Creekbank Stories Curt Iles, Storyteller
In the Land of Sirens
I’ve lived in self-exile in the City of Alexandria, Louisiana, for over ten years.
I’m not complaining. We made this move from our Dry Creek (via three years in Africa) to relocate to Central Louisiana.
We moved here for one primary reason: to live among our grandchildren.
Notice I said among. That’s a word from my rural upbringing in Dry Creek.
Most folks lived in what I’d call clans or clusters.
More on that later.
One of the biggest adjustments to city living was the constant barrage of sirens. We live near two of Alexandria’s principal thoroughfares. Most days, I hear the sound of sirens hurrying toward some disaster or problem.
I’ve lived here long enough that I’ve blocked out the sirens. I seldom notice them unless I’m on the streets.
But that’s not how I grew up.
The sound of any siren brought Dry Creek to a full stop.
Folks would get in their cars and follow a sheriff’s cruiser or ambulance, eager to find out the source.
Others would get on the party line, quickly spreading rumors as to the direction of the source of distress.
People would dial the Dry Creek hotline for news: The Post Office or Ryan Harper’s Store.
It was a big deal.
Citizens in Alexandria rarely stop or look up.
I can guarantee that time still stops when a siren blares through Dry Creek.
Not so in the land of sirens.
Do I regret leaving the woods?
Like everything in life, it’s a trade-off.
We gain some; we lose others.
Only you can compute your personal Profit and Loss Statement.
Next month, Ellen Iles begins a one-two punch of junior high basketball and team soccer.
I’ll be there every game if possible.
I’m pretty comfortable with our choice.
It’s really simple: Grandkids trump all.
