Moving To The Country
Yes, Brooklyn,
Kingston, for you, is the country. I know it. You're not wrong, not relatively speaking.
Woodstock's rural. Rhinebeck -- so quaint. Hudson? Adorable.
Phoenicia, Palenville? The sticks!
But trust me, there's more country-ish country than that, and I've moved there.
I'm still in the Catskills. In fact, I'm IN them.
Let's begin at the beginning.
My former house is a great place and I never much liked it. Sorry. Fact.
It was a ranch. In a suburban development between Kingston and Woodstock. Highly practical. Livable. And unlovable.
There were no gardens at all when I moved there. And when I started to plant, I discovered the house had been built on fill dragged in from the rest of the neighborhood. It was basically an island of rubble.
Not much grew. And what did grow got eaten by the perfectly adorable and very hungry deer who outnumbered us ten to one.
Here's what I wanted:
And we found it.
It is two hours from where we used to live, at twice the elevation of where we were. The climate is different, the weather is different, the storms blow through here quickly and then seem to pick up steam in the mountains and absolutely pound the Hudson River Valley. Here? A little rain.
I like New York City. I visit fairly often. But something has happened since we're here. Something's different since we get our eggs at the farm stand down the road with the metal cash box that no one guards. Something's changed.
Binghamton felt like New Jersey to me yesterday when I had to go there. I'm fine if I never have to go there again. Albany? Huge. So many people. So much sprawl. It's hot. It's crowded. People are cranky.
I suspect New York City is going to feel like an urban theme park in its unreality.
Reality now is a tiny village with one gas station, a post office, a restaurant, pizza place and two antique shops. Reality is that the biggest noise on the road are the dairy trucks heading to the farm down the road. Reality is closing the windows when the manure spreader shows up in the back field.
Reality is pretty damned blissful. Life? Not always so much. But reality of day to day living? Amazing.
Kingston, for you, is the country. I know it. You're not wrong, not relatively speaking.
Woodstock's rural. Rhinebeck -- so quaint. Hudson? Adorable.
Phoenicia, Palenville? The sticks!
But trust me, there's more country-ish country than that, and I've moved there.
I'm still in the Catskills. In fact, I'm IN them.
Let's begin at the beginning.
My former house is a great place and I never much liked it. Sorry. Fact.
It was a ranch. In a suburban development between Kingston and Woodstock. Highly practical. Livable. And unlovable.
There were no gardens at all when I moved there. And when I started to plant, I discovered the house had been built on fill dragged in from the rest of the neighborhood. It was basically an island of rubble.
Not much grew. And what did grow got eaten by the perfectly adorable and very hungry deer who outnumbered us ten to one.
Here's what I wanted:
And we found it.
It is two hours from where we used to live, at twice the elevation of where we were. The climate is different, the weather is different, the storms blow through here quickly and then seem to pick up steam in the mountains and absolutely pound the Hudson River Valley. Here? A little rain.
I like New York City. I visit fairly often. But something has happened since we're here. Something's different since we get our eggs at the farm stand down the road with the metal cash box that no one guards. Something's changed.
Binghamton felt like New Jersey to me yesterday when I had to go there. I'm fine if I never have to go there again. Albany? Huge. So many people. So much sprawl. It's hot. It's crowded. People are cranky.
I suspect New York City is going to feel like an urban theme park in its unreality.
Reality now is a tiny village with one gas station, a post office, a restaurant, pizza place and two antique shops. Reality is that the biggest noise on the road are the dairy trucks heading to the farm down the road. Reality is closing the windows when the manure spreader shows up in the back field.
Reality is pretty damned blissful. Life? Not always so much. But reality of day to day living? Amazing.
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