And peace comes dropping slow ...

Well, Rancho San Fulano de Buffalo isn't exactly the Lake Isle of Innisfree, but it is generally peaceful in a chaotic and busy way. I've been here for a week and a half and mostly have accomplished the needful, to the point that I now get a few hours every day to sit very still in a lawn chair [loaned by a friend; i forgot to bring my own] and read while I listen to the robins and bobwhite quail and meadowlarks and even, blessedly, a couple of mockers who hang around the manor house [a FEMA trailer] to keep in touch with a homeboy. The meadowlark is the state bird of Kansas and a fine choice it was. As a new guy in a hamlet of fewer than 300 souls, I am the object of considerable curiosity to locals. They drive by slowly, eyeballing me, or stop and debrief me if they have some plausible pretext. Then they tell me their life stories. I don't think I so much represent a possible sympathetic ear as a fresh ear. Their stories are often sad; this part of the world is very poor and scuffles are the ordinary mode of employment -- cutting firewood [how many fireplaces can there be?], scrapping, doing pick-up jobs. Disability is the second-place employer. People look sound, but I guess inside they are unable to work. Another reaction is a fierce dedication to work, a frightening sense of industry. Sooner or later, you will hear the get-'er-done catchword. I mostly like the people, but they are of a different tribe from my own, maybe a bit less into kidding as a choice for communication.