Where I live is a neighborhood on two to three acre lots around a lake and two ponds. I grew up on about 300 acres of family farmland so this seemed like a fair trade. I get to have neighbors while also having my privacy and space in a large sprawling yard with big oak trees and azaleas. However, many of the people who have moved there are from the south shore. And this was the opposite for them. They now believe they live in "the country."
We have no street lights in our neighborhood, and we have buried power lines, so it does have that country feel. We also live next to a hollow at the base of these hills that inhabits coyotes, raccoons, opossums, foxes, wild bees, and armadillos. And after having three mild winters, our yards are inundated with squirrels and rabbits. This is how I have lived my entire life short of the seven years Clay and I lived in Baton Rouge and Slidell.
What I find most interesting is the way many of these neighbors who moved out from the West Bank and other parts of the south shore react to this sought after environment. They complain if a dog is off of its leash, or if squirrels are running around their yard. They worry they will get in their attic and start a house fire. They claim they have eaten the hoses in their vehicles and made nests in their riding lawn mowers.
One neighbor was blowing off his leaves when another neighbor was jogging by and told him he was creating noise pollution. One neighbor stopped and informed another neighbor who was clearing out some undergrowth in the lot next to him that he was destroying the habitat of the song birds. One neighbor complained that raccoons were coming up and eating their dog's food, and another was upset that armadillos were rooting up their yard.
I get tickled at all of these frustrations people have moving out to "the country" to get away from the hectic traffic-infested urban areas. To get away from the noise pollution and the crime. To get away from the crowded neighborhoods and busy streets, yet they struggle with what it really means to live in "the country" which isn't even the country at all.
And then I remembered when the boys were little and Clay took them squirrel hunting out on our land in Washington Parish. They hunted all morning and came up empty handed. So Jacob, who was around nine years old, disappeared and we then heard several gunshots. He came walking back up holding the tails of three squirrels. Clay asked him where he went and he said, "I just went to Grandma's front yard where they all are and got three of them."
,Clay could not stop laughing as he explained to him those squirrels were tame and that was not really fair. Jacob shrugged his shoulders, and he and his dad skinned some semi-wild game.
,I guess it is simply a matter of perspective. What defines "the country" and what defines "the city." What we trade for traffic intrusions to squirrel invasions. In 55 years I have yet to have a squirrel in my attic or my lawnmower. Maybe they sense the "city slickers" and like messing with them. They do try desperately to get into my squirrel-proofed bird feeders, and I get a huge smile when the Blue Jays get after them. I get aggravated over the armadillos rooting near my garden, and love seeing the fox dart by my back yard when it is about to storm, and she is racing back to her den. These small interactions with nature are the best tradeoff for sidewalks and a grocery store around the block. Maybe it will take them another decade to settle into a very semi-country life and take time to smell the wild honeysuckles that are starting to bloom.
