Ruralopolis: That’s my description of a five- or six-town region where we who live in rural, small-town America forage. Hey, we shop around. We improvise, combining the best variety of five or six towns that surround home base, offering a reasonably large choice of shopping, restaurants and entertainment. All you have to do is climb into the car and drive. It offers the equivalent of big-city services while maintaining the tranquil beauty of rural life.
Movie theaters offer a wide variety of film entertainment when combining towns, and you can vary restaurant dining from ethnic to special night-out spots. Shopping from Connecticut and Massachusetts to New York state increases the options exponentially, providing lifestyles equivalent to big-city neighborhoods accessed by rapid transit lines.
Years ago on Cape Cod we traveled the full length of the Cape constantly for the alternative environments provided by each town; even the beaches were different to the extent of some for swimming, others for beachcombing or just sitting back with a cooler of drinks and some barbecue equipment.
The Ruralopolis image also translated to Southern California, where a visit to Santa Barbara stretched all the way up that beautiful coast through the northern towns from Pismo Beach to Big Sur (a place too beautiful to describe) and Pacific Grove, home of “Cannery Row� on the Monterey Peninsula. The driving was long, meaning overnight stays, but scenery that beautiful relieves the tedium. California as the ultimate “car country� is visible while cruising past homes with six cars in the driveway.
Or course the word “rural� does conjure up a few less pleasant reminders, images worth noting in regard to “Ruralopolis,� such as spending the better part of a month cleaning the skunk odor from your front left tire. Then there’s the trauma of hitting a deer on the highway and the equally traumatic shock of receiving the car repair bill from the mechanic.
I’ve got a special place in my heart for those hellish field mice that invaded the vent system of my Honda with nesting material, seed (food) storage and lotsa mouse poop. Sure, I paid a mechanic hundreds to clean it out. But when you put out poison to try to dissuade them, they die in the walls. Owls, they eat ‘em, so their “hoots� are music to my ears. Coyotes feed on house pets and deer feed on anything that you enjoy growing. Bambi never had it so good.
But the air is clear and sweet with the scent of fresh cut grass (that requires constant cutting in season) and the lakes are pristine and pure and everybody knows your name and business. Hey, it saves the energy involved in introducing yourself. Folks I never thought I met smile and say, “Hello Mr. Lee,� and I just smile back because danged if I know who they are.
But my lifestyle in Ruralopolis has been devoid of transgression, I’m happy to say; I’m clean as a whistle (so to speak) compared to some years back in the big city. Ancient history. I’m pure as the driven snow up here, and speaking of driven snow, are you ready for the full onslaught of another winter in Ruralopolis?
Bill Lee lives in Sharon and New York City, and has for years drawn cartoons for this newspaper and many other publications of note.
