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274 Main Street Rear
Behind David Gavin salon
Great Barrington, MA
413.528.1145
petria@petriaboutiq.com
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One Girl's Country Lifeby Petria May
One dear reader asked me to discuss my adjustment to life in the country. This question alone could merit a weekly column. I will, nonetheless, offer a sample response here.
My adjustment is but a microcosm of the macro movement taking hold. For the first time in decades, the number of people exiting cities is higher than the numbers moving in. With September 11 looming in the rearview mirror, it seems that some new country residents buy themselves safety nets in the form of second residences. Others retreat to the country to retire, start new businesses, or seek more affordable housing stock and less stress.
During my frequent and favorite moments in the country, I feel an unparalleled sense of community and shared humanity. During other moments, living in the country feels a lot like being famous without its rewards. Strangers recognize me as I go about life's pedestrian chores. They sometimes ask overtly personal questions and fully expect answers. Acquaintances are capable of shamelessly relaying our private conversations to others, creating a local grapevine The National Enquirer would envy.
These experiences sometimes leave me thinking that small minds live in small places. At times, I am fully convinced that I live on a soap opera set. The same people move from place to place, their lives intertwining endlessly. At the local café, the same people sit at the same tables. They go to the popular local restaurant and movie theatre, too. Amusingly, I fret when I do not see them. There is comfort in our shared routines.
Most of my friends are women over 60. For this, I am most grateful because they are beyond the silly things we youngsters worry about like whether the grocery clerk likes them, whether their friends admire their partners, when they are going to let their hearts win over their heads, whether they should have any children or more children, etcetera. Rules have exceptions, but these wise women show me how I should think right now.
It is difficult to be anonymous without staying put in a charming, old and cold house or leaving the region entirely. I went to Great Barrington recently to see a movie, thinking I'd have a relatively quiet night, 30 miles southeast of home. As I sat at the bar eating my overpriced food, the only guy I dated in these parts—yes, past tense—strolled in, hands stuffed in pockets. He lives on my road, but had also ventured out alone on that Friday night. Same movie, same restaurant, there we were. Like a good neighbor, I agreed to let him join me.
Finally, like a pseudo-famous person, I attracted a low-level stalker for a few weeks. The short of it: he helped me with my light bulb at the local hardware store, then later e-mailed, asked for dates, and twice silently walked by my shop in dark sunglasses, all without taking "no" for an answer. Although the local constable stopped my stalker before he got stupid enough to follow me home, I had to find a brand new place to buy light bulbs. Bummer.
Some days, the country life is fabulous beyond my expectations. Beyond New York City. On other days, it works out all right. Today is a good day. It is a good day because I am talking to you.
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