Long ago I dated a city boy. He grew up in the city and never even visited the countryside. He saw cows for the first time driving from New Jersey to Kansas to graduate school. Yes, at age 23, he’d never seen cows before.
Fast forward a year or so, when he visited my parents’ home with me in rural Minnesota. We drove past a field of haybales that looked sort of like this:
I was driving, and he was the passenger. The conversation with the City Boy went like this:
City Boy (pointing to the haybales): What are those things?
City Boy: Huh. What are they for?
Me: Well, the farmers cut the hay and then they bring it back to their farms in bales.
City Boy: But what are the bales doing in the field?
Me: Well, I suppose the farmer just hasn’t had time to bring the bales back to his farm yet. He’ll probably do it in the next day or so.
City Boy: . . .(pause) . . . But . . . but . . . what are they DOING out there?
–It was at this point that I realized, Country Boy didn’t know how the bales “got” out in the field. He was thinking that someone took the bales from one place and hauled them out into the middle of a field for some reason!
I rarely think of the City Boy, and I sure am glad I didn’t end up with him in the long run, or I would probably be living in a filthy city and living the life he wanted instead of the life I wanted. Thank goodness he set me free to find my own life, haybales and all.