Rural Rhythms

A Comedic Guide to Rodent Relations

Photo by Nikolett Emmert on Unsplash

When my husband and I first moved to the country, I decided that I would be a natural. It was going to be my true calling. I would watch my sons grow healthy and strong from consuming homegrown fresh vegetables and chasing snakes all over our 2-acre property. I would spend cold January nights by the woodstove, knitting heavy shaker-style sweaters festive wreaths from corn husks and salal sprigs. I would go to community dances, sell tickets at the door, buy my eggs from a neighbour, and learn the names of all the local birds. I’d do my grocery shopping in my gumboots, and most importantly, I would bake bread. Regularly.

Hah. That was a long time ago, and while I have been known to produce the occasional loaf or two of whole wheat and have attended the fireman’s ball twice, life in the country seems to largely involve driving (everywhere), avoiding rambunctious dogs when on foot, and keeping the spring bears out of our compost.

I’m not complaining; we’ve made a good life for ourselves in our little rural paradise. We built a modest house, watched our boys progress from car seats to computers, and established solid friendships.

There are definite advantages to living simply in a small, close-knit community. You know all the local businesspeople by their first names, as well as the dogs…