The country at night

 

                 In an evolutionary sense, its completely reasonable to be afraid of the dark. For centuries, venturing too far from home at night meant certain mauling by some unseen beast, or worst. In horror movies, nothing good has ever happened at night, and even less so in the dark. A lot of folklore is also centered around night, and like horror movies, and it usually involves something bad happening in an isolated place (Robert Johnson comes to mind). Yes, the dark is definitely scary.

                        As a person that grew up in the country, that fear of the dark deeply resonates with me as well. Isolation, imagination, and that underlying evolutionary sense of fear don’t make for a good combination in an idle mind. Even into middle and high school, I did more things to avoid it than I would like to admit; sprinting back to the house after taking the trash out late at night, and avoiding the tree line when it takes longer to cut the grass than you expected. My grandparents’ house is connected to ours through a path in the woods, and naturally this became no-man’s land after the sun went down each night. With the wrong set of eyes and ears, anything heard or seen in this environment instantly becomes a predator, and should be avoided at all costs. However, as I got older this sense of fear began to fade into more of a sense of gratitude and appreciation.

 

                        I can’t pinpoint the exact moment this shift happened. Maybe it was the first time I noticed the way the moon casts its light over everything, unadulterated by streetlamps or artificial light. Maybe it was the way the trees rise up like giants in the dark, and the hills and fields just seem to roll on and on. Getting a motorcycle definitely helped; there is nothing quite like blasting down empty stretches of country road at night, just taking it all in. And let’s be clear, it is creepy. Stopping at four-ways at night still conjures up images of Robert Johnson at the crossroads, making his Faustian bargain. Unseen horrors still lurk beyond certain parts of the tree line, just out of reach. It’s easy to look around and see how that kind of environment would shape countless numbers of horror movies, books, and folktales. Nevertheless, it’s all part of that same sense of wonder and natural beauty. Everything is around you, and its all so alive and real; crickets chirping, bullfrogs croaking, a gentle breeze rolls by and goes onto somewhere else in the night. Even while our world is asleep, another one is waking up. Despite this barrage of noise, there is a sense of quiet in the air. There are no car alarms, no sirens, no horns. There are no unnatural obtrusions, it’s just your own thoughts and the night. In this context, it’s hard to be afraid.

 

                        I definitely understand being afraid of the dark, and to be fair, there are still a lot of places I would definitely avoid at night. However, I have a deep sense of appreciation for the kind of mystery and wonder places like where I grew up can offer at night. Now, I consider it an important part of what shaped me growing up, and who I am today. Although I love my life in Athens, I hope that I’m never too far away from experiencing that familiar sense of serenity that reminds me of home. And even if one day I do decide to leave and never return, I know I’ll never forget it.