs in rural England cured us of our misconceptions. This is merely one example of how Fiction has often triumphed over mere fact, and in the process, steered my life onto a smarter course.
Country life gave way to country pursuits, and this spurred an interest in decorative painting. The first project my instructor gave me was to paint three cows on a milk jug-shaped piece of wood. As the years went by, the number of projects included more folksy depictions of cows, and friends and families saw this trend and contributed with other cow-shaped items, until every room in our house exhibited a strong bovine presence.
For a time, we cradled a romantic dream of retirement in which we would live in a backwoods area and own a few farm animals, including a cow. This was not an idle fancy: we investigated communities, read real-life stories of those who owned a few farm animals, even read up a little on the practicalities of such an existence. After awhile, we found reruns of “All Creatures Great and Small” on TV, and started watching the show. These adaptations of James Herriot’s novels were based on his own, real-life experiences as a country vet. These stories did not sugarcoat the difficulties that farmers faced as they operated their farms and cared for their animals. Over time, they burst our notions of how idyllic, peaceful, and easy-going our envisioned retirement would be.
We had originally opted to live in this backcountry area because we could not afford a home in the coastal community in which we desired to live. When our economic situation allowed, we swapped our more out-of-the-way country town for a smaller house in this urban setting. In subsequent years, our house gradually lost much of its once cow-intensive flavor, and I eventually abandoned tole painting for other pursuits.
It is interesting how folk art filled us with unrealistic notions, and even the nonfiction it inspired us to read did not dispel them. On the other hand, watching as Siegfried, James, and Tristan fight to save ailing farm animals, and seeing farmers struggle to care for their cows, horses, sheep and pigs in rural England cured us of our misconceptions. This is merely one example of how Fiction has often triumphed over mere fact, and in the process, steered my life onto a smarter course.
In busy, urban London, with its frantic pace, its high-prices, and its impressive architecture, the last thing I expected to see along the South Bank of the Thames was an upside-down cow. This air-blown bovine was dubbed the Udderbelly, and served as a temporary facility for a series of concerts, comedians, and other entertainment acts. Nestled within its confines we found stalls where one could purchase all sorts of food, from curry to cotton candy to beer to ice cream. We happened upon it when no acts were on stage, and as it was dinnertime for the locals, found the many kiosks crowded with customers.
It is heartening to see that sophisticated Londoners are not immune to the silliness that once influenced me. (And perhaps still does).
It is heartening to see that sophisticated Londoners are not immune to the silliness that once influenced me. (And perhaps still does).
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