City Girl? Country Girl!

I grew up in a cul-de-sac in a quiet, suburban neighborhood. In the summer I walked to the video store, library, and one of the local pizzerias. My husband says I had a "Leave It to Beaver" childhood. And while I think that description is a little too idyllic, it was a great way to grow up.

Only, I didn't think so at the time.

As teenagers my friends and I often lamented there wasn't enough to do. It was always the same activities: movies, mini-golf, mall, hang out at someone's house. "We're bored!" we would whine. "This town is so boring!" we would tell our parents. We couldn't wait to live somewhere more exciting.

And for me, that place was The City.

(And for those of you outside the NY-NJ-CT area, "The City" is New York City.)

It started out as fantasy. I was dating my husband at the time. He was working in The City and I was working across the river in Jersey City. I would hop a PATH train after work to meet up with him. We would walk the neighborhood where we had plans and talk about what it would be like to live in The City. The relationship became more serious and once we became engaged we started flirting with the idea of city living more. We would visit real estate websites and see what was available for rent. After we were married the search for a home to buy became more serious. Every Sunday we would pour through the real estate section, scouring the listings for neighborhoods of interest and open houses.

During this time we were renting our apartment on the second floor of a two-family home in Clifton, New Jersey. Clifton is the 11th largest city in the state. We lived right "in town," a block in from a main road. And while it was convenient with so much within walking distance, the homes were also close together and the traffic on the main road could be heavy at times. It felt crowded and noisier than the neighborhood I grew up in and found boring as a teen. And after a day of commuting and working in Jersey City, the 2nd most populous city in the state, I found out something about city living: I really didn't care for it.

So our search for our new home changed focus towards suburban neighborhoods. Open house after open house we would come back to the apartment feeling dejected. It was 2005, about a year, maybe less, before the housing bubble burst. The houses and properties were small with overinflated prices. However, the further away from The City we expanded our search the larger the houses became. (Ceiling height was an important factor, given the fact my husband is 6'7" tall.) They also came with more property and a lower sticker price. The next thing I knew, we had crossed the state line and we're looking in Pennsylvania.

It was all new and exciting. We would be buying our house together. It was double the house for half the price compared with wiat we were seeing in Jersey. Our family would be about an hour away, but that was likely to happen even if we stayed in Jersey. Really, it was a no brainer.

So in July 2005 we closed and by the end of August we were moved into our house in East Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania. My husband was commuting into The City still, and I was working from home part-time.

And it was ... an adjustment.

There was no Starbucks (we have one now), no Barnes and Noble, and no real mall to speak of. (It's a small shopping center by Jersey standards.) I got a library card and divvied up the errands so I had something to do every day. I started watching "30-Minute Meals" and teaching myself to cook. I tried to keep myself busy and our dog, Bugsy, was a wonderful companion.

But still, I was lonely.

I was out of my element.

I needed to get to know my neighborhood better.

I resumed the dancing lessons of my youth, finding a local studio near my home. I started shopping at more local business. And in the spring, I started visiting my local farmers market. It was a slow process, but the more I became acquainted with the area, the more I fell in love with it. And back in 2005 I never thought I would say this, but now, I don't think I could go back to city living. I don't think I was meant for city living.

I'm a country girl.

Here's a story that really illustrates that. One of the things I love most about living here are the cool summer nights. Especially when August arrives and the nighttime temperature can drop into the low 50s, perfect sleeping weather. But when you throw open the windows you don't just let in the cool, mountain air. You also let in all the sounds of nature.

Remember My Cousin Vinny? Joe Pesci and Marisa Tomei's characters are staying at the DA's cabin in the woods. An owl is screeching and Joe comes out in his underwear and high tops, gun blazing.

It felt a little like that.

The tree frogs. Oh, the tree frogs! So small, yet collectively so loud. They would keep me up at night. And I remember one night we heard screeching. Lying in bed my husband and I debated calling the cops, but ultimately decided against it, realizing there was a timing to it that made it unhuman-like. Good thing. The next day a neighbor explained what we hard was a female bobcat.

Bobcat. We didn't get too many of those in Clifton.

I didn't realize it until the summer of 2007, but those nocturnal noises slowly became my lullaby. I was in Manhattan for a business meeting. Because of the timing and the fact that I lived in the Poconos, I stayed at the hotel where the meeting was being held the night before. In midtown.

Oh my goodness, the noise!

Sure, my room was up on the 30-something floor, but it wasn't up too high for the sirens and traffic and construction sounds to reach. I tossed and turned all night. Who is up at 3:00 in the morning? New Yorkers, apparently. They don't call it The City That Never Sleeps for nothing! That night I swore to myself that I would never complain about the frogs again.

And I haven't.

Except when one ended up in my kitchen.

But that's a story for another day. :-)

Country TV

Country is not just for the radio. There are several country networks on TV: CMT, CMT Pure Country, GAC, RFD TV.

And now we have a new channel. PCN: Pennsylvania Cable Network.

