When you know you’re living in the country

Published: 9/22/2021 8:40:22 AM

There are all kinds of refugees. Some are fleeing Afghanistan. My wife and I fled the suburbs five years ago because it was … the suburbs. But it has been a mixed experience fitting into life in a small hilltown.

One day I walking down Route 112, having harvested corn at a remote garden when a car screeched to a halt and a tall white-haired man got out.

“You eat turkey?” he asked.

“Yes,” I stammered, wondering why he might be questioning my gastronomic tastes.

“It’s just that I just hit one with my car,” he said. “You could take him home with you and fix him up.”

I’m never one to question anyone’s charitable intentions, although I did wonder what me look so desperate for a wild turkey dinner.

“Sorry. We’re going to the Cape tomorrow. Won’t have time to ‘fix’ him,” I said.

Truth be told, I’ve never in my life fixed road kill of any kind, nor have I even so much as plucked a chicken. But I was embarrassed to let on.

“Okay”, he said. And he got back into his car and drove away.

That’s when you know you’re really living in the country. When a friendly stranger offers you road kill for dinner.

David Steven Parrella

Buckland


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