From Concrete to Country

Raised on Concrete

I was a concrete kid. Raised in town. A paved driveway. Rode my bike on asphalt.

The grocery store was three minutes away. If we forgot milk, we hopped in a car and grabbed a gallon. Church was a mile up the road. Our high school was a seven-minute drive—if we caught all the green lights. Softball practice and games were five minutes south, and all our doctors were within a four-minute drive.

We regularly groomed our small, inside dogs and walked them on leashes. Bikes, scooters, strollers, and wagons were all readily available for nightly strolls through the neighborhood. On these walks, we always spoke and visited with the folks on our street. My family knew almost all our neighbors.

Then I Met Country

The guys I dated in high school were all nice, town guys. They drove cars and worked at the grocery or convenience stores. Then I met David—flannel shirts; heavy work pants; lace-up, waterproof, steel-toed boots; and a t-shirt with a pocket for his earplugs. He worked on a logging crew and drove an old, black Ford truck with a dog in the back named Bo.

I knew nothing of his world. He had no close neighbors. Twenty minutes from anywhere. And muddy dirt roads.

Our fourth date showed me the extent of the disconnect between our two worlds. I picked him up from his house in the woods in my little, white Kia Rio and headed to town for supper and a movie.

The date was nice, and we started for home. After we turned onto the dirt road, David suddenly yelled, “Pull over!”

Before I could even get the car in park, he leaped out, slammed the door, and began chasing some hairy creature down the ditch. All the color drained from my face. Fear overtook me. I reached out and manually locked all the doors. Whatever he was chasing was not getting in my car.

Then he banged on my trunk with his elbows while I watched him in my rearview mirror wrestling a large, rodent-like animal. “Open the trunk! I caught a beaver!”

“No way!” I yelled back as I double checked all the doors with my eyes.

“He’s got teeth. He’s gonna bite me. Open up!”

“I don’t want a beaver in my trunk. NOT HAPPENING!”

He finally gave up and let the beaver go. I made him show me both hands were empty at the door before I unlocked it and let him in.

“I worked hard to catch that beaver and now you made me let him go.”

There were no words I could offer. My pale, freaked-out expression said it all.

But Then I Married Country

The beaver was just the beginning. Reptiles of all shapes and sizes have been brought into my house just to hear me and our two boys scream and do the critter dance. Wild hogs were my first anniversary present followed by a giant softshell turtle for year number two. He’s chased rats and mice, flying squirrels, and opossums, and wrestled skunks and racoons from the jaws of our dogs. Armadillos don’t stand a chance as he reaches into holes, grabs them by the tail, holding them while he and the dogs dig them up. He and the boys have raised chickens, turkeys, and guineas. There was even a time when he climbed into the chicken pen, grabbed the young fowl, and taught them how to climb the roost pole.

I’ve rescued him from the middle of mudholes, tops of trees, and abandoned dirt roads. I never know which direction to explore as he chases down rogue dogs in pursuit of wild animals.

Turned Country

But every time I come home to some crazy critter hunt, find myself behind the wheel of a tractor, or ride in the back of a pick-up truck on a dirt road, I remember the prayer I prayed as a late teenager: God, please send me a husband that I will never get bored with.

God knew exactly what and who I needed. He knew this concrete kid needed a dose of country to loosen her up. He knew I was a lot more comfortable in boots and blue jeans than I ever was in dresses and pantyhose. And he knew I would fit right into this country world he had provided for our family.

Our God sure does have a mighty big sense of humor sometimes. Different and new doesn’t mean bad. It might take some getting used to, but if I can go from concrete to country, maybe there’s something new you need to consider as well.

Won’t you take a chance and try that new thing?

Christy Bass Adams

Christy Bass Adams, is the Outreach and Connections Coordinator at Fellowship Baptist Church in Madison, Florida. She is also a writer and had her first devotional book published in summer of 2022 (Big Lessons from Little People) followed by a middle grades novel (Imagination Checkers) in the fall. Her most important role, however, is with her family as a wife of 18 years and mother to two busy boys. She worked in education for over 18 years at both the elementary and collegiate levels. Her favorite pastimes are fishing and sitting around a fire. For more from Christy, visit her blog at

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