The rural way of life

Bren Whittaker spoke eloquently about the humble beauty of rural life. Growing up in the suburbs, as most of the people in the room did, Bren fought his way into the North Woods of Vermont where he was able to unite his religious beliefs with his tree hugging tendencies. His wife and him bought a piece of land fifty years ago and, as he said, they have been married to it ever since. Having spent a good part of my life in rural Vermont I was touched by his words and his love for the woods. His simple appreciation for a town of 106 people was enough to make me reconsider my urban inclination and remember what exactly it is about those woods that have brought me back every summer.
When asked what skills he sees as essential to adapting to rural life, Bren spoke of compassion, knowledge and a job. Compassion for the rural people who are born in a small town and never leave. Knowledge of ones intent to seek a rural life and make it work. A job for a little income to sustain a life from the land. The job, to me seems like the most obvious point. Having befriended many a rural Vermonter I understand the need for the compassion. Rural people are hard to relate to having been essentially raised in the suburbs. Young men identify with big trucks and young women complain about gossip but cannot escape either end of it. Rural life is made out of a different kind of cultural fabric, but it is a beautiful one. His point about knowledge made me pinpoint a specific moment in my life, after my college years started, when I began to view my little town of Poultney, Vermont differently. As my naivete wore off, so did my idealization of the place and its people. It all became more real and suddenly the young mothers and deer hunting young men were my dear friends and nights were spent on mountaintops with spotlights seeking out wildlife at midnight. The recession was more real but the churches were still white.