Another Day in the Country
Identifying my team
© Another Day in the Country
When I was in my 50s, I rhapsodized about living in the country, in Ramona someday.
At the time, I lived on a country road in California, but it still was in the middle of a citified existence in Napa Valley wine country — definitely not isolated.
We used to talk about how much fun it was to live in such a beautiful part of Northern California — the kind of place where people came on vacation. However, we never were on vacation there. We pretty much were always working.
By contrast, I visited Ramona, Kansas, for family reunions once a year, and it was a very quiet, seemingly unchanging place, with slow-growing trees that seemed like they’d always been there, slowly deteriorating houses that endlessly needed painting, and a fading population.
We called it the town that time forgot.
What a great place to live when we get old, my sister and I thought.
I thought I longed for a slower pace, but of course I didn’t really know just how slow the pace could be in rural Kansas.
During January and February this year, time crawled at a snail’s pace. I registered rural isolation along with some of you and wished for something different.
I spent a couple of quiet weeks not only snowed in but also partially in the dark because my fuses evidently were getting old, and the lights went out in part of my house.
I couldn’t see that anything had tripped in the fuse box, and I feared it might be mice chewing on wires. Heaven knows they were chewing on everything else.
I called to schedule an electrician to come check out and hopefully fix my dilemma but found myself on a waiting list.
A nerve in my hip began acting up, and I was having trouble walking without pain. The pace of my life took a sudden dip, and my daughter called from California to check on me.
“Do you have a physical therapist that you trust?” my daughter queried in her problem-solving mode. “What about a chiropractor? You should think of them as part of your team.”
I’m not sure I was listening very closely to the rest of the conversation. That one phrase stuck in my mind: “part of my team.” This was what I was missing — a team, a group of people I knew I could depend on if I needed help.
I’ve been isolated. I hadn’t really seen anyone other than my sister for quite some time, and I needed to identify, get in touch with, nail down, and give thanks for my team.
I got off the phone and started writing a list with “My Team” scrawled across the top the page.
There’s John, who keeps my old grandma car running. And my sister, Jess, who is right across the street and would do anything for me at a minute’s notice if she’s not working.
There’s Kristina and LeeRoy, my cousin’s kids, who rescued me from the airport recently and call to play games.
I have cousins in Herington and neighbors in town who will show up at a moment’s notice if I get stranded or have a flat tire.
All I have to do is ask for help from friends in Lindsborg and Abilene, where I exercise. All are part of my team.
I have a doctor in Marion and a dentist in Hillsboro — team members who I see every once in a while.
My list was getting pretty long, and I already was feeling better.
However, as we age (and Marion County has one of the highest rates of older adults) we begin to lose team members we’ve relied on.
It’s not just ourselves aging. Our team also is getting older. Its members can’t do what they used to do, so we need younger recruits.
It’s difficult for us self-sufficient types to ask for help. We’ve always done things ourselves. We just don’t know how to let our team know they are needed.
Whether you know it or not, you are on a team — probably more teams than you’d like at times.
You have a work team. I’m on Centre Elementary’s team, even teaching art just once a week. I love getting to know the kids and in turn being on their team.
Jess works at the Marion County Health Department. She came home the other night for supper (I cook supper for Jess as part of her team.) and said, “We have the best team at work,” and went on to tell tales of all of them pitching in and helping with their recent move to their new building so that they can more effectively be on your team, health-wise.
You probably read about their move in the paper last week — although you may have no way of knowing how exciting it was.
A whole bunch of people joined the health department team, including a commissioner, husbands, and IT guys working together to make this transition go smoothly.
That’s what a community is for — identifying a team and being there for each other, showing up, offering support, being loyal.
In rural communities, sports teams are a big rallying point and a way to identify with a team.
Going to church is another team event that reminds us we aren’t alone.
Right now, I’m typing like mad because I’m part of the Marion County Record team, and that team depends on me to get this column in on time.
Let’s hear one for the team that makes it possible for us to spend another day in the country.