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BEGINS |
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CRUZ With Us Since June, 2002 |
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THE COUNTRY GIRL |
 Raphi takes a stroll in the autumnal countryside with son Michael, always alert for curious bunnies. |
Deer, rabbits and bugs:
Welcome to the country!
By RAPHAELLA CRUZ
of TheColumnists.com
LINCOLN, MA -- If you want to buy a house in Lincoln, Massachusetts, I’m told, you have to read the obituaries, wait until a homeowner passes away and make an offer to the remaining family members immediately following the funeral.
Demand for the Lincoln life is huge, and now I can see why. Lincoln is a precious town, rich in American history, heritage and simple country living. Mainly it is quiet, really quiet. Lincoln provides everything that the city doesn’t.
I never tried to buy a house here but was lucky enough to find a rental the first day I started looking–a new apartment, architect designed, views on woodlands--and thus began my transformation from city girl to country girl. I packed seven years worth of memories, left Waltham and the Boston urban sprawl, and haven’t looked back.
Without intending to, I think I have found the solution to the frantic pace of life that afflicts almost everyone trying to compete in an urban environment. My message is “Get out now!”
Entering Lincoln, only 15 miles from Boston, feels like passing through the portals of a different world. The homes and farms are surrounded by acres upon acres of rolling hills and painterly glory. It instantly appealed to the artist and writer in me.
Lush fields, farms, and forests close in, and all sound seems to disappear into the visual dance of country colors. The trees get taller and the leaves get yellower. The road is windier. The sun is brighter; the shadows are darker. The traffic is slower. I can breathe again.
Having grown up in cities including Moscow, London and New York, I had read a lot about country living and visited isolated friends several times, but I never expected the beauty and serenity that began to fall over me only hours after moving into Lincoln. Suddenly I seemed to have more time.
The feeling was especially strong the first night when I noticed the quiet, a quiet so deafening that I could hardly hear myself think. I was used to hearing traffic, music, car alarms, teenagers, screaming neighbors, police sirens, sometimes all at once. And then suddenly, nothing. It did take some getting used to.
Even the neighbors around me seemed quieter--furthermore, at peace with themselves. Folks stroll, hike, and farm. They wear big fuzzy sweaters and high rubber boots. They are politically liberal and cooperative, crunchy and smart. And for the most part, when they smile you can almost feel the warmth. Very different from my neighbors in the city.
Living amongst wildlife has also been an adventure. Only having lived here a few weeks, I’ve already had some home-grown country encounters. The first time I saw a rabbit in my yard and witnessed my two-year-old son’s amazed reaction, I knew I had made the right move. It’s true, little bunnies sometimes run around my yard. I have been living on concrete for so long that I, too, found myself delighted at the thought of such a creature sharing space with us.
My boy tries to coax them out into the
open when they are hiding or asleep or just invisible.
“Rabbits! Raaaaa …bittttsss!!!…”, he screams
at the bushes, hoping one will hop out to see him. But obviously
they are wary of him and rightly so.
Very early one recent morning a deer greeted us as we pulled out of the driveway. The deer–who in my estimation weighed in at 300 pounds--ran in tandem alongside my car for about a quarter of a mile, down the curvy trail parallel to the road. He was almost ghostly, weaving in and out of the bushes and trees and into the rolling fog until, as suddenly as he had appeared, he disappeared.
Our trips to the farm are fun for my son, but I had to laugh at myself on our first few trips when I heard the pig snort and the cow moo. I was even a little surprised that animals actually made those noises I had read about in children’s books.
But the most formidable country animals, I find, are the insects. The bugs I met on my first couple of days here made me jump on chairs and cower into corners, slowly stretching my arm to the phone to call for help, quivering at the sight of their wings, their size, the number of spindly legs. Some of these insects looked prehistoric, too shiny and colorful and armored to be real.
Now the insects don’t bug me, though. There are so many I hardly even see them anymore. But what I do see is God’s green earth the way it was meant to be seen, lush and alive and surreally colorful.
Now that I’ve settled in and with winter around the corner, I look forward to falling even further back into my natural roots, because I am now pretty sure that Oliver was right, Green Acres is the place to be–for me!
©2005 by Raphaëlla Cruz. The photo is the property of the author. All rights reserved. This column first posted Dec. 5, 2005.
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