It's not the best village she's ever been in, but it's not bad - especially for a first. When you're born and raised in the same place, it's easy to ignore all the little things that make it special. Beyond the initial novelty of the "hometown" label, the sorts of little quirks and curiosities that …
They didn't want to. Everybody wants their kid to grow up into "something great," and her parents were no different. They're too high on the scent of wheat and manure to look past the fantasies for what they are: meaningless words infused into meaningless stories; nothing but another collection of random symbols in old sheepskin.
What would your idol do? Run? Fight? Hide? Cower, and whimper in place? Play dead? Climb a tree? Other children have reasonable idols. Or, rather, they have reasonable ideas about their idols.
There's no more work to be done. The cows are well-fed, the parents are well-slept, and she's left to her own devices in a safe and wide-open countryside.