Town Living

Staying at my aunt's house overnight I realized something: I couldn't stand living in town. Sometimes you just want to see trees, fields, fences-something other than houses, streets, yards; and hear birds, chickens, peacocks, rather than cars, dogs, traffic, semis, honking, trucks, and did I mention traffic?

Granted, most people probably don't want to hear chickens and a peacock...

But as I have said before, though I've never lived in the country, I'm a country girl wanna-be. It's funny, for my aunt, though she lives in town, lives much more out in the country than we, just on the edge of civilization, do. I like the idea of a little town with the proverbial "borrow-a-cup-of-sugar" type neighbors, but I do not like going outside, wondering if the neighbors are watching me, as I'm watching them. (That part is fun...)

My first sentence is hyperbole, of course. I would not be at all surprised if I one day live in a town or neighborhood. (It's called exaggeration to make a point. It might be fun, actually, to live in a neighborhood and make friends with the neighbors, as I said before.)

In that first sentence, I nearly wrote city rather than town. I would be surprised if I lived, at least for much length of time, in a city. Thinking about it, though, I almost wondered if I would prefer a city to a large town. You almost have the same privacy of country, for there are so many people that it's almost as if they are the scenery.

Cities are so fascinating. There is, in a city, so much "scope for the imagination." Every time I walk in a city (which has been...about five times that I can remember) I want to write stories. I don't know enough about living in a city, really, to write one, but you can't help imagining when you pass intriguing alleyways, dark subways lit with dim orange lights, tall buildings with roofs you can go onto, and so many fascinating people.

• A business man walking briskly towards a cement stairway below the street
• a young woman with a little girl's hand clasped tightly in hers
• a suspicious-looking Chinese man hawking his wares in China Town
• a man driving a vehicle with a big, shocking advertisement on it calling something at us that I was glad I did not understand
• a plainclothesman and an enterprising young couple weeping before they spend the night in jail

These are all pictures stuck in my mind from city-visiting.

But I didn't mean to write an essay on the city. Fascinating as city life may be, when you simply must go outside to read or write, or if you feel like singing a song that goes an octave and a half higher than you should ever sing, or you feel compelled to explore the woods, throw yourself on the grass, have a huge bonfire (and use said bonfire to make large sticks into torches with which to explore the yard in the dark)...well, some things you just can't do unless you live in the country-at least in what the city-slickers call country.

Granted, most people may not feel compelled to do those things...

Perhaps, had we stayed in a neighborhood, I would have been able to play things like Red Rover like I always wanted to; could have had lemonade and cookie stands-even a baker stand like I wanted to do some years ago; been able to ride our bikes on the sidewalk; made money babysitting, raking, shoveling, doing yard work; actually sold the newspaper/magazine we wrote; perhaps had the neighbor kids next door we wanted.

But I wouldn't trade them for wandering in the woods in the backyard; having a huge driveway to make our own neighborhoods out of chalk on; being able to run around yelling, even late at night, without (usually) bothering anyone; playing in the mud in a sandbox at least 25 times any green turtle or under-the play-set box.

There are three things I always felt sorry for others if they didn't have: a woods they could explore, a proper sandbox (any you can buy at a store aren't big enough to count), and a hill. (Laugh at me if you want. I still refer to our house as being on a hill even if I do realize now that it isn't much of one.) If only we had a creek, my childhood environment would have been complete.

I suspect many would not care if they lived without these things and would not trade them for the benefits of a neighborhood. Perhaps it's just what you're used to, and people can get used to pretty much anything. The neat thing is that wherever you are, God has provided plenty of wonderful things.

But wonderful is so over-used a term that you didn't think about what I meant or realize that wonderful is really what I mean. So, I'll tell you: wonderful means something inspiring wonder, full of beauty and intrigue, causing us to marvel. This is true whether your scenery is a forest, the faces of city-dwellers, or someone's backyard.

So, I take it back. I could stand to live in town or even in a tiny city apartment. But for now, I thank God that I can at least pretend I live in the country.