Down Home (a story about country living, from another country)

It's been three days since my American Airlines plane landed in Guadalajara. There is so much to tell. But, before the stories from last American adventure get pushed aside, I thought I'd write about my trip to southern Illinois before catching everyone up on my first few days in Mexico. There is much to tell, and photos will be posted soon. Promise. So, here is the tale two city kids down home on the farm.

About a week after getting home from my north woods adventure, I packed up the car and headed to the country. This time, I drove south and was flanked by rotating fields of endless corn and soybeans for nearly five hours until reaching "down home," a sleepy part of southern Illinois that many of Andrew's relatives call home. Again, the drive, like the one to the north woods, was more than worth it.

We first stopped at Aunt Martha's to say hello, greeting the free range chickens in the backyard on our way in (if only all chickens were raised like this, I might be able to be a carnivore again). Aunt Martha was sweet enough to give us a dozen eggs and make a fresh pitcher of iced tea for our visit. Sent on our way with hugs, we continued on our way to the drive in theatre. We parked the car, ordered sugary snacks and popcorn, tuned the radio to the theatre's frequency and settled in to watch Despicable Me. (If you have't seen this movie yet, please do. It's funny, charming and everything an animated feature should be). We went from chickens to the big screen all in one day, and looking back, it seems like that would be the theme of the vacation, something country-ish followed by television series dvds or Redbox movies.

My roommate, Jake, is an urban explorer. Abandoned warehouses, old factories, random spaces, you name it, he wants to sneak in and look around. I've never gotten a chance to tag along on one of these outings, however, after the exploration we did down home, I have an idea why he loves it so much. While Andrew had the keys to the buildings we ventured into, it didn't change the fact that these places haven't been hospitable in quite a while. A photographers dream, had I had the proper lighting. I did manage to snap a few shots of the hole in the ground, the abundance of office equipment, the piles of wires, the gorgeous painted tin ceiling and an old boat of a car of which I can't remember the make or model. One of the buildings had a wide open space that would make for a great roller rink, or dance floor, and both had excellent loft space I'd love to live in if the location was a few hundred miles north.

Despite climbing on old desks, looking through dirty car windows, examining old machines, it was nature, not an old nail, loose board or piece of glass, that would give me cause to find an icepack. A bee to be exact. I had managed to avoid getting stung for 27 years. When climbing around an old shed we came across what must have been a hive. I ran. That was mistake number one. Then I swung my arms around, trying to swat it away. That was mistake number two. The bee probably could sense my fear (and maybe the glass of wine), he found his way into my flannel shirt and stung me. First he stung my side, then, he moved to the crick in my elbow. I thought bees were supposed to die after they sting... Maybe this was a super bee. If anyone has any other reasons why this bee didn't die, please let me know.

So, after the bee fiasco, we went to the small lake a few steps from the house we were staying at on the farm. Trees were reflected beautifully in the clear water, fish jumped out of the water and dragonflies searched for their partners as I nursed my arm back to health. The icing continued as we watched "Youth in Revolt" (another Michael Cera must see).

Down home also has some fabulous mom and pop restaurants. We visited a few, the greasy spoon and the pizza place were the best. Even though all eyes were on us when we walked into the greasy spoon for breakfast, they all smiled as we sat down. And, to me, there's not much better than homemade pizza. The pizza was only rivaled by the great company we happened to run into before ordering dinner. Oh, and there was also the place where old school photos of Andrew's grandparents and other relatives adorn the walls. Grilled cheese is always a gold star offering in my book.

Last but not least, no trip down home is complete without guns, or so I'm told. I still haven't shot one. And, to be honest, don't think I ever will. Watching as the guys shot AK-47s in the yard was enough for me. Although I wish I would have had one of them take a photo of me holding the gun with my favorite peace ring that I was wearing that day. Oh well, maybe next time...

Reminder: Check back often for Mexico updates. I'm in class all day, but will be trying to start updating more regularly while I'm here. Also, become a follower and you won't have to rely on my fb status to prompt you to visit my blog.