Thoughts from the middle of nowhere

Cities matter. They are filled with people, inhabited by a million struggling egos, each seeking to expand in an already overcrowded atmosphere. Expansive egos with nowhere to go fill the evening news: Murders, robberies, rape, child abuse and abandonment. It baffles the mind that anyone would object to teaching school children the Ten Commandments at an early age. Such instruction, were it to take root in even a small percentage of young lives, might make metropolitan life at least bearable. But secular worship demands "freedom" for a million childish egos bent on instant gratification. Without the money to isolate oneself, city life is not the prescription for paradise any time soon.

Rural and western life are different. Neighbors are few and far between. Each person counts for more, simply because there are fewer of them. They are not viewed as a number standing in line for a service, but as a resource to help the community prosper – or at least get along through tough times. Perhaps because of the land and the elements, a culture of self-sufficiency remains in the wide open spaces. People do not expect to have done for them what they can do for themselves. A culture of dependency can take root anywhere, but rural and western America has continued the Puritan tradition of pulling up the weeds. Attitudes outside the city are different; government is not omnipresent, and one must often extricate him or herself from life's difficulties without outside help.

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The sheer concentration of people in the city demands a focus on "human services." Self-sufficiency is discouraged, because it invariably intrudes on bureaucratic turf. Broadly speaking, those who consume these "human services" are unwilling or unable to pay for them. That leaves you and me, regardless of where we live. Crime requires police and prisons. Victims require hospitals, doctors and caregivers. Due process (one would hardly call it justice anymore) requires judges, courts and lawyers, with both pro and con being paid for by Uncle Sam's lackey: the taxpayer. The prospect of jobs, even menial jobs, is a magnet for illegal immigrants to whom, no matter how bad conditions are here in U.S. cities, are far better than those at home. Illegals bring with them their culture, which at home produced the very conditions they now flee. Their problems only add to the unending demand for "services."

Inside the corridors of power, rural and western America register only an occasional blip on the political radar screen. Environmental squabbles, an occasional economic development grant, or a brief speech between campaign stops during election season seems enough to keep the "folks back home" happy. I'm not entirely sure, but the feeling is very likely mutual. I'll soon know more and will let you know.

This week, I became a nowhere man: I left the city and moved to the middle of nowhere. Our next-door neighbor brought us dinner the day the moving van pulled up to our house.

"Somebody ran over my safety triangles the day we packed your household goods in Seattle," the moving van driver said as they unpacked us. "I couldn't believe it. I called him a bad name." Is rural or western life paradise? I doubt it. Problems exist everywhere. But against the backdrop of wide open spaces, human problems seem somehow more manageable. Nature puts things in perspective, and right now I'm enjoying life in the middle of nowhere.