City Loses to Country
My husband is a country boy, born and bred. Literally. He was born in his parents' home, in the middle of the village where he would grow up. I'm a city girl, born and bred. I was born in a clinic in Santiago and grew up in Boston. Lately it shows. I find myself humming the theme song to "Green Acres" often these days. Farm living is the life for my husband, but I get allergic smelling hay.
My mother-in-law keeps only chickens now for eggs and meat. To feed them she plants corn. My husband helps her. We have a few chickens just for eggs. I don't believed in killing anything myself. The only creatures I will kill are spiders and other menacing bugs. To feed our chickens my husband helps his mother plant a slightly larger amount of corn, some of which comes to our house. Our payment to my mother-in-law consists of paying for some of the expenses and my husband contributing his brawn. Doing calculations last night, I came to the conclusion it is cheaper to buy sacks of corn. But my husband and his mother insist that the land needs to be turned over and worked to help keep it productive. To let it lie fallow according to them is to make it poor in nutrients. I counterargue that to plant it every year is to have the crop take up the nutrients and leave it impoverished, which is why they have to add nitrogen and fertilizer every year they wish to sow corn.
I feel like Eva Gabor when her new husband, Eddie Albert, drags her away from the Manhatten penthouse. Fresh air, yes, but I still prefer Times Square.
My mother-in-law keeps only chickens now for eggs and meat. To feed them she plants corn. My husband helps her. We have a few chickens just for eggs. I don't believed in killing anything myself. The only creatures I will kill are spiders and other menacing bugs. To feed our chickens my husband helps his mother plant a slightly larger amount of corn, some of which comes to our house. Our payment to my mother-in-law consists of paying for some of the expenses and my husband contributing his brawn. Doing calculations last night, I came to the conclusion it is cheaper to buy sacks of corn. But my husband and his mother insist that the land needs to be turned over and worked to help keep it productive. To let it lie fallow according to them is to make it poor in nutrients. I counterargue that to plant it every year is to have the crop take up the nutrients and leave it impoverished, which is why they have to add nitrogen and fertilizer every year they wish to sow corn.
I feel like Eva Gabor when her new husband, Eddie Albert, drags her away from the Manhatten penthouse. Fresh air, yes, but I still prefer Times Square.
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