My family moved to the country when I was 13. Not that we really lived in the city before that, we lived just barely inside the city limits of a small town in a quaint little subdivision that was stuck in the mid-60s. The neighborhood started going downhill when all of the original owners of the houses began dying, so we moved before the property value dropped.
The plot of land my family moved onto isn’t reachable without driving down at least a mile of dirt road. Dirt roads in south Georgia are iffy things. They’re either primarily sand or clay. Driving on sand is treacherous when it’s dry because there are pockets of deep sand you lose traction in and when it’s wet, it tends to just wash away. When the sand washes away, the county comes out and fixes the ruts in the road with clay. Driving on wet clay is treacherous because it’s like driving on ice. Basically, you’re screwed either way. When I drive smart car down there, the traction and stability control just goes crazy.
Although I was very put out about having to move 30 miles away from all of my friends to the middle of nowhere during the beginning of my adolescence, coming back to visit now I can appreciate the tranquility. I’ve been touched with it now, and deep inside me I’ll always carry a yearning for the smell of wet, green growth and the absolute silence you can only find down there.
This is the trip from the house down there to the nearest paved road. From that paved road, it’s an additional 10 minute drive to get to the nearest town (which borders on being a ghost town). To the nearest town with any stores, it’s 30 minutes. To the nearest proper city? 2 hours.