I moved to rural Iowa from Phoenix, Arizona the summer of 2003. Once there I realized I had a bad case of
culture shock. The town we moved to had
a population of 800 people and the majority of them lived out on the
surrounding farms.
Being
a city girl all of my life I had no clue what I was supposed to do in a small
town in the middle of nowhere. I even
had to look at a map to see where Iowa was before moving there. I was use to having a variety of stores and
bars to choose from on every street corner; but not in this small town.
The
grocery store was the size of a Circle K and it was filled with things I’ve
never even heard of before. There meat
section was a butcher who cut your meat to order. They didn’t have the meat pre-packaged for
your convenience you had to ask the butcher even for a pound of ground beef.
There
wasn’t even a bar in town, only a bowling alley which was open odd hours and
odd days of the week. The pharmacy
reminded me of the Andy Griffith Show where the old ladies went to gossip, but
hey they delivered.
The
one thing I could never wrap my head around was the elevator that sat at the
end of Main Street. I was always curious
about what happened to the building around it and why they left the elevator
there standing all alone.
After
I had lived there for awhile and had made some friends I finally felt
comfortable enough to ask about the building.
My biggest fear was that it had come tumbling down in a horrific tragedy,
my over active imagination at work again.
So
I mustered up the courage and finally asked, “What happened to the building at
the end of Main Street?”
“What
building Lysa?” my friend asked.
“The
one that the elevator belonged to,” was my response.
Everyone
erupted into an uncontrollable laughter for what seemed like an eternity, and
then my friend said, “Lysa, it’s a grain elevator. It’s where the farmers store their grain.”
I
felt like a complete idiot but started laughing at myself and said, “Where I
come from they are used to take you up and down the floors of a building.” Needless to say for the next four years,
until I moved back to Arizona, I was constantly teased about the elevator
without a building at the end of Main Street.
©2014 Lysa Wilds
©2014 Lysa Wilds
No comments:
Post a Comment