As always, my super younger brother is the only reason I am tapped into the whole hip/new/trendy aesthetic. By the way, if you are into being trendy, it’s all about being Southern and into reading old, hardbound books while growing your own food and eggs and meat. Read Kinfolk for more.
I get it.
I’m in the process of reading the “Little House” books to my kids, and I have been seriously considering home schooling my kids. If I were a hardier specimen, I would do just that. Truth is, I’m not stout. I could never feed the endless appetite of Almanzo Wilder with relentless doughnuts, bird nest puddings, homemade bread and butter, roast beef, ham and turnips.
I just watched The Hunger Games, and damn, if it doesn’t promote a similar way of life.
I read somewhere that all wise people know how to garden and live off the land.
I am frail and tired.
However, my parents live in Arkansas. Feel free to jeer and be weird about it: everyone I know does just that. They lived in the country’s most prosperous suburb and hated it and moved. And when I drive around their new town, I find myself driving around singing Fleet Fox songs at the top of my lungs (those Brooklyn posers?) and feeling at home. God, I LOVE The Fleet Foxes.
You see, for all my sophistication, I am helpless before the appeal of that self-sufficient Southern life.
There must be some strong Scots Irish in me, after all.
Have you tried to overcome family roots and found it fruitless? Do you romanticize an agrarian sensibility?