Hangin' With My Gnomies

We've lived in the Midwest for just shy of four years now. I have to admit, it's grown on me. I like it here. It's beautiful in the spring, summer, and fall. (But not winter. Winter is ugly.) Rush hour 'traffic' in Lafayette is having to wait through an entire light cycle at an intersection. And the cost of living is hard to beat; what we paid for our house here would barely buy us an 800 square foot shack in California.

And the people are great! Talk about friendly! (No really - talk.) Plan an extra fifteen minutes for each errand you run because you have to factor in the conversation times of the people you meet in the aisles, in the check-out line, and with the cashier. (Who will, undoubtedly, tell you all about her children, how she met her husband, and why she chose to wear her denim culottes instead of white capris today.) It took me off guard when I first moved here: who were these people and how dare they say hello, let alone make eye contact with me?! I'm over it now, and the boys have truly embraced it. (We have to say hello to everyone that comes within a 50 foot radius of us, which makes going to the mall gabby, to say the least.)

Hoosiers are also very kind. Most people are willing to help you out if they see a need. And they're good people; they go to church, they volunteer in their community, they look out for one another. It's pretty nice.

But they also have some strange habits that I drive me a bit crazy.

For example, what's up with the way streets just suddenly change names at some random point and for no apparent reason. Seriously, how hard is it to pick just one name and stick with it? And how in the world do the streets just end and then magically reappear in other places. (Like 19th St here?)

Also, they totally mispronounce names on purpose here. We used to live by Schuyler Ave. How would you pronounce that? Like the German pronunciation 'shoo-ler', right? Not here; here it's 'sky-ler'. And Hungarian Kossuth (ko-shuth) is 'co-sooth'. And it's not just in Lafayette, it's all over. Versailles (vair-sigh) Indiana is pronounced just like it's spelled (ver-sales). New Palestine? New Pal-eh-steen. I know there's more, I just can't think of them right now. (Back me up here, past and present Hoosiers.)

But the thing that really gets me? The thing that I actually noticed right away, our first day here so long ago? The thing that no one ever warned me about?

Lawn ornaments.

They're everywhere.

It's like an obsession. I think true Midwesterners are genetically wired to need at least three lawn ornaments of some sort. And that's the minimum.

I'm not so much into lawn ornaments. I'm an au-natural kinda gal when it comes to my lawn. Decorative rocks (preferably dug from your own land) = good. Cement cherubs = bad! Let's let the plants do the the decorating, people!

I still vividly remember the day we first drove into Indiana. We had only been in the state for about five minutes when we passed not one but two cement lawn ornament factories. Talk about foreshadowing.

Seriously, I think we're one of maybe three people in the neighborhood who don't have at least one lawn ornament. Everyone else has tons: awkwardly-large fountains, Virgin Marys, Tweety Birds (*shudder*), Precious Moments (oh, how I loathe Precious Moments!), animals, globes, statues, wolves holding baskets (don't ask), chipmunks, sea monsters, gnomes (for reals!), family name signs and the geese. Oh, how they love the geese! I wanted to take pictures of all them, but then figured that the neighbors didn't need to get even more suspicious of their weirdo Mormon-doesn't-believe-in-lawn-ornaments-or-mispronunciation-of-foreign-names neighbors.

But I couldn't help but take pictures of these ones. (I pretended to be taking pictures of the boys in their wagon. Clever, right?)


That's right - they're gargoyles.

Gargoyles.

Gargoyles.

I thought they were up just for Halloween. But eight months later they're still standing guard in these flower beds.

Seriously, I just have to wonder about the thought process of these people.

'You know what would really complete the look of our front yard? Some grotesque medieval French monsters. Made of cement. Sweet.'

Well, to each his own. Who am I to judge?

My point in all of this? I don't think I really have one. Other than if you're coming to my house, it's easy to find. It's the boring, decidedly un-Midwestern one without all the lawn statuary.

Because gargoyles? Really?