COMFORT ZONE

There are perks afforded to country dwellers that people who live in towns and cities can only dream of.  Of course there is the fresh air, acres of green space, and every day interaction with Mother Nature's creatures to name a few, but the best thing for me is the privacy. 

I don't say this to make it sound like our neighbourhood is high end exclusive or that we don't want visitors because folks are always welcome to stop by for a cup of coffee or a cold beer, depending on the day.  My meaning of privacy is very laid-back and unpretentious and probably not an easy concept to explain to people who live surrounded by other people.

Although we live seven miles from town we do have neighbours who live closer than that ... like two miles away.  We can see their yard lights at night and hear their dogs bark if we're outside and the wind is from the right direction.  Otherwise we are alone with the foxes, coyotes, gophers and the odd moose or deer who wander through.  When the pond at the low end of our yard fills with water we have ducks calling it home, and we wake each summer morning to the soft coo-cooing of Mourning Doves and the cheerful chirping of Robins.  Our deck is like Grande Central Station for hummingbirds all summer long between the flowers and feeders I have out there to invite them into our space.  While I was preparing lunch an hour ago there were at least four of the tiny warriors trying to claim ownership of the airspace between the two feeders.  I love to sit and watch them in the afternoon.

The feeling of privacy isn't all about being simply far enough away from population to have lots of wildlife though.  It's more about the comfortable solitude we enjoy on a day to day basis.

My favourite thing to do after I pour myself my second mug of coffee these days is to drink it on the deck.  The rose at the back door is in full bloom at the moment and the scent is everything a rose is supposed to be.  I check the state of my planters and decide if they will need watering and then wander on to my rock garden to see how things are growing there, pulling the odd weed as I go.  Before I know it I am in the back yard assessing which of the vegetables I've planted will be the first one to be ready ... I'm betting the radishes will win again this year but the lettuce and spinach aren't far behind.

Since I've got that far I turn toward the big garden/orchard east of the house and inspect it for weeds and potential strawberry readiness.  By the time I am done my coffee I am a long way from the house, which is nothing unusual except that I'm still wearing my pyjamas.  There is no worry about being caught at this too-lazy-to-get-dressed-yet game because in the quiet of the countryside I can hear any vehicle coming from miles away and have plenty of time to make my way back to the house should I need to.  They say that your home is your castle, and where city dwellers can claim that kind of comfort within their walls we rural people can expand the luxury well beyond our doors.

Many years ago I had a conversation with a guy from Toronto who was filming a documentary about rural issues.  We were standing in our barnyard and he was trying to capture the illusive sizzly sound of grasshoppers and crickets in the grass in late summer.  As is usual with city visitors he asked how much land we owned and I was trying to explain what a quarter section was.  He told me about the duplex he lived in and how much it cost.  What he said next has always stuck with me: gesturing to our yard - large lawn, gardens, house and out buildings that every farm has - he said that this is what millionaires sought to own.  To be this far away from the noise and hustle of the city, to have the green space and natural surroundings, and above all the solitude and privacy - these were the things wealthy people spent their money on.

There are two ways to measure value: one is by using the measuring stick of the almighty dollar.  And the other is by merely recognising how lucky you are to have something that you love. 

I'm no millionaire, but when I'm on my early morning pyjama stroll I sure do feel like one.