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I get a kick out of people who say they wouldn't live in the country because there's nothing to do. Holy mackerel! All you gotta do around here is just go out the back door, and you'll end up somewhere—in a pasture of cattle, a fallow field, the woods, a swamp (good for taking the pigs for a walk and to catch turtles and snakes), a small town (better in the morning for a hot cup of coffee and fresh pastry), a vineyard (best on wine-tasting days), an old barn, parks, the beach—you name it.
Unlike city dwellers, country folk live their lives by the seasons, remaining in step with nature's cyclical pageant. In the fall, we're sweeping the chimney, putting away for the winter, taking stock of the vegetables and fruits we've canned, digging sweet potatoes, freezing greens, winterizing the house and boat, cutting and stacking wood, collecting walnuts to crack around the Christmas tree, and picking the last of late crabs for eating crabcakes on a snowy winter's day.
We hunker down for winter, catch up on some reading, paint the kitchen, fix some furniture, clean the basement—last year's unkept promises. Deer hunters turn on their CBs and tune into handles: “Redman,” “Chew Tobacca,” “Froggy,” “Ox,” “Twinky,” and others. Still-hunters will also monitor the radio—stealthily—to monitor where the boys are droppin' the dogs, then slink stealthily into the woods and wait. Eventually, the distant bay of hounds will gradually grow louder, heralding a white flag flying through the woods. Hopefully, a big buck, but a young doe (in season) will do just as well, if not better, for roasts in the oven and steaks with oysters on the grill.
This spring, when the jonquils and crocus begin peeking through a lingering light frost, we'll hook herring and salt them down for an infrequent salt fish dinner. We'll peek in the Farmer's Almanac to remind ourselves the best times to plant during the various phases of the moon and begin to count the number of days before the wood stove can finally burn itself out. By then, it won't be long before planting vegetables and flowers and getting the lawn mower in gear for the grass cutting business.
During the summer, we keep cut flowers and roses on the kitchen table. We feast on fresh vegetables—asparagus and strawberries first—then English peas, radishes, and a variety of lettuce. Then will come a virtual assault of cukes, zucchini, and various squash—all the while keeping a wary eye on the growing sweet corn. Corn day will bring the family members together, each assigned a particular task. Picked and thrown into the bed of a pickup, the kids will shuck and bring it into the kitchen where it's silked and blanched by Grandma, then cut off the ear by her helpers. Finally, bagged and put into the freezer, the corn will then be retrieved for, among other things, corn pudding on the Thanksgiving table.
Don't get me wrong, the city's a nice place to visit, especially at Christmas when it's all lit up. Yes, we have to get in the car for groceries or to go see a movie. No, there isn't a theater or museum right around the corner. But, all things considered, country life is a grand life—not for the sedentary or the faint of heart, nor for those whose femoral pulse is measured—not by the seasons—but by bits and bytes.
Living in rural Virginia—all part of living the good life.pl
This article is published courtesy of The Westmoreland News, Montross, Virginia
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