Feb. 3 - Lisa's Musings from (the farm) and Every Day Life

I live in a really neat place.

It's not like I wasn't aware of this already, but today, it became glaringly apparent.

Here's what happened to make me realize how lucky I am to have found a home in a great location.

To recap, I live in rural Sylvan Township, which is in close proximity to Chelsea, not far from lots and lots of farms, yet close enough to Ann Arbor to do stuff there, too.

As I headed out for a story at a farm in Manchester today, I thought I knew where I was going. Only, of course, I didn’t, and got lost.

This happens a lot, actually.

But I refuse to spend the money for GPS. This blog is written by someone who after 10 years of opening and closing the garage door by hand, just bought an opener that does it for me.

It’s still a novelty and was a big step.

For me, at least; because in my book, the more electric gadgets one has, the more chances there are that they’ll break. I know, I sound like my father, but at just about the time these new gizmos become part of my daily routine, they quit working.

Like the stupid cell phone today.

I was lost in an area where my cell phone didn’t have service, and it turns out, even if it had, it wouldn't have helped me much, anyway. Farmer John was on the Internet so his phone didn’t work.

I'd written down directions to Farmer John's house, but failed to write down his exact street address or his phone number. I had it on another piece of paper and meant to bring it with me, but I forgot.

So without telecommunications, I got back on M-52 and stopped at the first place that had a gas station. And sold seed.

I took a chance that perhaps the nice people would know Father John.

No known address.

No last name.

No phone number.

So I asked, and after a few minutes of suggesting last names of farmers, none of which sounded familiar, someone asked to look at my directions.

There were three turns written down and somehow, I’d missed the second one, but it served as a clue to the nice people who immediately figured out not only who Farmer John was but also exactly where he lived.

Only in a small town could something like this happen.

I was an hour late arriving, but Farmer John and his wife still had time for me, fed me just-out-of-the-oven cupcakes. And freshly brewed cup of coffee.

So as I said, I live in a very cool place, where everyone knows, or can figure out how to know, everyone else.

It’s comforting somehow.

And comes in really, really handy when you get lost in small towns as many times as I do.