This channel isn't just country -- it's local country. No reruns of "Reba" or "The Dukes of Hazzard" here. No, sir. When I say local, I mean local. We're talking the state farm show, celebrity cow milking contest, and my personal favorite, square dancing competitions.

We didn't have TV like this when I was living in Jersey.

Only in the country!

Differences in Dinner Conversations

I grew up on a cul de sac in New Jersey, and there were five main families on that street, all with kids around the same age. We became our own extended family spending holidays together, gathering for an impromptu BBQ, and us kids, well, we are all still in touch and were in each other's weddings. We're close-knit.

Now, because we gathered together so much and because us kids typically hung out separately from our parents, I only remember bits of so many of the grown-ups' conversations: dance school gossip (us girls were all enrolled at one point or another); PTA, Booster Club, Project Graduation, and other school shenanigans; local politics; movies and TV programs. You name it, it was on the table for discussion. One topic I don't recall the grown-ups discussing was local wildlife. Sure, there was that period of time when raccoons were getting into the garbage cans, but other than that, animals other than household pets weren't discussed. Apparently there wasn't anything to discuss.

Fast-forward to last Saturday. I had some neighbors and friends at my home in the Poconos to celebrate my husband's 40th birthday. One of the first topics of conversation? The local wildlife. And we discussed it for well over an hour. During that time we discussed the following:

• white-tail deer, of course (the official animal of PA)
• skunks
• squirrels
• red foxes
• mice
• bats
• green mallard ducks
• black bears
• bobcats

Of the animals discussed, the scariest we've encountered is the black bear. (We've only heard the bobcat's cry from afar.) There is one in my neighborhood. In fact, when we moved in eight years ago one of neighbors warned us about it. They told us it lived in the woods behind their house and sometimes during the warmer months it came through the neighborhood to pick through the garbage. All that time my husband and I had never seen the bear.

Until recently.

We first spotted it back in November. A neighbor called to say it was on our property line. The bear didn't seem that big and was almost cute. But then winter came and while bears don't truly hibernate, it entered into a very deep slumber, not to be seen again.

Until recently.

It seems my next door neighbor -- the house between mine and the one that alerted us to bear visiting our property back in November -- continually has something in his trash that attracts the bear, hungry from its long, winter's nap. Some sort of bearnip, if there is such a thing. To add fuel to the fire, he doesn't secure his garbage cans. And since the first signs of spring the bear has been hungry for whatever is in those cans. Every night the bear makes its way over for a late-night snack, leaving trash littered across the ground.

Then there's Monday nights, garbage nights. An all-you-can-eat buffet for the bear. This past Monday, the bear hit cans at six houses. My husband secures the lids on our cans with a bungee cord, but sadly, there's not much else we can do. The Monday before that, the bear brought a not-so-little friend to the buffet.

So for now, we will try to co-exist with the bear and stay safe.

Just another day here in the Poconos.

Only in the Country

You know you're in the country when ... the classifieds sections of your local paper has a "Pets & Livestock" column. And you see actual livestock listed in it.

(This is now my favorite part of the paper to read every day.)

Orange You Glad?

You know live in the country when you see a post from the local sports outfitter in your Facebook news feed that all hunting gear is now on sale.

Cars, Cars, Everywhere

What constitutes "country living"?

For some, it's wide open spaces. For some, it's the length or miles of the car ride to get a gallon of milk. And for others, it's a lack of Starbucks or other "adequate" shopping. And depending on where you live in the Pocono Mountains, the township or borough will have one of those characteristics.

Something else that may come to mind when you hear the word "country" is a lack of traffic. If the area is remote, there aren't a lot of cars on the road. Right?

Not true!

The Pocono Mountains may not be a metropolis, but it is a tourist destination. A destination they reach by car. And during the summer months, the highway can double as a car dealership.

Some weekends have heavier traffic than others. Holiday weekends, festivals, and NASCAR races guarantee traffic almost equal to the parking otherwise known as the Long Island Expressway. NASCAR weekends in particular are difficult to navigate. Inevitably a car pulling a pop-up, a motorhome, or RV will run out of gas on the portion of Rt. 80 knows as "The S-Bends." There are only two lanes and no shoulder. So the vehicle blocks one lane of traffic and everyone else is left to twiddle their thumbs while sitting on the highway while someone from the stalled vehicle walks the 5 miles or so to a gas station, and then another 5 miles or so back to fill 'er up.

Sounds lovely, no?

So as you can see, timing is everything. Coming up on a Friday? Be sure to travel late. (So you don't sit in the traffic described above.) Running low on gas? Go ahead and get it at Exit 4 in NJ. It's cheaper, and you won't have to pump it yourself. (And then you're not the cause of the traffic described above.) Live in the Poconos and need to run errands on a Saturday? Head out early and be sure to be home no later than 10 AM.

Why?

Well, if you're not, you could end up sitting in this.

Welcome to the Poconos, and have a wonderful Labor Day weekend!

You Know You're in the Country...

You know you're in the country when ...

The local paper has a live twitter feed of the grand opening of a new supermarket.