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About ten years ago, my Wife and I moved to another state and were quite excited about exploring the possibilities of improving our lives in a new location. Our new residence was situated in a suburban setting, with plenty of space, woods, and most importantly peace and quiet. The township we moved to was low in crime, had good schools, reasonable taxes, and was within 5 miles of a city with a population of 200,000. Things were looking up, and we could not wait to get to know the area, and of course, our new neighbors. Or so we thought...

What we soon discovered was that we had moved to a neighborhood that was nearly exclusively inhabited by Appalachian refugees, most of them related by blood. Before going any further let me state that I am not prejudiced against anyone - that is not the intent of my ramblings. It's just the lifestyle and viewpoints of these individuals were totally foreign to my life experiences and the culture shock of our new environment damn near killed me. Having grown up in a large city in the rust belt, I can honestly say up until that time I'd never been offered a plate of poke weed and a groundhog leg in earnest as a dinner option.

Across the dead end street from where our house was located, was a 2 acre lot that we referred to as "The Field" where we soon learned was a magical place where civilized law did not apply. There it was normal to burn car tires, park junked cars, ride ATV's at all hours of the day or night, or smoke marijuana openly. Gun fire was okay there as well (no one was ever shot that I knew of) and the pleasant tone of 3 or 4 hound dogs filled the air at various times of the day and night. Everyone was rich in character as evidenced by unique names like Billy Ray Bob Danny, or Carolina Dakota Marie - and here I'd always thought one name was enough.

On a bright Tuesday morning at 7:45 AM one might see the 300 pound woman next door mowing her lawn in a sport bra and a pair of Speedo's designed for a size 2. When her Mother was ill in an emergency situation, she asked my Wife to babysit her daughter, her 16 year old daughter, while she went to the emergency room. My wife agreed and went to their house quickly to attempt to help. About an hour later my Wife telephoned to ask me if I'd ever had any experience with breaking up drug deals while babysitting. I informed her of my ignorance and suggested, rather strongly, that she return home immediately. It all worked out for the best though, the girl went to prison several years later on drug charges, was paroled and had a baby (I bet it looks like a prison guard).

Other incidents include another neighbor who was 60 years old and played with choo-choo trains while wearing a conductors hat, dozens of stray cats residing on our porch, and lest not we forget the occasional request to smoke marijuana behind the Pine Trees in our yard, "cause the Poo-lice caan't see ya". Funny thing was, we were considered to be the oddballs.

We've since moved to another town about two years ago, and it's heaven. A wave to the neighbors and quickly into the house, life is good. Oddly, we only live about 3 miles from the old neighborhood and we have no desire to visit, but I must admit I do get the occasional hankerin' for some squirrel stew and ramps

Learn more about this author, Thom W. Conroy.
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