Friday, June 15, 2007

"....four hundred miles north of everywhere"

Sometimes I ask myself why I have chosen to live “four hundred miles north of everywhere” (Lilian Jackson Braun, The Cat Who Sang for the Birds). It is inconvenient. No Symphony, no Opera, no Cinema, no decent mid-range restaurants yet alone high class ones, no large Supermarket. Only the local diner which was sold last year and has gone from having excellent home made diner food and pies to being run by an outsider from the big city who hasn’t got a clue as to service or good food. Now, only the tourists seem to hang out there; no locals to be seen. And, of course, a couple of bars. Then I went outside this morning to let out the chickens. And there was a black-capped chickadee singing his heart out and a short time later an Eastern Phoebe chimed in. And the Baltimore Oriole decided to join in with his usual racket. And then I knew once again why I live "four hundred miles north of everywhere."

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