Engaged and Enraged: Bells couple throws good-humored punches over spastic city, podunk country living

Sunlight shines sharply into the vehicle, just above the driver’s side window. I look out of the little red Ranger pickup truck at a sea of about-to-be-harvested corn. The stalks are hearty and green, and the leaves bend out like gymnasts’ arms. Taking in the beauty that is a cornfield, I make the mistake of mentioning this to my country-boy other half as we travel down a majestic country road.

“Isn’t that corn beautiful?”

Instead of a loving response or an appreciation for what I am seeing, I hear a mocking chortle come from my loved one’s lips. He laughs to himself and condescendingly says, “Yes, honey, it’s beautiful.”

Suddenly I feel my “city-girliness” showing. He’s found me out. I’m Jessa, and I think cornfields are pretty.

We don’t see them too much in the Dallas area. They’ve all been covered over with cookie-cutter housing developments and hurriedly built strip malls.

I know that normally cornfields are not something artists paint or immortalize in great photographs, but to me, it’s like connecting with a piece of my childhood spent on my grandmother’s farm and to the guy next to me who is making fun of me.

But do I get to enjoy my moment of country living? No. Because now I’ve swatted at what I’ve called a mosquito that’s broken its way into the cab of the truck and is set on eating me.

“That’s just a galnapper. Its not a mosquito, city girl.” He smirks again, and my moment of serenity is further diminished.

Not only am I made fun of for my fondness of the yellow vegetable, but I am also chastised for pointing out farm animals and not knowing how to shoot a pellet gun. These are all things that were rare in Arlington, Texas. Corn comes from a grocery store in frozen particles, cows are served well done and guns are only for protection against intruders. That was until the country boy came to the city.

From the first time that he entered the thriving metropolis that is Arlington, he felt uncomfortable; like a nervous bee keeper waiting for someone or something he trusted to sting him.

Traffic was “horrible,” there was a “Starbuck's on every corner” and the only place to look at stars was a city park measuring only an acre.

I admit that he has at least become better about driving in the city. He even mentioned that he could stand living in a place like my hometown. But I see his face when we make it back into the country. There’s a sense of relief and familiarity that can’t be replicated anywhere else.

For me, the country is beautiful and nice to visit, but the city is where my heart dwells.

By Jared McClure

Oglesby, Texas is home to 468 people. They play six-man football. They have a post office, a volunteer fire department and a state bank. According to their welcoming sign, they have fine schools and churches … and an approved sewer system! Yes, that is on their sign.

Why do I bring this up? I do this not to convince you to go to Oglesby, but to tell you of my roots. You see, Oglesby is my hometown.

Growing up “country,” as I like to put it, has greatly affected my view of life. I have spent my entire life surrounded by the same people doing the same thing. I am not surprised to see my neighbor riding his horse down the street, nor am I surprised to see another riding in his horse-drawn (or mule, depending on the day) carriage through town. To me, this is the norm. I didn’t think anything about it.

That all changed when I met Jessa.

Her town has the Texas Rangers. Mine has the Oglesby Tigers. Her town has the 2011 Super Bowl. Mine has the annual Rattlesnake Roundup.

I was thinking about Oglesby’s inherent simplicity the other day as I fought the ridiculous traffic that haunts every street of Arlington for 18 hours every day. The city has nothing on the country. Sure, you have Starbuck’s on every corner, but the problems that accompany that convenience outweigh the benefits.

Speaking of traffic, we don’t have that in the country. The worst thing that could happen is getting behind a tractor during harvest season.

Crime isn’t really an issue either. Sure, we have our problems, too, but they mainly revolve around petty crime like stolen Christmas decorations and pink flamingoes for your yard.

There are things that you miss growing up in a city. For instance, take exposure to crickets. The country is apt to have more creatures of the insect variety. Country people, while not huge fans of the bug, will shrug it off and go on with their day. City folk will run screaming like little children.

In a small town, you know everyone, and everyone knows you. When you want to mail something to someone in town, just put their name on it. It will get there. You don’t even have to wait in line.

One of the best things about the country is the peace and quiet. Cities are so loud sometimes. It’s not like that in Oglesby. The nights are much better, too. In the city, you might have a view of seven or eight stars. In the country, there are 700 or 800.

I’m getting better. The big city isn’t quite as scary as it once was. I know we can’t all live in the country. We can’t all be that fortunate. We