COUNTRY LIVING

I bought a book at Costco last year called "Country Living." I keep it on my coffee table and read a section now and then; it's chock full of good info about how to pluck a chicken, grow asparagus, build a beehive. I haven't done any of those things yet, even though I live on 5 acres of blackberries in the country.

I went to visit a couple of country friends the other day and noticed their lovely gardens with
eight-foot high fences around them (to keep out the critters) and their chicken coops and their sheds with tractors and other country paraphernalia. They are living the country life. I went home feeling guilty, wondering why I can't conjure the energy to clear out these blackberries so I can build an eight-foot high fence and plant a garden. Or fruit trees. Or build a chicken coop or a beehive. It all sounds so country smart . . . and romantic. Living the country life.

While grumbling to my friend, June, about all this, she commented, "That's OK. You're not really a country girl; you're a nature girl." Ding-ding! That's true! What I love about living in the country is that I can sit anywhere in my house and look out the window at my beautiful trees. I can happily sit for hours, looking at trees. I love to sit on my deck at night and look at the stars, which shine so bright and clear away from the lights of the city. I realized I am a poet, not a gardener. And the world needs poets, too, right?

There's still the issue of wanting to feel like I know HOW to do these self-sufficient things, even if I choose to hire them out, or simply not do them at all and just look at my trees. But I'll deal with that tomorrow. Right now, the trees are calling.