I guess I should start by stating that I choose to write this account of my own free will in sound mind, and against legal advice. I've been a computer programmer for twenty-five years, with a total of five sick days and ten vacation days taken (they gave me a watch for that, just like the kid in high school who never misses a day gets to walk up to the podium one more time during the school assembly). After twenty-five years of loyal service, the good people at the place in which I worked (I've been advised to avoid sighting a specific name), granted me what they call "mandatory retirement." A pension, a few slaps on the back, and a boot out the door. Oh yeah, I almost forgot the watch.

So twenty-five years behind a desk, twenty-five years in the city. On advice from a friend (actually, he's not so much a friend anymore now that I'm not working), I called up a real estate agent and enquired about a house out of the city, somewhere in The Country. My ex-friend would bring up his retirement plan at least once a week during my entire tenure with... the place I used to work. If you do the math, once a week for twenty-five years is probably more times than you'd like to hear about plans to move away from the smog and the traffic and the noise to the quiet serenity of The Country. It didn't really bother me though; I'm usually pretty good when it comes to patience.

So a fine middle-aged woman took me out driving one Saturday, out to The Country to visit a few homes on the market. As we drove along the highway, a strange thought occurred to me. In that old show, with the country boys and the short shorts and the good ol' boy cop, they were always in the city or way out in the middle of nowhere. You never saw the General Lee en transit, always turning that corner from "The Country" into town, or heading across the bridge at the city limits.

The ride really was quite boring.

After what seemed an eternity, we finally pulled off the main highway and started winding through nice areas that you'd have to call Rural. I immediately lost my sense of direction, quite alarming when I've trusted it flawlessly for twenty-five years in the comfort of city blocks and street names that make sense. I personally don't care for all of those Willow Drives and Fir Lanes. Give me 6th avenue, or 58th street any day. In any case, when I brought my head down from the clouds, I realized a few things about The Country:

1. The Country is not really the country as we know it on TV. There are still houses all over the place, and the roads are paved, the only difference is there are not so many streetlights and no sidewalks.

2. The Country is green. The trees, the lawns, even the cars are green.

3. The Country is slow. People take a full three seconds between the time the light turns green and the time they step on the gas pedal.

After my initial culture shock however, I began to notice several things that pleased me very much. For one you could see the sky all over the place. The shadows didn't span miles and there was no wind, just a breeze. We pulled into a very nice development filled with large houses, each one with wide green lawns and smooth landscaping. It seems like each house was a subtle variation on the same architectural theme. Each house had a hanging light outside the front door, wide arched windows looking out over the front lawn, and a deck of varying size off the rear door. I was attacked by the beauty of such a wondrously spread out environment. We got out at the first house and I was almost deafened by the silence. It was quite simply too good for my mind to handle. After a twenty-five minute tour of the house, I bought it.


Chapter Two