Time in the country

[altivo]

A friend who has been absent from LJ for a while remarks that for the first time in his life, he is living in a rural area, not the city. Time flows in a different way there, he says, yet he seems not entirely unhappy with it.

I had to agree. It's hard for folks who have always lived in the city to understand until they've actually been here a while. It's different, but not in a bad way. Time matters here too, but we measure it in days, months, and seasons, by the rising and setting of the sun rather than by the turning of the hands on a clock face. The birds come and go at their proper times of the year, and sunrise and sunset shift about on the face of the clock yet have certain tasks tied to them whenever they occur.

There's no hurrying nature. A chicken takes a day to lay an egg. We can select and breed (and have done so) to make sure the hen lays an egg nearly every day of the year, but she still needs a full day to lay an egg. That's because egg laying is tied to the cycle of dark and light. Even when artificial lighting is used, there must be light and darkness in the right proportion and it turns out that an artificial day of about 25 hours maximizes the production of hen's eggs as much as it can be done. Strawberries ripen in June, cherries in July, blackberries in August. Nothing changes these things, they are all tied to the sun.

Time still matters, of course. The garden must be planted at the right time, and tended and watered regularly. Cows have to be milked and there's no denying them their due. Most animals want their feed when the sun rises (or sets, in a few cases.) But as we change our cycles to match those of nature, we start to notice things that are invisible to city dwellers. You can, honestly, see corn growing. You can hear it too, if you have good hearing and not too much traffic or airplane noise. Corn grows very fast in July.

The much reduced noise level makes you hear things you never heard before, such as the creaking of tree branches, the tiny songs of insects, and some of the most gorgeous birdsong that exists on the face of the planet. Here I award that title to the Wood Thrush, but everyplace has its king of song.

We appreciate the shade cast by trees in the heat of summer, and the windbreak they provide when winter winds blow. Unlike those who keep yards in the city, we don't resent the falling leaves, but take advantage of them for mulch, compost, and ground cover. When the snows of winter trap us in our homes for a day or two, we honor the chance to reflect, and do different things, rather than fret and pace the floor because we can't get to the mall or the theatre or whatever it is that drives city folks mad at the sight of a snowflake.

The irrefutable logic of zen is easier to perceive and accept in this natural world that refuses to be driven by clocks and sirens.

Comments

[quickcasey.livejournal.com]

Repent Harlequin!

Oh, never mind, you're right.


Master Timekeeper

[altivo.livejournal.com]

*snicker*

You could always be the timekeeper on the line from Hooterville to Pixley. ;p

[captpackrat.livejournal.com]

The animals around here mostly keep to their own schedules. The bunnies and squirrels come and go each evening and morning, the feral cat hangs around in the afternoon, hoping for some scraps or something. The sheep come and go from the barn as they please; I've seen them outside in the middle of the night in the pouring rain and in the hottest part of the day. Only the dog has anything along the lines of a regular schedule dictated by others, she's let out to do her business in the morning, then she lounges around all day until her master comes home at night.

[altivo.livejournal.com]

The dog, of course, lives by human rules for the most part, and has become nearly as isolated from nature as we have.

[avon-deer.livejournal.com]

I actually found life more stressful in the country. Having to get up early every morning to drive into the City (for university); get stuck in motorway congestion, THEN have to fight for a parking space, before rushing into the building for my first lecture *shudder* I much prefer living where I work. I can get up at half seven, be at work for eight, and parking (by FAR the most stressful part of driving in this part of the world) is the problem of the bus company. There were lots of things that I preferred about living in rural areas though. So, its swings and roundabouts.

[altivo.livejournal.com]

Sounds like you were physically in the country but still living entirely within the artificial constraints of the human city. That's the worst of both worlds, of course.

[avon-deer.livejournal.com]

Sadly that's were all the employment and facilities are. It's not really possible do much else. Wakefield is a nice City though. Its not overly large, and the outskirts are still rural. European cities tend not to sprawl that far. I also get to visit my parents in the wilds occasionally.

[altivo.livejournal.com]

That must depend partly on occupation. I can see that the work you do is tied to denser population centers, but there are plenty of occupations that are not. I have similar constraints, and it took me several years to find a job (at less pay, of course) that allowed me to stay within the natural rhythms of the rural life. I find it well worthwhile to do so, obviously, though everyone doesn't agree.

