Greetings from wonderful Fannin County, the land of tree-covered
mountains, fresh air, burbling trout streams and 360 degree rural views. Spring
has departed, and we are now into summer. All the vegetable gardens are in full
swing, mine included, and I’m learning how potatoes, sweet potatoes, and corn
grow. I’ve got an amazing crop of tomatoes coming in. Some of them are the size
of billiard balls already. My cabbage is starting to head, and we’re already
harvesting kale and Swiss chard.
Gee, it almost sounds as if I know what I’m doing. I feel like
I should be in a Grant Wood painting wearing coveralls and holding a pitchfork.
A lot of folks around here have vegetable gardens, and I can
see how their gardens are doing as I drive around. I’m always comparing the
vegetables in other gardens with the ones in my garden. As a result I’m
developing a case of vegetable envy. It’s kind of like penis envy, only
vegetable oriented.
I wonder what a Freudian psychiatrist would make of
vegetable envy. I can picture a farmer laying on a couch in a shrink’s office
being asked questions like “How did it make you feel when you saw that his
zucchini was larger than yours?” and “Did you want to touch her melons when you
saw how large they were?”
In other news, there is going to be a third newspaper in
Fannin County to compete with the News Observer and the Fannin Sentinel. This
one is called the Fannin Focus, and its first issue is due out at the end of
the month. I met the editor, and he has asked me if I would like to write a
monthly guest column. Are you kidding me? That’s like asking Bill Clinton whether
he would like a young intern. I would love to write a column.
I’ve submitted three sample columns to the editor. Two of them
are meant to be light and funny. The last one is a deep and serious discussion
of Alexis de Tocqueville’s observations about Americans’ love of equality and
liberty. It will be interesting to see (a) whether he deems any of the columns
worthy of publication and (b) if so, which ones.
I’m conflicted on what type of column I would like to write.
Part of me wants to stay on the humorous side. Even though it’s tougher to come
up with humor on a regular basis, a column that’s funny is less likely to
offend people. That’s a concern in a small place like this. Another part of me
wants to write a serious column to provide an outlet for my thoughts.
It amazes me that I live in a place with three newspapers
even if they are only weekly papers. Newspaper readership has declined
drastically in this country, and newspaper publishers are struggling. I don’t think
there are many cities left in the United States that have two daily newspapers.
Newspapers make their money off advertising. Maybe this
place can support three weekly papers because there is no local television
station to compete with them. Even the radio station choices are limited around
here. I get a local country station, two Spanish stations, and three religious
stations clearly on my truck radio. All the other radio stations fade in and
out as I drive up and down the hills. Mariachi music and hell fire and damnation
are not my cup of tea. I’d kill for a clear classic rock station to listen to
as a break from country music.
If it sounds like I’m complaining, I’m not. I’ll readily
sacrifice my radio listening pleasure for the chance to live here. The truth is
that I’m having a ball and enjoying my retirement to the North Georgia
Mountains immensely. And that’s the rub…so are a lot of other people. So much
so that the Wall Street Journal just named Blue Ridge one of the top ten towns
for retirees.
I don’t want other people to learn about this place. Now
that I’m here, I want to seal the borders and discourage people from moving
here.
Americans have horrible track record of ruining the nice places
where they live. Just look at all the over-developed and over-populated beach
communities on the west coast of Florida. I don’t want to see Fannin County
ruined with chain stores, malls, parking meters, more fast food restaurants, four
lane roads, and all the other detritus of suburban existence.
So I take back my greetings from wonderful Blue Ridge. The
tree-covered mountains are an illusion, the air smells like a porta-potty after
a three day rock festival, the streams are polluted, and there’s nothing worth
looking at. This place sucks. You’re better off where you are. If you want to
go someplace, try Hoboken or Detroit. Just stay the hell away from here.
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