Surburban Cowgirl

Living sub- of the urb means I’m surrounded by a whole lot of loveliness. But while flora and fauna have a lot to recommend them, sometimes it just seems a little… eh.

Without the yin of the city, nature’s yang can get a bit wobbly and boring.

Like, you know how a Frosty is sweet, sweet heavenly goodness, but then you dip a salty fry in there and--KABLOOEY--your tongue explodes with the yum?

Sometimes you need the salt to make the sweet even more flavorful.

I love it. Do you? Vote here.

One of my favorite things in the whole world is lying on rocks in Central Park. Just lying there.

Try it. Keep your eyes open. Stare at the sky. Watch the clouds. Feel the breeze sweep against your cheeks and the drool puddle around your slackened jaw.

Then tilt your head ever so slightly, just far enough to see the rich folks’ penthouses.

Your pupils suddenly refocus, and all the park’s beauty is magnified by the stalagmites piercing the sky.

The quiet seems even more hushed knowing that life rages on just beyond the tree line.

And your appreciation of this moment is heightened by the knowledge that some lowlife will steal your cab as soon as you hit Fifth.

See more great NYC photos at I Could Not Stay in Strawberry Fields Forever.

The juxtaposition of city and country brings me unexpected joy.

Like in Brooklyn, where horses trot down the street, through the roundabout at Park Circle, and enter Prospect Park.

Traffic circles are confusing enough without horses.
Via Streetsblog.org

The first time I saw the equine parade I was just blown away. It’s really quite stunning to see horses and non-uniformed riders sweeping through rush hour traffic.

I thought, I can’t wait till Liv can ride there. Of course, considering the fact that she'd barely lived through the apparent trauma of a pony ride at age 2, I wasn't in that much of a rush.

120 seconds of sheer terror at Fink's Farm.

We moved before she was ready to face her fears at Kensington Stables, but this Saturday she got her big happy, happy horse ride.

No tears... and no cars careening around a traffic circle.

Just a girl, a horse named Frances, and not one square inch of city for miles and miles.

I’ve got to say, though, I kind of missed the salty yin.

Till I stepped in it.

A huge steaming pile of yin.

But while it made my boot pretty freaking disgusting, it made the sight of my girl sitting tall in the saddle even sweeter.

 Or yang-ier, if you will.

Katy Appleseed

I’m not one of those people who think there’s no “New York” outside of New York City.

I know there are lots of beautiful and worthy places beyond the five boroughs – you know, lakes, farms, generic scenes of pastoral loveliness – it’s just that the subway doesn’t extend quite that far.

So, three years ago, just at the beginning of our deep, deep desire to show our kid something beyond skyscrapers and billboards, we bit the bullet and got a Zipcar for a day trip to a Suffolk County pumpkin farm (far beyond the reach of the 7).

She would've ridden this tractor all the way to Long Island if she could've.

We slipped into the car, feeling very pleased with this false freedom that we could go wherever we wanted and have the wind blow cinematically through our hair.

Smash cut to seven hours later:

The rush is now a thud. The pumpkin fudge sugar high? Gone. The toddler, so unused to riding in a car and, thus, a car seat, is now a pile of cinders, burned out from a fiery rage and the injustice of being strapped in. The offending car seat has been unloaded, and the car is empty… and still needing to be returned to the lot, a 10-minute walk away.

So, yes, two cars, insurance, and a fat lot of gas ka-chings into a far higher cost than a monthly MetroCard. But at least when we’re home from a mentally and physically exhausting trip we’re home… And I don’t have to unstrap the car seat and cart it up a long flight of stairs while a toddler teeters right on out of my arms.

Don't be fooled by the sweet smile.
This kid plays HARD.

This weekend we attempted another day trip, trading pumpkins for apples. The Georgia mountains are just 45 miles away, and when I stood in the orchard I suddenly thought of the old Johnny Appleseed song:

Highway 52, near Ellijay, GA

Chasing the kids through the orchard.

Oh, the Lord’s been good to me, and so I thank the Lord…

A GOAT!

PUPPIES!

For giving me the things I need...

APPLE CIDER DOUGHNUTS!

HAYRIDE!

FRESH AIR!

The sun and the rain and the appleseed...

The Lord's been good to me.


Especially because this time, we had two grumpy kids fighting the whole way home and -- thankfully -- no car to return...

Visit the B.J. Reece Apple House.
Try a fried apple pie while you're there.

Which was extra-awesome because hosing the allergens off Fletcher turned out to be a two-person HAZMAT effort.

Her: happy.
Him: watery eyes and running nose... and still happy.