[avon-deer.livejournal.com]

There are loads of places in rural areas that people tend to live in for a quiet life. The flight from city centres was very much an 80s phenomenon here. However most employment remained in centres of population and is still there. No problem, claimed the Thatcherites; you can drive. Many thousands did. *I* did from 97-01. However oil is now becoming scarce, and expensive. Many people have been sold a dream that is unsustainable. There are going to be a lot of disappointed people out there. I can see the trend of du-urbanisation reversing itself.

Of course I could be wrong. But purchasing a home in a large conurbation with good public transport (by UK standards anyway) WAS in part a strategic decision on my part. I could see the future, and it's NOT Ford-shaped.

[altivo.livejournal.com]

I was driven by rather different elements. I did take care to choose a location that has some access to rail transit, though, and for three years after we moved I continued to commute by rail to Chicago. It was, as I said above, the worst of both worlds in many respects.

I was being driven mad, though, by the claustrophobia of living in the city. Even though we had our own house and little plot of land, the noise, pollution, and crude and thoughtless people were too difficult for me to tolerate and I was near a breaking point. I absolutely had to get out of there and fortunately managed to do so.

Noise and light are major issues for me. Night is supposed to be dark, we are meant to see the stars rather than a thousand points of glaring artificial light. I need to hear birds, and the wind in trees, not the neighbor's lawnmower or television. Even where we are now it's far from ideal, and not as good as it was ten years ago, but infinitely better than the city was.

[avon-deer.livejournal.com]

Unthinking people are definatly the down side with dense living. I am lucky in that my neighbours are decent folk. I do know of some right sods though. the Japanese seem to have less trouble with this it seems. I think it's possibly more to do with attitude. TBH, if I could I'd chose to live in the country every time. I just don't think that (for my generation) it's a realistic prospect. Hell, most people of my arge are grateful to have a place to live ANYWHERE.

That said I feel so much better after a good two weeks in rural Scotland. That's something I can recommended. There is something really fantastic about swimming in a lake, naked, and not caring who sees you as there IS no one to see you. :D

[altivo.livejournal.com]

The Japanese have a cultural adaptation to close living that goes back many centuries. Their religion, society, and environment all support that.

European cultures vary, but also have somewhat more adjustment to this than Americans do.

Americans have lived for 200 years with the notion that there is so much space to spread out into, no one should have to worry about where he throws his trash or how much noise he makes. I would suspect that Australia has similar issues.

[gabrielhorse.livejournal.com]

No doubt the fact that both Japanese and European cultures are older than ours contribute to this difference in how they've adapted their societies to the issues of space in ways our culture has not. Call it 'cultural maturity' if you like ;)

[linnaeus.livejournal.com]

I moved to the city in part to minimize my time commuting. This worked while I was working downtown, and could take public transportation, ride my bike, or even walk to and from work, but now that I'm working in the suburbs I have a similar "worst of both worlds" situation. I enjoy time I spend in rural areas, and if I could manage it without being a slave to my car, I would like to live somewhere where I can see stars.

The downside of being away from people, it goes without saying, is a certain degree of isolation. Not being mated, I could see living out in the country leading me to become more and more withdrawn. Perhaps if I find someone we can move out to the country where we can be weird and withdrawn together. :)

[altivo.livejournal.com]

I often feel I am seeing less of my mate the longer we are out here, as he has become involved in activities that require him to be gone at precisely the times when I'm home. But that's a separate sob story.

As for the stars, I'm afraid your only hope now is to move all the way to Alaska or something. The light pollution grows worse every year. Ten years ago we could see the Milky Way on clear summer nights. Now we can't see it even in winter unless there's a major power failure. Half the energy crisis could be resolved by turning off all those damned lights that people insist on leaving on all night over parking lots, apartment complexes and other crap. Another percentage could be saved by replacing the remaining ones, such as street lights, with versions that don't waste energy by dumping it into the sky. For some reason, this idea is just impossible for people to understand. I guess they never look at the sky at all.

[linnaeus.livejournal.com]

I completely agree with you about light pollution. Mandating lights that minimize loss into the sky would definitely be on my list of "If I were named world emperor" priorities. At least I can generally see the Milky Way on clear nights when I make it up to Upper Michigan, and if you get far enough away from cities in the southwest it's pretty spectacular. Anyway, almost anything's better than the sodium orange permaglow we get in the Chicago sprawl.

