Here's the irony, though. Several years ago we drove for miles into the country to see a home that was for sale. Miles.....
The farther we drove, the more conscious I was of how far away we were from . . . everything! No cars, no homes, no people. It was like falling down a hole that had no bottom and the top was too far behind us to see. All we could do was keep going down, down, and farther away. The isolation began to weigh heavy on me.
We drove up at last into the driveway of the home we had come to see. Neither of us moved--too lonesome to get out of the car.
"Can we go back home?" I asked. "Yes," my husband said.
I was quiet all the way home--startled by how the whole experience had effected me. I had always longed for "a place in the country."
That was 20 years ago, and I still long for the simplicity of small town living, especially as construction continues around us.
I read this spring that another mega multi-use development is likely to be built several miles from us. When I read the article in our weekly newspaper, fretting crept in like a bad monkey . Then I remembered the trip down the long, lonesome hole. My fretting didn't feel as urgent or as pushy as it once did.
It has been said of Atlanta that its people don't know how to drive unless there are orange barrels on the road. That's true, we don't, even up here well north of the city; it makes for a fast ride and fast people; but I do have a garden here at Rabbit Hill that may or may not give us tomatoes and herbs this year, and Tucker the Dog to jump like a horse over my white-wood fence to help me keep things in balance.
And the woods. Don't forget about the woods, or as The Boys call it, "The Deep Dark Woods." We'll keep everything balanced and up close, wolf or no wolf.