When we first moved to this five acre property, a neighbor referred to us as “living in the fishbowl.” She made the statement in response to my comment about everyone telling us city people what we were doing wrong. It’s now been fifteen months that we have been here and rarely do our neighbors stop anymore to tell us we are doing something wrong. That could be because we are doing things right or they simply gave up. I know a bunch of them meet for coffee in the mornings and we have been the topic of conversation on more than one occasion. In the time we have lived here we have found out that things aren’t always as they seem. People we thought we would never like, have turned out to be the best neighbors and sweet old men have revealed their hateful, angry inner selves. That is what it is like living life in the fishbowl. I used to worry about doing my chores in the morning because everyone could see me as they passed by. Now? I am out there at the crack of dawn in my pink sweat pants with my bathrobe tucked in under my coat, my cowgirl boots, uncombed hair covered by a hat with ear flaps. And, I don’t care who sees me! I live in the country, in the fishbowl.
To explain what it means to live in the fishbowl I turned to the obvious source, Google. Google Earth to be precise. I pulled up a satellite image of our property for purposes of demonstration. The area outlined in red is our property. The area in green is the road we live on. You will notice that every neighbor has to either pass by our place on the way to theirs or simply look out their window. Thus, we live in the fishbowl.
I can also use this image to explain why we rarely get our mail or packages sent to us. The houses marked with yellow X’s are those inhabited by men named Michael. And this just represents those I know. Just to the right of the pictures edge where the green line comes in sits a bank of mailboxes. Each house has it’s own locked mailbox. One would think that this means when we open it, the mail in there will be ours. Oh, not so. You see, we have a lovely postal carrier, eager to help and be of assistance but sorting mail seems to be his weak spot. It appears as if any mail with the name “Michael” on it can go into any box. I almost picture him driving away thinking, “Ah, let them sort it out.” UPS and FedEx have problems too. We often track parcels online and see that they were “delivered” and have to start going around looking on neighbor’s front porches for our package. But all that aside, I could live here the rest of my life and never go back to the city. The images from space do our property no justice at all. It is a lovely fishbowl in which to live.
I also enlarged just our property and titled the various buildings and structures located at the Buck ‘n Run Ranch. Perhaps pointing out the location of the septic tank may have been too much. Dan, a blog follower was here last week to pick up chicks. I am sure he was saying to himself, “I wonder where the septic tank is.” So I thought I would share. And, if you are ever out our way, turn left when you get to the end of the county maintained road, then just past the chicken coops, gun it, pedal to the metal. You might just be the first one to win a race with the emus.