[altivo.livejournal.com]

Yes, and that glow now extends all the way out here, 70 miles from the Loop.

[megadog.livejournal.com]

These are just the sort of things that make me glad to live in a rural location.

Waking up with the sun and seeing a deer nibbling leaves from a bush outside. Hearing birdsong. Finding a plump, self-satisfied toad sitting under the recycling-bin. Watching a couple of crows mobbing a buzzard. Being able to wander into the woods at a moment's notice to harvest three different species of wild mint.

Too many people are growing disconnected from the real, natural world. Cities breed a hive-mind mentality and to my way of thinking are a subtle form of mental cruelty.

[altivo.livejournal.com]

Of course there are rural people who are just as disconnected. It's one of the most unfortunate traits of H. sapiens in my opinion. See animist's reply below.

[foozzzball.livejournal.com]

Weirdly I've just been dealing with the passage of time in relation to agriculture, but in a rather different context. (Fantasy setting building, rather than, like, living in a rural area.)

Speaking as a city-dweller, a londoner to be specific for the last year or so, I think that the 'urban passage of time' is mainly related to people, rather than nature...

The school kids wax and wane, huddling around bus stops and yammering noisily in the winter months, dispersing in fine weather and walking about. The city's peaceful just after rush hour, but an hour or two later, around eleven, the tourists start to come out of their hiding places. Flocks of Japanese people begin to meander through the museums and around landmarks, led by tourguides with little flags. In the summer, more people crowd into the overground trains, fleeing the sweltering heat of the Underground. In the winter, the reverse.

I'm in Greenwich, which is, perhaps, a little less busy than the rest of London. Urban foxes are - from time to time - spotted in parks and rail cuttings. Pigeons everywhere. Squirrels colonize almost every spare bit of greenery around here.

I don't think it's the city that's driven by clocks and sirens. It's the people. I'm a student meandering through his courses, not much of a fixed schedule - which is ideal for me, since I hate having to use public transport at rush hour. Others, though? It's employment. People desperately trying to make sure they earn every hunk of their wages they can, to make rent. Consumer culture does it too. People are pressured to spend themselves into debt, and when that happens, they can't think beyond the next shift.

In cities, there are people. Irrational people, who believe that every little thing must be done now. Out there, in the country? There are things that _actually_ need to be done right now. And there are things that do not. My wild guess is that finding a perspective to put yourself in is just a little easier without thousands of people competing with you in very, very close proximity.

[altivo.livejournal.com]

In cities, there are people. Irrational people, who believe that every little thing must be done now. Out there, in the country? There are things that _actually_ need to be done right now. And there are things that do not. My wild guess is that finding a perspective to put yourself in is just a little easier without thousands of people competing with you in very, very close proximity.

That's certainly part of it, but there is also individual difference. Even living in the city, I rejected most of that artificiality and was regarded as weird because of it. Many of the things that humans think are "urgent" are in fact not, yet often the things that really do demand immediate attention go unnoticed.

[doug-taron.livejournal.com]

>In cities, there are people. Irrational people, who believe that every little thing must be done now. Out there, in the country? There are things that _actually_ need to be done right now.

That comes up for me at work a lot. I've had trouble at times (fortunately not with my current boss) with bosses not getting it about this concept. Your proposed deadline for that report can be moved out a week. If we don't work with this species of butterfly in the next week and a half, we don't work with it until next year. Seems obvious, but I've been amazed at how much trouble people have with the concept. Of course, these were some of the same folks who asked me, very earnestly, if I could do something the keep the butterflies more active at night for evening events.

[altivo.livejournal.com]

Nothing makes me lose my control more easily than that kind of utter stupidity. It is incomprehensible to me that people can be so removed from the realities of nature that they just don't get these things.

[foozzzball.livejournal.com]

The old folks have it worked out, really. Most of them, really, really know what matters. And... I am reminded of something, now.

I remember last december I was at the post office, and there was a queue. And a gentleman asked an elderly lady with a package in her hands, 'is it pension day?', as pensioners pick up their money from the post offices... and she replied, in one of the crispest received pronunciation accents I've ever heard in person, 'no. It's Christmas.' Whenceforth she went to pay to post her package.

