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["Marie McHarry" <mmcharry AT dtnspeed.net>]

<<Country air is cleaner. Mostly I think superior rural health is the result

of being surrounded by lots of natural space, which has a calming effect on 
our species. We are territorial animals and feel less threatened and 
therefor have less tension when we have excessive space between us and that 
strange-looking potential mugger or those weaving cars.>>


Amen. The longer I live here, the more allergic I am to having neighbors
close to me. I grew up on a homestead that was (well, still is) right in the
center of a section. I'm a quarter of a mile from the hamlet of Sweetwater,
and I would like to be more remote, but I can't complain. Except when the
nearest neighbors have karaoke nights or the dogs have a good howl (which
travels around Sweetwater and all the local farms -- you can listen to the
pups picking up the song -- it's quite peaceful.

I have a recurring nightmare that I have to move back to Chicago where I
spent 12 long years in exile. It won't happen -- I'd fall on my sword first
(if I had a sword), but it's a distressing dream.

One of the things I like about rural life is that people are so good to one
another. If an emergency comes up I can call any number of people who will
help me. Most of them are acquaintances rather than what I'd label as good
friends, but they will respond to the asking. Of course, I'll do the same
for them, and mostly we all get along without too much help, but if it's
needed, people don't have to think over what they should do.

A couple of examples of small but invaluable help: One extremely hot summer
day I got to work and realized that I hadn't checked the pullets' water. So
I called my nearest neighbor and asked her if she would check. She went
right over. And then last fall, the two resident jackasses figured out how
to open the pasture gate. It was nearly 10 o'clock when a couple of pickups
showed up escorting the wanderers home. (As it turned out, all I had to do
was wire the gate shut -- they'd figure out how to work the fairly intricate
lock.)

And then there's big time help. Three years when my husband was very ill, I
was almost home from the hospital when the doctor called and told me to turn
around because Jim had taken a turn for the worse. At the time I was heating
with an outdoor wood boiler and no backup, so I would have come home to a
frigid house if someone hadn't loaded the boiler. I called another near
neighbor. He not only loaded the boiler that night, but he did so for the
next week (Jim died that night) until I told him that I really could do it
myself.

Living in the country is far less isolated than living in the city, but
folks keep out of your way when you want to be alone.

But, I'm just rambling,
Marie