When I was but a wee lass of 6 tender years, my parents moved “to the country.” This is not just the timeworn, exaggerated perception of a young girl talking--honestly, at the time, our little street was in the exact center of NOWHERE (okay, okay, it was Maryland, not the peat bogs of Ireland, but you get the point). Our house, which my parents and I visited periodically as it was being built from the ground-up, was only the third one in the budding neighborhood. Gently-rolling farmland surrounded us, and our dog used to escape the yard to run away and frolic with the cows (who were unamused, as I recall). It was pastoral, and peaceful…but as I grew older and started chafing at my isolated, car-dependent existence, I made myself a solemn vow. I swore that when I struck out on my own and chose a place to settle down, I would plant my roots near an actual town (with pedestrian walkways! and eateries! and maybe even a coffee shop! I dreamed big in those days, I tell ya.)
Decades later, Husband and I began looking for a house. I put him in charge of narrowing down, oh, the entire East Coast, to a few select areas that I would then consider. (Do you like how I delegated the really annoying task?) When—after much rigorous, in-depth research--he presented Olney, Maryland, I distinctly remember gasping in shock and horror, then blurting out, “But…that’s way out in the sticks!” (which to me, Urbanized as I had become, during my adult years of living in the Greater Baltimore/D.C. Metro Region, was roughly akin to Siberia in terms of desirability.) To quell my fears, he quickly whipped out a map and proved that, not only did Olney lie only ½ hour from where I grew up, it boasted a Town Center with shopping and dining options galore. Then he triumphantly delivered his Coup de Grace (which I believe translates in Husband Speak to “See? I TOLD you so!): Starbucks…smack-dab in the middle of Olney, reachable via a pleasant stroll on lovely suburban sidewalks. (Incidentally, the house we eventually bought happens to be located about 1.5 miles from both Starbucks AND Dunkin’ Donuts…allowing for exercise and Coffee Nirvana in one fell swoop!)
Thus, I did eventually realize my dream of Small-City-Living, but did this mean I was forced to sacrifice the wonder and beauty of the Great Outdoors? Happily, not at all. Our house was built in the 70s, and is surrounded by large--mostly maple--trees. Throughout the year, we can spot robins, cardinals, hawks, buzzards, crows…and lots of other avian creatures I can’t identify (without geeky binoculars and a Handbook, anyway). On the ground, we share our 1/3-ish acre of grass with: hyperactive squirrels, skittish rabbits, the occasional chipmunk (I suspect the reason we don’t spy more of these is that they’re perfect hawk-snack size), a fat grumpy groundhog, a multitude of mice, playful foxes, and placid deer. Throw in the marauding pack of untamed Boyus Cacophonous that shows up back there at any given moment, and we have a perfect example of Suburban Wild Kingdom!*
*(Hmm…I wonder if the Nature Channel would like to do a documentary on them…hello, College Fund! Or—stroke of genius--maybe my sons could star in their very own Tide commercial! It might be the only chance for them to achieve mud-free pants between now and adulthood…)
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