It's not just the realities of nature that people can be massively distanced from.

[altivo.livejournal.com]

*snicker*

Well, yes, some individuals just never get anything. But those are special cases rather than the norm.

The yuppie manager types that Doug just described though (and I see them in the library world too) are a different sort of problem. Frankly, my answer for them all would be either to lock them up in padded cells or put them out of their misery (and thus put an end to ours.) I'm almost dead serious about this. Their brains are defective.

[farhoug.livejournal.com]

I guess the place where I live in is small enough to still notice some of the little details of nature that usually cannot penetrate the bigger cities. Though the cycle is more about the difference between winter and summer, there's still too many people to mess up any more detailed observations.

It's been a good year for rabbits, warm winters seem to give them plenty to eat, and better chances of survival. Though they were totally confused about the time to change away from winter coat. =)

On the same note, it's been good for the smaller hunters too. I've stumbled on a fox, pine martens, and some other nibblers too fast to recognize. Usually it's pretty tricky to see one, those are hard to surprise around here.

Saw a young male moose today too, it had wandered on the far edge of the city, the industrial area, and probably needs a little swim to get back to the real nature. Though there's enough forest around for it to lurk in hiding for a while anyways... =)

This isn't a bad place to live, especially if you manage to nab some nice farm a bit away from the largest suburbs. I wouldn't mind even the suburbs, if there were no neighbors in sight... =)

[altivo.livejournal.com]

Hmm. A suburb with no neighbors in sight? Unheard of here. You must have very different suburbs than we do.

[farhoug.livejournal.com]

Just in my dreams.

[altivo.livejournal.com]

Heh. OK. I live in what they are now calling an "exurb" because it's outside the suburbs but many people still commute to the city for work from here. (Or they commute to the suburbs, which is even stranger.)

Typically, each house here has between five and ten acres of land. They are scattered in clumps among larger plots, most of which are still working farms growing feed corn, hay, wheat, or soybeans, and an occasional orchard or (now very rare) dairy farm. Even on five acres, I still see, and worse yet, hear, the neighbors. I don't mind seeing them occasionally, but having to listen to them does bug me a lot.

Seeing them often leads to humor, in fact, as the neurotic golf course lady on one side mows her grass for the fourth time in a week. She ought to just go out there with fingernail clippers and a ruler and snip each blade of grass to the exact same length, since that's the only thing that will satisfy her. Or the (in my opinion) brain damaged teenager on the other side who comes out of the house and spends hours beating sticks against the tree trunks. When they break, he picks up another and starts over. Talk about manifest hostility!

[animist.livejournal.com]

I have a tendency to romanticize the pastoral life, but my relatives who live in the country never seem to. As a child, when we visited my mother's folk in eastern Kentucky, I would spend hours off on my own, playing in the creek, or wondering in the woods. My cousins thought I was weird. To me, it was a natural wonder, but after spending a summer down there, I started to understand what they saw: the streams were their sewers, and the woods, their garbage dumps. It's a wonder I didn't get sick or hurt. They would go in the woods to hunt, or to ride their dirt bikes, but they had a very practical approach to using nature as a resource. Their was no romance about it. I still love nature; but it may be easier to do so without the poverty and underemployment of a rural community far from the city.

[altivo.livejournal.com]

Like fish, humans swim at different levels. Some are superficial and unthinking, staying on the surface and ignoring everything that goes deeper than they do. It sounds to me as if your rural cousins were of that sort.

[songcoyote.livejournal.com]

This was a beautiful piece of poetry. Thank you.

I... I love cities, though part of me seems to long for rural living... and I don't really know how I would reconcile these, if I ever got the chance.

I already tend to operate on different time-flow parameters than most, unless it's important to someone or something that is also important to me (e.g., being on time for work) so I might be able to adjust. Maybe I'll get to test that some day. In the mean time I try to keep myself centered and find peace even in chaos.

Thanks again, and have a great weekend.

