Wednesday, August 29, 2007

city mom, country mom

So which one are you?

This is for Mama Ava. We had a discussion a while back about today's safety-minded parents vs. the way we prefer to be. This article appeared in Down East magazine and had J and me laughing out loud. I found it on the web here.

This summer—which, like all our summers, my family and I spent in rural, coastal Maine—a woman with a llama showed up (invited) to a neighbor's house. The llama, a nasty-tempered thing, mule-kicked a 3-year-old in the chest, knocking her flat on her back. The parents, after calmly confirming their wailing child wasn't seriously hurt, grew cheerily circumspect. "Aw, it's good for her," said her father, brushing the incident aside.

"That," my husband remarked later, more flabbergasted than judgmental, "was amazing."

14 comments:

Karen ~ said...

I guess I am a country mom as I, too, would be more tickled (having assured myself that the chidl was fine) at now having a great story to tell!

"Remember the time that llama knocked you down, Sis?!?"

What great family lore.

I'm there with the llamas.

Mallory said...

Yeah, I'm probably more toward the country mom way of life. Course, I don't have kids, but I'm that way with my siblings. "Don't worry about it, really. She'll have a nasty bruise, but I'll bet you anything she wont walk around the backside of an animal again." A lesson learned, and like Karen said, great family lore.

Remember that time Jacob got pummelled in the forehead by one of the calves in your barn? If not, he did. And it was amazing.

Mama Ava said...

Karen, A country mom??! Do you not remember the conversations about my upbringing in Montana and yours in the 'burbs? I loved growing up in the country. Now that I've spent 20 years in the 'burbs I do love the opportunities for plays, shopping, conveniences, activities. But that llama story is so me. I'd be the mom that said, "You couldn't figure out which end to avoid?" I think people spend far too much time worrying and fretting about their kids. Really, what's the worst that could happen? I love that my kids are messing around here with nothing "modern" to do and actually surviving. When we ever go back to the States, I'm torn about going back to my familair suburb life and heading out for some small town back in Montana or Idaho.

But Karen--do you really think you're country mom material? Let's have some more examples.

ML said...

Clueless mom..."pummelled in the forehead? Duh...."

ave said...

I can't even count the number of times that we were kicked or bitten by the various domestic beasts we tended to. I think that you are the only one who has a scar to show for it Calandria, oh, I guess DTV may have had a cracked rib that one time the mother cow pinned him, and he did get struck by lightning in the barn while hoof trimming. I guess our mother was pretty reolute about the whole thing.

Anonymous said...

Even though it didn't involve animals, I fondly remember AVE throwing boiling taffy on my face and you throwing me into a coffee table so I had to wear an eye patch for awhile. Of course the eye patch is one of my favorite memeories. I'm not sure how many Halloweens I went as a pirate. I loved that patch.
Just to be fair, I'll mention I did shoot AVE with the BB gun and left that 3 pronged rake out that you ended up stepping on.
I also remember getting a nail through my foot, and I can't rememeber how, but I think Dad was involved.dtv

Calandria said...

oh yeah. i have a dent in my cheek where that lovely horse dad thought was perfect for an 8-year-old girl drove its hoof into my face.

but i'm not bitter or anything. it didn't scar my soul.

Biff said...

HA! Oh snap! The memories come flooding back. I can remember one time I was put through one of the walls at the barn by a cow that had apparently calculated the shortest distance between it's current location and the feed bunk being a straight line....that curved slightly upon it's arrival at MY location.

I also remember taking a manly kick to the head by a cow while I was trying to kindly introduce it's utter to a milking machine.

Of course...the biggest beating I ever took was when I apparently tried to intrude on mother's time in the kitchen. I was in the way so she hip-checked me. That woman could've moved mountains!
Good times.

DTV said...

There was the time that Mom's garden was trampled by the cows that got out. So she sent me with my new high powered sling shot to go shoot as many cows as I could. It was scary being sent out on a "hit" by Mom. So you see though, she did get her revenge once in awhile.

Biff said...

I remember her rage as she ran out and beamed a cow directly between the eyes with a rock. At first I was afraid by her wrath....but soon, I found myself in awe that my mom could pitch as good as Roger Clemens AND cook a mean dinner.

Go mom!

Mama Ava said...

When we were kids our neighbor had a pond with snapping turtles and we used to go over with old hamburger and try to catch them. But when he caught us there, he'd shoot at us with shotgun shells loaded with rock salt. Does it hurt to have salt imbedded in your skin? Yup. And don't bother telling Mom--it was your own fault for going over there, you know what would happen.

We also used to play cowboys and Indians with real bb guns and bows and arrows. And try to leap off the barn roof on to a trotting horse. Or gallop under a branch and try to grab it while the horse ran out from under you. and tie a tree or big branch back and then sit on it to see if we could catapault ourselves, ala Saturday morning cartoons.

No wonder the "dangers" of suburban life and the playground perils don't fuss me too much!

mom said...

Gee, kids, it all seemed quite normal at the time!

Calandria said...

mom, don't worry. We know that it was the silage fumes that clouded your judgement and you can't be held responsible.

Hey guys, remember the catwalk? That was strictly off limits. Shee-yah! I seem to remember going down to the barns barefoot in the summer. I went everywhere barefoot and really there was no danger of contracting parasites through those feet or getting cuts because the bottoms of my feet had impermeable callouses. I remember examining them and thinking to myself, "The bottoms of my feet are like cow horn material."

There was jumping over the holes in the ice on the half-frozen stream.

There were the oil drums we turned over and made teeter-totter/catapaults out of with 2 by 4s.

There were the Corsons, but I suppose that's a different element of danger worthy of a separate post.

Mama Ava, I love your stories. Heck, everyone needs a rock-salt shooting neighbor!

ML said...

Reading the walk down memory lane in the comments was even more fun than reading the post!