Globe Corner Blogs

Daffodils - photo by Llalan

After a stint in New York City, I have moved back to Ohio – a part of Ohio that New Yorkers would call rural. Last night I heard muffled bumping and scuffling on the porch. I opened the door to find three raccoons looking up at me over nearly empty bowls of cat food, left out for the strays. Before I stomped my feet and yelled nonsense at them, I paused. They really are beautiful creatures with their full tails, sharp black masks, and delicate paws.

Every Ohioan I meet says, “New York, eh? Must be quite some culture shock for you here,” poking gentle fun at our small town. They are right to an extent. A few weeks ago I was walking down the street in my bright red wool coat. Several women crossed my path and stared. Perhaps it was the herringbone scarf. My hair stylist asked where I was from, because of my accent.

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Ohio - photo by Llalan

Two things you notice about Ohio when you visit the countryside are the sounds and the light. Coming home from a big city, the contrasts are stark.

Sometimes the lack thereof is enough to remind you where you are.  When I lay in bed at night I hear nothing but the ringing in my ears, the speedy rewind of the day’s incidental noises. My apartment in Boston is not in a loud part of town, but this is a different kind of quiet. This is the kind of silence that makes you think about yourself and your family, sleeping in the bedrooms below you, whether you want to or not. A snowplow scrapes along the road and I’m startled awake.

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