Light and laughter,
SongCoyote

[altivo.livejournal.com]

There was a time when I thought I loved cities. Never Detroit, because that was too close to home; but my first visit to Chicago and later my only visit to New York City made me think I might want to live there. Eventually I did live in Chicago. I was there for for 20 years before I admitted I could stand no more of it, though the urgings and whisperings to get out before insanity struck began much earlier than that. I've seen other cities, of course. Albuquerque, San Francisco, Atlanta, Santa Fe, Seattle, Tampa, Philadelphia, Washington and more. San Francisco is special, of course, but by the time I saw it I already knew that cities were not where I belonged and there was little temptation to think of going there to live. Victoria, BC in Canada is the only other city to have offered even as much temptation as San Francisco did.

Even where I am now, halfway between Chicago and Rockford, close enough to Wisconsin to hit it with a thrown pebble (well almost,) I'm not entirely happy. I yearn for the open space of Montana, perhaps, or something like it. Not that I wish to become a misanthropic hermit, of course. I value commerce with my fellow beings, both those blessed with speech and those who are not; but in this day of easy communication by internet, radio, or written word, I would be happiest if I could still see a dark sky at night and hear sounds from miles away. Just an occasional hint of what that is like has touched my life, and always filled me with unimaginable want.

[songcoyote.livejournal.com]

I'm glad you like San Francisco, and a little part of my brain went, "Argh! So close, and yet so far from being close!" ;)

I've had many experiences in the sorts of open spaces you describe that lead me to believe it would be magical for me, and two that have not: the first is more of a thought exercise, in which I posit that I would grow tired of the stillness much the way you tired of cities (though as I said I've had no long-term test of this). The second is a specific experience that supports the first, and is (I think) an interesting story in itself.

Many years ago I happened to be driving home late at night with my sweetie of the time from Arizona. We were traveling north along the 95, which is right along the eastern edge of California, near/in the Mojave Desert. She happened to notice that there was essentially no artificial light on any part of the horizon, and seeing as we were both city-raised this was interesting enough for us to stop by the side of the road, spread out a blanket, and sit contemplating it for a while.

As we sat, the car plinking behind us as it cooled, we marveled at the fact that though there was no moon we could see our way around quite clearly by starlight alone, and that the Milky Way looked like a thick fluffy cloud. The rare car passed us, and they all seemed loud. After a while no more cars came, and as the last bit of noise from the last car finally died away we heard it: the intense, deafening silence of the desert with no wind, no city noise, no... anything.

At first its strangeness was magnificent; we commented to each other that we would likely be able to hear a snake slithering up from yards away. After a while, though, we started to feel nervous, then downright twitchy. In short, it was quiet... too quiet. We looked at each other, saying not a word, then as one rose up, packed our stuff, and got going. We talked about how weird it felt once we were under way.

Now, the desert is an exceptional place and cannot be directly compared to somewhere like, say, Montana, where things other than tiny tufts of sagebrush are growing. But the sheer eeriness of the silence was... disturbing.

I could go into some of the reasons why I think we reacted that way, but I think they're fairly obvious. I just wanted to share my experience. I think a rural non-desert area wouldn't be quite so creepy... but I don't know.

Anyway, that's all I have time for now. Thanks for listening (especially if I've told that one before ;) and have a joyous... well... everything!

Light and laughter,
SongCoyote

[altivo.livejournal.com]

Nope, you haven't told me that one before and it's interesting. That kind of utterly profound silence is beyond my experience, though I've been temporarily deaf for physiological reasons. Even then I seemed to hear things.

I've been in very isolate places. High in the Rocky Mountains in Colorado, for instance, where there is a stark beauty I never could have imagined, but above the treeline is not a place I'd care to actually live. I'd visit it again though. The Grand Canyon failed to feel that way for me, probably because it bustles with tourists day and night. Another place though that does have that feeling is the top of the Greenstone Ridge in Isle Royale National Park up in Lake Superior. Spectacular natural beauty and almost true isolation since I was there with two equally appreciative friends at the very beginning of the "season" (the park is closed in winter except to wildlife researchers with permits) and there was literally no one else within 40 miles of us at the time.

None of those places were silent though. Day or night, there were sounds. Many of them were so small you might never notice them in a more populated place, where the distant white noise of vehicle traffic and the dull noise of radios, televisions, lawnmowers, airplanes etc. can be heard from miles away by anyone with good hearing. Some I couldn't identify, others I thought I could, but it was never silent.

[rrwolf.livejournal.com]

*Chuckles* whooo doggies they have one of them there fancy them spinning hand time devices there in the square in downtown I seen once.

