I live in a portion of the state where the rednecks and cowboys bought two-story colonial homes in suburban neighborhoods. Diesel pickup trucks dominate the roadways and trailer parks are common. On summer days, the nearby rivers could have been the inspiration for Criag Morgan’s “Redneck Yacht Club”.
The family across our street might be a perfect specimen of this county. They tossed a bunch of gravel and sand horizontally over their front lawn to make a second driveway. They have tattered NASCAR and football flags flying year long. Their laundry – underwear and all – is always dried on the line. In an eco-conscious community, it would be considered green. Here it seems tacky and cheap.
Today, I looked at their green and yellow tee-shirts basking in the sun, and I realized that they appeared much like the Buddhist prayer flags. While not a Buddhist, I enjoy seeing the brightly colored fabrics and their strange marking decorating homes and porches. Suddenly, my neighbor’s laundry seemed beautiful, too. They were offering a more less pretension prayer perhaps.
Then, I looked at my own home. My husband drives a Chevy truck. We have a dingy green fishing boat parked on the lawn. A toilet has decorated our back porch since February. (We moved it out there to complete some renovations on the downstairs bathroom.) Once a week, I dry my baby’s diapers on the line to kill bacteria and fungus living in the cotton. … So, I asked myself, “Who is more redneck, us or them?” I fear it might be us.