Mornings...

Mornings...

One of the curses of no longer being young (I prefer that terminilogy to "getting older") is that mornings come earlier and earlier every year and getting up at five or six starts becoming a normal habit that you may as well just embrace. With the hot weather we have been experiencing all of July, the cool of the mornings has been pleasant and enjoyable at the crack of dawn. In December, waking up in the dark of a winter's morning does not get the same reaction!

When our oldest graduated from high school a few years ago, he invited some friends to camp out at our place to finish off the year. Tents were set up and a huge bonfire was lit. We retreated and left them to their own devices, hoping for the best. The next morning, I got up around six and looked out at the side field to take an assessment of how bad the damage was. Besides the usual disarray of lawnchairs and some chip bags, cans and wrappers lying around, there was hardly any evidence that a group of teens had spent the night at our place. That should have been my first clue.

Because I work from home, I went about my usual morning routine, finding that I accomplish an incredible amount of work without interruption in the first hours of the day. A few hours later, I peeked out the side deck again and still didn't notice anyone stirring. I went to the front of the house and saw the driveway void of any cars from the night before. Puzzled, I ventured to my son's room and found him fast asleep in his own bed. All quite bizarre!

Hours later, when the bear finally emerged from his lair, I asked why everyone had left. Turns out, these city kids were not used to being woken by the birds who started their racket before the sun even had a chance to make an appearance in the sky. It was too noisy to sleep and the grumpy group had packed their bags and left in a huff about five that morning.

This morning, as I'm enoying my second cup of tea on the deck, I'm sitting here contentedly listening to the attempts of a juvenile rooster that sound more akin to the strangulation of a hyena than what is supposed to be crowing. My neighbour had his rugby team over last night and all the tents are still up this morning along with a driveway full of cars of the teammates that stayed the night. Obviously this morning's bird song and crowing attempts haven't bothered these guys at all. I think that if I listened hard enough, I could probably hear them sawing it off in their tents hundreds of feet away.

Does our sense of hearing get acclimatized with age so that crowing and cawing isn't as harsh or as bothersome as it would be in our younger years? The whirring of a hummingbird hovering so close to me in our Rose of Sharon bush fills me with a sense of wonder and gives me goosebumps! The nickering and bleating of the animals down the road makes me feel like I'm a part of a pastoral scene from a bygone era.

There is a different personality that comes to light once you've lived in a rural setting for a time. If you want to clear your head, go for a walk and you won't encounter anyone for kilometres on end. If you don't want to glance out your window and look right into your neighbour's kitchen, then living here is what you need! The trees don't judge you if you sit outside in your pajamas or work out in the flowerbeds in your oldest clothes you wouldn't be caught dead in if anyone saw you. There's an undeniable freedom here. Just like the juvenile rooster trying to crow, other animals don't care or are bothered by his attempts. So if you're ready to let your hair down and start relaxing on your home turf, rural living can be like being at the cottage year-round! With the rising levels of stress and anxiety in the world, maybe its time to remove your ear buds, breathe deeply and join me in my appreciation of mornings in the country! Just stay at your own place. I like my privacy, thank you very much!

Lolita Schimann Hale