The Naturalist

Does the county mouse ever return to the city?
Is the country a state of mind?
Can we ever forget our favorite childhood places?

 A quiet country man moved to the city. He was tired of the small town mentality and longed for an adventure of his own. His dream from very young was to get out of this one horse town, to get as far away as possible, burning all bridges as he escaped. He wanted to see all there was to see, to be all there was to be, and to become one with his world. He loved the experience of each new day. He thought the city would give him a life he had only dreamt of. There was so much hope and excitement in his heart as he prepared for the day he would leave this all behind. He often imagined himself as a captive bird about to spread his wings for the first time. He could taste freedom.

 

               Packing up his bags and belongings he was moving to suburbia shortly, in search of his fortune. There were many jobs not suited for one so talented as he, but, some he took just to make the ends meet. he finally became an educator, a dream realized. Now all those years of college would pay off. He was making more money than his father ever made. The first few years was learning everything they don't teach you in college. He made his way and even earned another degree.

                But life was not what he had imagined. He could not believe how difficult it was to adjust  to this new life he had made for himself. He also couldn't believe how much he missed his life in the country. Wherever he lived the first thing he would do was to find a little space of green, a park, a forest, an abandoned field, an unnamed street or path, some place that had fewer cars and noises than he saw or heard on his commute to work each day.

               He loved to spend ours out in nature because it reminded him of his childhood home. This thought often came to him during these excursions: You can take the boy out of the country but you cannot take the country out of the boy. Not only did he search for new places to explore, a brook here, a quarry there, a footpath or a bike trail, but, he began to search for ways to transform his dwelling into more natural coves. First came the branches, then the fence posts, plants and flowers in wooden boxes were soon to follow. There were even two metal garden gates rescued from the trash.

 

               He used an old wooden door he found on his parent's property buried beneath a wood pile in the woodshed to create a grand entrance to his 'Appalachian Room' It was complete with mason jars, and country collectibles, wooden crates of magazine, a granny square afghan, and country calendars. The pictures he hung on the walls were also scenes he had taken captive while on his journeys outside. He even read books about the simple life, and subscribed to country magazines.

               Once he tried to move away from his suburban life, but he had grown accustomed, maybe even entangles, by its provisions and conveniences . He resolved in his mind to stay and created even more country images in his tiny one-bedroom apartment. There were the garden ornaments, a fish tank made form an urn, more twigs and branches, more floral arrangements both fresh and fake, a garden bench was added along with many pictures of nature's glory.

 

               So the quiet county man stayed in the city and vacationed in the county. Now instead of wanting to be away from all that is small town and petty he longs for those days when he gets in his car and drives away. His breathing eases as he gets beyond the four, six, or eight lane highways. As he sees the first open space his heart begins to sing. He truly delights on those rare occasions when he gets to drive on dirt roads hugged by ancient overgrown  trees. They form a tunnel and his vision is once again fixed on the boy he once knew. The boy who would disappear for hours and upon returning home always be greeted by the same question his father loved to ask: "So what did you see?"

 

           He still tries to see all there is to see. The walks are shorter, the spaces not so free, the silences not so golden, the forest not as dense, the animals and the wildlife more rare, the abandoned orchards and farmhouses not found. But, still the county boy walks and is thankful for each moment he feels grass between his toes and not pavement beneath his shoes. He rejoices in the times when his ears hear no traffic and his eyes see nothing manmade. There is a joy in the living and only two weeks separate him from this world and the one that he now dwells in. He is excited about what he will see there, and wonders who he will become this time in the country.