The floor show... and it's free

Editor's Note: Commedienne Pam Stone writes her column for The Tryon Daily Bulletin twice each month from her office in the "Unabomber Shack" on her Gowensville farm. Want a chance to respond to this column? Go to Pam’s blog at www.tryondailybulletin.com.

There's several good reasons to move to a rural area: no traffic, dark, quiet nights, soothing vistas of bucolic green – these probably top the list. So I'm always amazed when my fellow Landrum and Tryonites fail to experience the reasons they claim to have moved here for.

"Did you see the lunar eclipse the other night?" I asked, still vividly recalling the silver slip of moon before it gradually bled into its own fullness.

"No." was the vague reply. "When was it?"

After filling in the date I'm met with a shrug of the shoulders. "I think I was on-line paying some bills."

It saddens me to think that Mother Nature has to compete for her unappreciative children's attention. It's nearly impossible to wrench a video game from a child's hand or turn off the television in any house when "American Idol" is airing. Still, the world outside quietly continues to offer heart swelling beauty each and every day. I sometimes grumble about rising each day at 6 a.m. to tend my horses but, in all honesty, there is no place I would rather be. Even on the most brittle of mornings when the frozen air (or urine-soaked shavings) sears into my lungs, I always take those few moments to watch the sun's arrival just above the tree line: sometimes a delicate, shell-pink, and other times a blazing gold, it never fails to stir something ancient, something primeval inside. And I will admit that I have felt so very close to God while tending to the garden that I have chosen to stay there instead of hurrying inside to shower and change for church on more than one Sunday morning. Man has yet to build a cathedral that can compete with the dappled light that filters through the leaves in the orchard as though they were stained glass.

I'm pretty sure it's going to be an uproarious spring. The forsythia that hasn't been pulled through the paddock railings and ingested by my horses is frothing with tiny yellow flowers and everyone knows the daffodils were out early. Each morning I pause and take note of the buds, still tight, but just beginning to relax on our dogwood and apple trees; it's lovely to actually witness the daily journey of the seasons.

It wasn't too long ago that I was being interviewed for a magazine article. I've often been asked, "What made you decide to get into show business?" and my stock reply has always been, "Because I have no marketable skills." It's good for a laugh. But the real answer is much simpler, if not a bit infantile: because I have always wanted to play outside.

Here's hoping that all of you will do just that.