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For the last time, I live in
the country, not in the sticks. And I am relaxed, not a
hick.
Ever since we moved to the
country, I get the feeling you city-folk are confused. So
here is a primer on what it means to be living in the
country.
When you walk three blocks
from your house in the city, you will be in another
neighborhood...and possibly lost. We'll be approaching our
next-door neighbor's front porch.
The neighbors are no
trouble at all. Sure they play hard rock heavy metal
blow-your-brains out music all evening...but the birds and
the crickets drown out the racket.
Our neighbor across the
road has a sign that stays lit up all night: Bert's Auto
Repair. He no longer does auto repair, but he doesn't do
sign removal either. See? We have a downtown, too.
We don't need streetlights.
We already have the stars, thank you very much. What do
you mean, "What are stars?"
You have gangs in the city.
Every now and then, somebody loses an ear, a few fingers
or a loved one. Ha! We have gangs, too. Our gangs eat the
field mice. Bet your gangs won't do that for you.
Don't be shocked if you see
a free-range skunk waddling across our front lawn on the
way over there. We might not have major league baseball,
but who says we can't have a mascot? And our theatre
nights don't cost us much. Most of the crickets and
lightening bugs play for free.
Sure, I'll mow the lawn.
Remind me next month.
By the way, it's called a
septic tank, not a skeptic tank. And yes, Irma Bombeck was
right. And so are the weeds.
Every Monday morning I go
for a hike. I tie up my laces. I put on my cap. And I grab
hold of two heavy bags. Then I walk. And walk. And walk.
And just when I feel like I can carry the bags no farther,
I reach the end of the driveway. Yes, Monday is garbage
day.
Out here, we ride our
mowers and push our brooms. In the city, we hear you do
the reverse.
You go to the grocery store
to get your food. We cut out the middle man. We pick our
own raspberries (both black and red) out back. And out
front. And down the hill. And over in the woods.
We grow our own apples; in
fact, the trees might give fruit by next year...hopefully.
And when we're in the mood
for chicken, we sit silently at the property line with a
hatchet, waiting for a stray bird to accidentally
wandering under the fence. Or we drive to town for some
KFC.
It's true. The nearest
grocery store is seven miles away. But it takes me only
seven minutes to get there...which is how long it took me
to get out of the condo parking lot when I lived in the
city.
We don't need bars. We have
bonfires. The action gets pretty hot, especially when we
have plenty of wood to burn. And who needs alcohol when
you can just stand downwind from the fire?
We don't worry too much
about breathing in pollution. There's not much of that
around here. But we do keep our mouths closed when the
mosquitoes are swarming.
Lady bugs are very pretty,
but not when there are 30,000 of them squeezing their way
into your walls. If only they ate mosquitoes
We have mice. You have
rats. Mice are cuter.
Too bad they don't eat
mosquitoes.
Sure I commute. What do you
think we have a staircase for?
Don't get me wrong, the
city's a great place for theatre, basketball and fancy
restaurants that serve you itsy bitsy morsels on huge
white plates with sweeping splashes of colored sauces.
But have you ever noticed
how very few depictions of paradise include skyscrapers,
traffic lights and hot dog vendors? Come pay us a visit
and you can enjoy paradise all to yourself...if you don't
mind sharing it with the chickens, the skunk, the
crickets, the mice and the mosquitoes.
Excuse me now. I have a
mouse trap to empty.
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