“Doesn’t it get boring, rural life?” My father asks me. There’s an echo on the line, giving it the authentic long distance feeling. It reminds me of when I was traveling through India when I had just turned 20. When traveling was still really exciting and you could only communicate with others while standing in someone’s backroom which doubled as a tourist office, behind a curtain, holding a phone which made you want to wash your hands immediately after hanging up and you had to pay a small fortune for the call afterwards. I’m so grateful for having travelled pre internet times. Skype should have it as an option actually, retro international calling just for nostalgia’s sake.
I’m wondering about the definition of boring before I answer. I’m without doubt boring at times, but bored.. I ran out of being bored when arriving here.
There’s plenty of entertainment here.
I never knew they were so exquisite, but that was because I’d never grown cabbages before. If you’d get up just after sunrise, on certain days, you could catch this magic show taking place.
Thousands of tiny drops on the surface of large leaves, reflecting the sunlight, I was convinced there was such a thing as the cabbage fairy, who sprinkled miniature diamonds on top of the surface at night.
And with one slight tap against he leaves you could melt all these tiny diamonds all together into mercury and move them around. The villagers walking past my veggieplot often saw me standing there when I had just found out about it and must have thought I was checking the plants for bugs.
The alternative was squeezing out the juice of some blue grapes and splashing that on the leaves. I played for ages with the red mercury like stuff.
Entertainment…it’s all about whether you’re willing to open your eyes. Or maybe it’s about allowing oneself to be bored, not being worried about the need to be entertained.
It’s that simple.
And if not, then there’s always escaping donkeys here.
They’re fun to run after.