In light of the Nebraska caucus, I have seen so much stereotyping of rural voters. Very little of it is funny, and none of it is true.
So, I want to tell you the stories of where I come from.
I proudly call myself a hick. I love loud country music, old rusty pick-ups, and cowboy boots. The saddest part of moving to "the city" for me was not being able to find a line dancing club.
So, come on and give me some fresh air give me that farm
Give me some time with you in my arms
Far away from the hustle and the pressure and the noise
Gonna kick off my shoes
And run in bare feet
Where the grass and the dirt and the gravel all meet
Goin' back to the well gonna visit old friends
And feed my soul, where the blacktop ends
(From "Where the Blacktop Ends" by Keith Urban)
I grew up the daughter of divorced parents. My mom lived in "the city" of about 18,000 people. My father lived in a place that all it had was it's own dot on the map. I asked him the population of that little town... he counted them off on his fingers, and then went back and named all their dogs. My cousins have a llama farm there: The llamas outnumber the people. The town consists entirely of a few farm houses on a short stretch of hilly country blacktop with a one-room methodist church.
My father was the Sheriff of the small farm county. The county seat was a town of about 1,200 people. He was a Democrat. (Granted, probably what we would consider a Blue Dog or a Dixiecrat, but a Democrat nonetheless.) This was an incredibly red area, but my father knew how to speak to the interests and needs of the people.
I have a very fond memory of a story that I always tell when people express disbelief that I am a hick. My sisters and I were playing outside. I'm the oldest of 4 girls and a boy, though this story occurred before my brother was born. We lived at the top of a rather large hill, and at the bottom of that hill, probably about 20-30 yards from the house (maybe more) was a big old tree. We were playing tag, I think, and all of the 4 or 5 trees in our yard were base. As one of my sisters was running towards the old one at the bottom of the hill, she stop and let out a blood curling scream. There was a huge black snake sitting on the tree, perpendicular to the ground.
The four of us ran up to the house and told our dad. He told us to go inside, and he went to the gun cabinet to get his shotgun. He goes back outside, stands on the front porch, and uses the shotgun to shoot the snake off the tree! Then he calmly goes to the shed, gets a garden hoe to pick it up with, and throws it over to the pigs.
Speaking of the pigs, I showed hogs in 4H. Came ever so close to the showmanship trophy twice, and had quite a few blue ribbon pigs.
Well, you might think I'm trashy, a little too hardcore
But in my neck of the woods I'm just the girl next door
I'm a redneck woman
I ain't no high class broad
I'm just a product of my raising
I say, 'hey y'all' and 'yee-haw'
And I keep my Christmas lights on
On my front porch all year long
And I know all the words to every Tanya Tucker song
So here's to all my sisters out there keeping it country
Let me get a big 'hell yeah' from the redneck girls like me
(from "Redneck Woman" by Gretchen Wilson)
I remember camping in our timber. I remember teasing the girliest of my sisters with worms and toads. I remember eating squirrel and deer that my dad had hunted. I remember my dad cutting his leg when skinning a squirrel, and I remember him going to the hospital when a thorn tree he was cutting out of our sheep pasture fell on him and one of the inch-long thorns went into the top of his head. I remember my dad's old Ford pick-up he fondly called "Old Blue." I remember my first pair of cowboy boots. I remember picking clover and corn from the fields the night before the 4H fair. I remember 4H weenie roasts and hay rides.
I remember our town's Burgoo. We would all have a big fair in the town square. There would be booths set up, local bands playing throughout the day, a little miss pageant, and a big dance that night. The whole town would turn out. There would be huge 3-4 foot tall barrels over fires to cook the burgoo in, with the men of the town taking it in shifts to stir it all throughout the day.
Everyone knew each other. The kids could run the neighborhood without fear. The whole town was one big family. We all watched out for each other and cared for each other. I remember loving to bake and taking our neighbor cookies at his workplace.
It is from these experiences that I learned the basis of my current political leanings. We are all equal. We are all hard-working. And we should all work together to take care of each other. We were banded together in the best and in the worst of times.
If I had to guess, the conservative nature that so many people see in rural people comes from religion, and maybe a small cynicism towards "outsiders." However, for the most part, rural people have wonderful progressive values, and it just takes someone who will take the time to sit with them and have a glass of iced tea and talk to them about the issues in their terms. Until we are willing to do that, the stereotypes will continue.
So, stop stereotyping. Find a small farm community or a stretch of country road, and get to know the people. Go to their fairs. Sit with them in the local diner and have a glass of sweet tea. Talk to them about progressive issues in their terms. You will find them very friendly and willing to talk to you all afternoon, and you will make some friends who are loyal beyond anyone else, friends you will never lose.
Had three TV channels you got up to change
No video games and no satellite
All we had were friends and they were outside
Playing outside
It was a different life
When we were boys and girls
Not just a different time
It was a different world
(from "A Different World" by Bucky Covington)
