My first two years of college I attended a community college. I wasn’t sure of what I wanted to study and I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave my boyfriend at the time so I stuck around home and earned an Associate degree first.
It turned out to be a good idea, no matter what the motivation. It was less expensive, both in tuition and in the fact that I could go on living at home. The classes were small and registration was uncomplicated. I was able to try my hand at accounting and discover that small business accounting was sort of fun and interesting, but full-fledged accounting is beyond me. I was able to take photography courses and get time in the dark rooms without much competition.
The small college also made it easy to meet and make new friends. Chances were good that I would have some of the same people in my classes each quarter. I was (and still am) quiet and anxious about making small talk, so it helped to see the same people over and over again.
One of those people that I met introduced me to a phenomenon I was only vaguely aware of previously. When kids want to get together in rural communities, the party rolls out in the pasture.
The first time I found myself on a farm cracking open a can of beer I was slightly uncomfortable. The not-so distant mooing of the Holsteins made me nervous, as I wasn’t quite convinced that they wouldn’t band together and run us off their property. Any calls of nature necessitated a game of cow-pie roulette; one wrong step and you could find yourself with at the least a shoe full of steaming crap.
As the nights wore on the beverages flowed freely and the brains often turned into one of those piles. If the boys weren’t trying to kill one another with chainsaws, they were smearing manure on themselves and cackling maniacally.
Most often on those nights I would find myself perched on the tailgate of a pickup with a cute boy by my side discussing some inordinately somber topic in the guise of sounding intelligent. He was probably just humoring me by listening in hopes of getting a little nonverbal communication in the end. I was a beer philosopher.
And yet, for all the lessons I learned in school, I think I learned just as many out with the cows on star-filled nights.
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P.S. It's Bloggy Giveaway Carnival time again! Go enter a bunch of giveaways! I decided not to participate this time since I'm busy with other stuff...and I'm not convinced it helps me gain readers anyway. I'll probably do another giveaway on my own soon though!
Monday, October 27, 2008
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I went to a community college too. It wasn't as good for me as it was an extension of high school, but it was cheaper which is good. For me I really learned once I went out on my own!
These kinds of parties were common in my high school--apparently I was too nerdy to go to them, though!
This must have been why my college boyfriend was always so eager to take me out in his pickup to area pastures. He'd been to community college before we'd met in state college. Interesting twist to this, however, was that, when we'd get to the pasture, it would just be the two of us.
And maybe a couple cows.
;)
Well, this just proves we never stop learning. If my boys start showing an interest in farms, now I know what to look for. :)
I went to a couple of pasture parties back in the day. Those were the places I learned to let go of everything and just be myself. And where I learned that people actually liked me. It was a revelation. :)
Ah. Here, they are BUSH parties. You know. Where the bears live.
Beer philosopher, hee hee! Sounds like a good way to get to know people -- a *great* education, and one you can't learn in school.
They say, these are the moments when the mind is sharp and the tongue is loose.
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