That Gentle Tug

“I don’t know where the culture line is between back there and up there is, but we’re going to cross it at some point.”

So said I tonight on the way from Harper to Wichita.  Harper is the town where I was born, raised, and we raised our sons.  Wichita is where we live now.  Somewhere in between the two cities, along highway 42, lies a culture “line” that when crossed, changes how we think, react, and act about and toward a lot of things having to do with life and living.

Oh, some things stay the same regardless of which side of the line we’re on.  But there are so many things that are an integral part of one culture, but are totally foreign to the other.

Just one example of that is eating out.  In Wichita, you can go “out” to eat any time during the day or night and get just about whatever you want.  Fast food joints are open until midnight or later.  Grocery stores are open 24-7.  Many restaurants are open until 11pm, midnight, or later.  And several are open all night.

But in Harper, one has to plan.  First, there aren’t but a few places to eat.  Second, most of them close at 8pm.  Third, one can’t always get what one wants there…Mexican, Chinese, Thai…forget it unless you happen to go to the Country Creamery when it’s open…they do have some Mexican dishes.  Fast food?  Nope.  Have to go to McD’s in Anthony to get your fix, and I’m not sure if it’s open late or not.  Shop for groceries?  Only until early evening.  Then you have to wait until tomorrow or go to the 7-11-type place and hope they have it.

And the traffic.  In Wichita, you have to look out or you’ll be run over.  You have to travel approximately the speed of the normal traffic flow, which is usually 5 to 10 miles over the speed limit.  And you have to do things like merge, move over for ambulances and fire equipment, and watch out for crazies, both in vehicles and on foot or bike.

In Harper, you can sort of drive as you want to (within limits).  If you want to go slow and “look at the crops,” that’s OK.  Others are out doing that too.  Change lanes?  What lanes?  Merge?  From where to where?  Fire trucks?  When they’re out, that’s worthy of a front page article in the local newspaper.  And if you want to turn around, just find someone’s driveway or do a turn in the middle of the road.  That’s fine.

Those are just a couple of examples.  Others might include people waving at you when your vehicles pass each other on the road, even though you don’t know them and they don’t know you.  Especially on rural dirt roads, if you’re out there, the other guy figures you’re supposed to be there and are probably a neighbor from somewhere.  Or you stop in at the local restaurant and are recognized and waited on by the staff who are genuinely glad to see you.  And the owner stops by your table to make sure things are OK.  In Wichita, you don’t know who owns the places where you eat, by and large.  And people try very hard to ignore you as they pass you on the road or sidewalk.

So yes, there is a culture shock as you cross the line in both directions.  People who have never experienced the rural haven’t a clue; neither have those a clue who are rural but have never experienced the urban.   I feel fortunate in that I know both.  I can seemingly move from one to the other without much to-do, although I sometimes feel a gentle tug and longing for what has been whenever we cross the culture line from the rural to the urban.  Funny, though, I don’t feel that tug when we’re going the other way…