That's what I like about my job most of the areas we run are out in the country and I'm always on the road out in it. It's nice just trouble shooting stuff out there, especially at night, it's peaceful and see lots of animals. Plus I love driving through it many many sights to see, like lately with the wheat coming in and now being harvested and bailed. Lots of golden waves of hills and little and big rectangle blocks lining the land. A wolf could sure enjoy himself out here.

*plays you the Three Dog Night song "Out in the Country"*

[altivo.livejournal.com]

Heh. Your job is all about time. But yeah, you do get to see a lot of country at it. Wheat is coming in here now too. It's been ready for a while, but we just had nearly a full week without rain and that's probably perfect timing so they don't have to put it in those big holding tanks and blow air through it for days to make sure it's dry and won't get moldy.

I'm watching the stuff grow in the vegetable garden. Most of it was planted a bit late, but I expect it will do all right. I find that by getting some things in two or three weeks late I avoid a lot of the worst pests. Squash borers and tomato worms show up when there's nothing for them to eat, and either die or go somewhere else. Then when my squashes and tomatoes get big, there's no one gnawing them. What we really need right now are more things that eat mosquitos.

[soanos.livejournal.com]

I hate the city.

I hate apartment blocks. I hate the noisy neighbours, the crowds of the cities and shopping centers, noisy "tuned" cars, arrogant people, the smell of petrol in the morning, the lamp post outside my window, this... hive of an apartment block with no peace. I have all these people who are around me, and I am still alone. I have never talked to my neighbours, or even seen them. Only heard their drunken voices voice echo in the ventilation shaft at 4 o'clock in the morning when I finally lay down to bed and wait for darkness to come.

I hate this place to the core of my being. I want to get away, but I can't. I have no job, no money, nothing. Just these two glowing squares and this plastic slab with alphabets which makes rattling noise when I type. My sleeping pattern has been deformed by artificial light, reducing the amount of my sleep to 5 hours or less. I can feel my life force siphoning away into this chaos.

There is no silence or peace here. Nor horses. Therefore, I drown myself in the deafening sea of electronic dance music.

I am not an urban zebra.

P.S. Sorry about ranting.

[altivo.livejournal.com]

Oh, I understand. I've been in similar situations.

[soanos.livejournal.com]

Thank you *hugs tight*

I need to get out of this hellhole. However, I doubt I can make it on my own. I wish my partner was here.

[altivo.livejournal.com]

*hugs back* I wish I could be more helpful.

*folds arms and smiles*

[gabrielhorse.livejournal.com]

Of course this is IMO, but it seems that the thing about nature that freaks city-dwellers out is nature reminds them they are powerless. Humans who go around thinking they need to control things and exert power over other humans and the entire world at large have a hard time adapting to the reality outside of their own bubble. Rather than question why they need to exert "control" and "power" (mere words humans came up with to redefine things and alter what was natural to suite their limited vocabularly), they go around either frustrated or strutting, playing the roles of someone seeking "power" or showing it off. They have no power- nor have I or anyone else. To accept this is to let go of the need for it- and therefore free oneself up to better experience living without a need pushing one around. One can do this with any thought society has trained us to carry- like money, work, age or one's appearance. *chuckles* I haighly doubt anyone will get what I hope to impart in this, but I wouldn't be me if I didn't share it- and now that I'm done, that's all :)

Re: *folds arms and smiles*

[altivo.livejournal.com]

You're right. I couldn't follow all that.

People who feel a need to "control" nature are like the neighbors I have who mow grass four or five times a week to keep any of it from getting longer than any other part, or who cut down every tree on their five acre plot because they don't like the way trees drop twigs and leaves onto the grass.

People who "fear" nature are the kind who hide in the city in air conditioned buildings and avoid going outside any more than absolutely necessary because a bug might land on them.

Re: *folds arms and smiles*

[gabrielhorse.livejournal.com]

People who feel a need to "control" nature are like the neighbors I have who mow grass four or five times a week to keep any of it from getting longer than any other part, or who cut down every tree on their five acre plot because they don't like the way trees drop twigs and leaves onto the grass.

Yep, you're on the right track... I just try to figure the reasons behind is all... *folds arms* 'cause I'm curious, that's why :P