Country Mouse

After a fantastic weekend in which the Velogirl and I were able to enjoy boating, docking, strolling around a beautiful seaside town with awesome friends, riding beach cruiser bicycles with baskets (hella-awesome!), souvenir shopping, Oyster eating, and spicy pickled item sampling, I have been thinking about what kind of life one could have in a remote seaside town on the eastern shore. Specifically, I have tried to picture myself outside of the city limits, and how that would all work.

(I wonder what it would be like to carry flowers (or OYSTERS?) on my bike instead of a U-lock and Mace?)

Let's be clear: I'm not talking about a 'burban life. I'm talking about a remote-ish place somewhere near the water where, when describing where I live, I would first need to give the county name, so you could triangulate the part of the wilderness I'm talking about. A place where location is related by how many minutes it takes to drive to the closest town you MAY have heard of.

I grew up this way. My hometown is Pawcatuck, CT. New London County, about 10 minutes east of Mystic, CT, 40 minutes south of Providence, RI, on the border of Rhode Island. As a kid, the main drag of downtown consisted of a Bess Eaton coffee shop, a taxidermist, a drug store, an office product store, and a dairy queen. End of list. Oh, there was also"New England Tire and Wheel", so I guess not end of list. It closed in 1988. It has been 22 years, and still no replacement has come. The brave citizens of Pawcatuck are now forced to drive to (GASP!) Westerly to buy tires at Wal-Mart.

(To this day, I try not to spend a dime across the river if I can help it. In my mind, every penny spent in Westerly that strengthens their economy and bolsters their population, also ensures they will field a better better high school football team. All died-in-the-wool Pawcatuck residents will tell you that aiding the Westerly Bulldogs in any way is tantamount to giving guns to terrorists. Just saying.)

So, I have experience with the type of town I was in this past weekend. It was all just one big pile of adorable. The only way it could have been cuter is if the cute seaside homes were made out of living, wiggling, puppies. Vistas of the harbor, seaside restaurants, fresh seafood...just an amazing place to visit.

But to live? Hmm...there's the rub. As much as I would love to wake up every morning, look out onto the water and spy my 32 foot Sloop at the end of my private dock while the Velogirl pours me a cup of coffee at our breakfast table on our screened in porch...well, actually that would be amazing. The downside of seaside country living is that I think I would go batshit crazy. Scratch that, I pretty much can guarantee it.

There's an energy to city life that, as of right now, I'm still addicted to. It's the energy that can only come from nervous uncertainty, of the thrill of diversity, from the quirkyness of city neighborhoods. I like knowing that ANY band I would ever want to see is no more than a 10 minute bike ride away when they come to town. I also like walking someplace and not having to worry about running out of sidewalk. Or having a bicycle path end in a drainage ditch on the side of the road instead of, you know, connecting to something.

So, I guess I'm still a city mouse. Although part of me wishes I wasn't.